Ghosted

Chapter Twenty-One

Beau was waiting for Archie at the police station entrance.

Conscious of the steely gaze of the burly front desk officer, Archie nodded a curt greeting.

Beau gave him a close look, but said only, “Swenson’s got Monig in the interview room now.”

“Swenson?” Archie echoed.

“Certainly. He’s my lead detective.” Beau held open the door to the main office, winked at the front desk officer, and nodded for Archie to take the hall to the right.

Archie said nothing as they strode down the corridor, but Beau seemed to read his mind. “We don’t get a lot of homicides. Swenson needs the experience.”

Archie glanced sideways. “Sure. I just wish this particular interview wasn’t his practice run.”

“It isn’t. You were his practice run.” Beau’s smile was sardonic.

“Oh, nice!”

Beau put his finger to his lips in a shhh , and opened the door adjacent to the interview room. Archie walked into a narrow, dimly lit space.

“I guess you know why you’re here,” Detective Swenson’s mic’d voice was saying, as Beau closed the door behind them.

It was a typical small-town police station observation room. Functional and spare. Two wooden chairs faced the one-way mirror looking onto the interview room where Archie had been interrogated on Monday. A small table with basic recording equipment, including a monitor displaying the interview live feed, was positioned against the back wall.

Archie quietly took one of the chairs and studied the interview room set up.

Swenson’s back was to the one-way mirror. Jon Monig sat facing them, and given his automatic glances at the mirror, understood he was being observed.

Archie had seen Monig at the reading of the will, but now he really scrutinized him, comparing this man to the weedy youth who’d occasionally turned up with Mila at dinners and parties at John’s. Monig had been precocious, but sort of attractive in a waiflike way. One of those drama club boys. He was straight, but his affected mannerisms meant he was sometimes mistaken for gay, which had offended him mightily. Basically, he and Archie had been oil and water. Archie dealt with it by avoiding and ignoring Monig. Monig handled it by directing little sarcastic barbs at Archie.

Archie couldn’t recall any indicators that Monig had seemed to feel a particular connection to John. In fact, John had received his own share of barbs.

But sometimes those pointed digs were actually a bid for attention. Maybe Archie hadn’t noticed or understood the undercurrents?

Monig sat at a slight angle from the interview room table and Swenson, which could signal he planned on withholding information, indicate a need to self-protect, or just confirm Archie’s belief that those were some of the most uncomfortable chairs in all the world.

“I have no clue why I’m here,” Monig answered. “Everybody in this town knows who killed John Perry.”

“Does everyone in town know why you broke into Dr. Perry’s house to attack Special Agent Crane?”

“Mistake,” Archie murmured.

Beau, standing to the side of the one-way glass, made a neutral Mm sound.

Monig stared at Swenson in disbelief and laughed. “ W-What ? He’s claiming someone tried to kill him ?”

“Where were you between seven and nine p.m. last night?”

“None of your business! I was home . Which is where I was supposed to be.”

Swenson clicked his pen a few times. “Can anyone verify that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have anyone conveniently with me.”

“Did anyone phone you? Text you?”

“No. No. And no, no one dropped by to borrow a cup of sugar. Was Crane injured?”

“Evasion and deflection,” Archie commented.

Beau assented.

Swenson asked, “Did you phone anyone? Text anyone? Step out to borrow a cup of sugar?”

Monig’s expression grew bored. “Nope. I made dinner, read over a script for a play I’m performing in, and went to bed about ten. I’m pretty sure none of that’s illegal.”

“I noticed you had a slight limp when you walked into the station. How did you injure your leg?”

Monig got a smirky little smile. “I slipped on a cat toy when I was going down the steps at my place. That was Sunday morning. You can check with my mother. Dr. Mila Monig. She X-rayed my leg to make sure I hadn’t broken my ankle.”

Archie said thoughtfully, “Sunday morning.”

“Yeah.”

They exchanged looks.

“You think she’ll back him up?” Beau asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Even if she thinks he killed John?”

Archie said, “She won’t believe he killed John.”

“Now, there, you’re probably right.”

“Would you mind removing your T-shirt?” Swenson said in the next room.

“Why should I?”

“Why should you mind removing your shirt?”

Archie glanced at Beau who sighed.

“No, detective ,” Monig said with exaggerated patience. “Why the fuck should I remove my T-shirt for you? What are you looking for? This feels like entrapment.”

“I think you know what we’re looking for Mr. Monig.”

Monig got that smirky look again. “Like I said, I fell on my ass going down the steps on Sunday morning so, yes, I have bruises. If that’s what you’re hoping for. They don’t mean anything given that I got them before whatever happened whenever.”

The back and forth went on for a few minutes with Swenson lobbing routine questions and Monig batting them back easily. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Archie, not so much. Swenson was inadvertently revealing more information than he was gaining.

“Jesus.” He massaged the mounting ache between his eyes.

“Okay. Calm down,” Beau muttered. He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and a moment later, opened the door to the interview room.

The energy in the room changed instantly.

“Oh look, it’s the varsity team!” Monig exclaimed to Swenson.

Archie couldn’t tell much from Swenson’s profile as he stared up at Beau, but Beau gave him an approving nice job nod, and Swenson’s body language seemed to relax.

Beau pulled a chair out and sat catty-corner to Monig. “Afternoon, Jon. How’re you doing?”

“Considering that I just got dragged down to the police station for questioning?”

Beau’s smile was cheerful, his tone unruffled. “We know this is inconvenient and we appreciate your cooperation. We just want to verify a couple of points in your original statement. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Verify away.” Monig folded his arms.

