The Perfect Block. Блейк Пирс
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Missinger started.
“No need to answer, Mr. Missinger,” Hernandez interrupted. “I don’t want to be accused of violating your Miranda rights, which I understand have been read to you, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, that’s all standard. And though we don’t really view you as a suspect, you’re well within your rights to request your attorney. But from our perspective, we’re trying to move as quickly as we can to get to the bottom of this. Time is of the essence. So the more details we can confirm, like the one you shared about Victoria’s proficiency with self-medicating, the less likely we are to go down dead ends. Does that make sense?”
Missinger nodded. Trembley stood silently to the side, as though not sure if or when he should jump in.
“So,” Hernandez continued, “also just confirming, you said your housekeeper, Marisol, is on vacation this week in Palm Springs. You gave her cell number to an officer and I believe we’re reaching out to her. By the way, without formally replying, if you find that I’m stating something inaccurate, perhaps you could make me aware. No need to answer any questions, of course. Just steer me in the right direction if I get off course. Fair?”
“Fair,” Missinger agreed.
“Great. We’re making progress here. We know you tried to reach out to Victoria several times over the course of the afternoon and she never responded. My understanding is that it was late yesterday afternoon, when you came home to meet up for a dinner reservation and found her car but not her, that you became concerned enough to call the police. If I’m getting any of this wrong, just tap your finger on the table or something to let me know.”
Hernandez continued to walk through the rest of the timeline but Jessie found herself only half-listening. She had noticed something during the last exchange and was wondering if what she’d seen was real or imagined. Right around the time that Hernandez said “over the course of the afternoon,” Michael Missinger had flinched slightly, almost reflexively. Not when Hernandez said “you tried to reach out.” Not when he said “she never responded.” Only at the words “over the course of the afternoon.”
What had he been thinking about when the afternoon was mentioned? It was so imperceptible that Missinger himself might not have noticed it. That seemed unlikely if he was recalling murdering his wife in the afternoon. She would have expected either a bigger reaction or a concerted effort to have no response at all. At yet, something about the mention of the “afternoon” had thrown him, if only slightly.
Jessie’s thoughts were interrupted by a new person entering the interrogation room.
“Hello, Detectives,” a short, balding, forty-something man said buoyantly. “I’m Brett Kolson, Mr. Missinger’s attorney. I hope we’re all having a good time here. And I’m confident that you haven’t been questioning my client after he called me.”
He breezed in and pulled out the metal chair beside Missinger. Jessie typed Kolson’s name into the attorney database to see what she could glean about him.
“Nice to meet you, counselor,” Hernandez replied with a tone that suggested he wasn’t being entirely sincere. “I’m sure your client will tell you that we’ve been nothing but gentlemen prior to your arrival.”
Missinger nodded.
“They’ve just been reconfirming stuff,” he said quietly.
“That’s right,” Hernandez agreed. “But now that you’re here, Mr. Kolson, we’d love to get a little clarity on some timeline-related matters.”
“You’re welcome to try. But I reserve the right to advise Mr. Missinger to refuse to answer anything I think is out of bounds. And I will pull him if I deem it appropriate. Mr. Missinger wants to help get to the bottom of this horrible event. I trust it won’t be a witch hunt.”
“Of course, not,” Hernandez said, pretending not to be troubled by the very developments he was concerned would happen.
“Give us a moment to confer, privately, would you?” Kolson said.
“Sure,” Hernandez said. “We’ll be back momentarily.”
A few seconds later he and Trembley stepped into the observation room and looked at Missinger huddling quietly with his lawyer.
“We’re not going to get anything out of this guy,” Hernandez said, dispirited. “His lawyer is going to advise him not to answer anything of consequence. When we go back in there, he’s going to shut down every path we take.”
“Maybe not,” Jessie said, still studying the screen.
“What do you mean?” Hernandez asked.
“This Kolson guy isn’t a criminal lawyer. He may be putting on a good show but he’s the corporate attorney for Ecofund Investment Partners, Missinger’s hedge fund.”
“Does it really matter?” Trembley asked. “He’s still not going to let us start peppering his client with probing questions.”
“No,” Jessie agreed. “But Kolson’s legal obligation is ultimately to the fund, not to Missinger personally. If we can get Missinger to believe that his interests and his attorneys aren’t aligned, maybe he’ll say something useful.”
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