He was an actor, so he had to be conscious of body language. Monig didn’t care if they thought he was guilty. In fact, Archie couldn’t help thinking that he sort of hoped they did. Monig’s resentments seemed to run deeper than being brought in for a follow-up interview, Was it just arrogance? Monig definitely thought he was the smartest guy in the room.

“Thanks,” Beau said briskly. “So, in your statement, you reiterated a couple of times that John Perry was your mother’s friend and that you’ve had little to no contact with him in the past few years.”

“Correct.”

“You weren’t invited to the Ghost Walk this year, unlike previous years, because you no longer travel in the same social circles?”

Monig rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to play games. I wasn’t invited to the Ghost Walk because I filed a paternity suit against him last year. The case was dismissed, as I’m sure you know.”

“On what grounds?”

“John supposedly took a DNA test which appeared to eliminate him from being my father.”

“What was your purpose in filing the lawsuit?”

Monig looked at Beau as if he were an idiot. “I wanted him to acknowledge that he was my father!”

“Sure. So, your only motive was emotional closure?”

“Hell, no! That was part of it, of course, but John Perry was rich as hell. He led my mother on for years, skipped out on his responsibilities to me, and spent thousands of dollars chasing ghosts and funding bullshit paranormal research. Did I want to confirm my inheritance rights? Hell yes. I think anyone in my position would.”

Monig believed what he was saying. Wholeheartedly. His was also getting more angry and hostile as the interview progressed. Neither anger nor hostility was a sure sign of guilt. Innocent people did sometimes get angry and offended at being questioned, especially if they were aggressively interrogated or wrongfully accused. Archie had not exactly been filled with sunshine and light when Beau had seemed to believe him capable of murder.

Behavioral analysis was not Archie’s area of expertise, but he’d run into his share of sociopaths. John Breland had been a classic case. Monig’s anger and hostility reminded him of the anger and hostility typical of sociopathy.

The other thing that occurred to Archie was that Beau was actually pretty good at interrogation—not counting that second off-the-rails interview with him. Beau had perfected an easy, low-key manner that made a police interview seem like any not-enjoyable but necessary task: getting your teeth cleaned, paying your taxes. He projected…not friendliness, exactly, but an openness to hearing you out, to being convinced. He seemed persuadable.

“Sure,” Beau said again. “Now, did your mother encourage you to file that paternity suit? Did she support your decision?”

Monig’s expression closed. “No.”

“Why do you think that was?”

“My mother was intimidated by John. He was the senior partner. He owned the building where they practiced. He held all the power in that relationship.”

Swenson clicked his pen and jotted down a quick note.

“I see. But your mother told you that Dr. Perry was your father.”

Monig struggled with it for a moment, before admitting, “No. She denied it. It was obvious that she was afraid of the repercussions. But it was evident to everyone that I was John’s son.”

“How so?” Beau sounded genuinely interested.

“First of all, I look like John. I look like all the Perrys. Secondly, the way John treated me when I was young. Very different from how he treated me once he decided he was through with my mother. My name. Obviously, my mother named me for John.”

Swenson said, “Your name is Jonathan, isn’t it?”

Monig said impatiently, “The spelling is different. The name is the same.”

Nope. John’s name was John. Not Jonathan. Monig’s insistence that a couple of vague coincidences were solid evidence was beginning to sound more and more like obsession to Archie.

“I see.” Beau glanced at Swenson, who subsided.

“Clearly, you don’t. But these are facts.”

Beau nodded. “When you approached Dr. Perry with your belief that you were his son, what happened?”

Monig said impatiently, “I don’t know why you’re focusing on me. It’s obvious Archie Crane killed John. Everyone knows it. He’s the one with the million-dollar motive. Not me.”

“We have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.” Beau asked, “What’s your relationship with Archie Crane like?”

Monig smiled. “Never as close as yours used to be.”

It was a jolt. But, yes, of course Jon would remember the whole drama of Beau being outed.

Beau didn’t bat an eyelash. He smiled too. “I’m asking about your relationship.”

Monig shrugged. “There wasn’t one. He was an arrogant prick. Spoiled and pampered from the day he arrived.” He added, “That’s a reason not to like him not a motive to kill him.”

“True.” Beau added casually, “I’ll admit, it raised questions when you neglected to mention anything in your original statement about that lawsuit you filed.”

It took Monig a moment to catch up.

“It’s not like I had anything to gain by killing John. How was that going to prove my case?”

“By most people’s estimate, the provisions for your mother in Dr. Perry’s will supply a pretty decent motive.”

“For her. Not for me.”

“Maybe not.” Beau didn’t sound too interested. “I’m curious about why you continued to think Dr. Perry was your father when the DNA indicated he was not.”

“I just explained to you why.”

“Right. Do you think that Dr. Perry didn’t really submit his DNA or—?”

“He’s a doctor. Was. What do you think?”

“He’s asking you,” Swenson said.

“I don’t know how he cheated the test, but he did. I know what I know. He cheated the test and he cheated me out of my inheritance.”

That was a lot. Archie had to stand up and take a couple of calming breaths. He squeezed the back of his neck, reminded himself that, in itself, obsession was not motive. Nor was gut instinct proof. So far, the case against Jon Monig was entirely circumstantial. Barely that. But Archie’s—in Swenson’s words— special agent instinct told him he was looking at John’s killer.

Did Beau see it the same way?

The rest of the interview focused on Monig’s alibi. He stuck to his original story, with one additional piece of information. He now claimed that his mother had phoned him during the Ghost Walk at about eight-thirty to verify whether he was still coming over for Sunday dinner the following day.

It was such a stupid lie.

Monig couldn’t seriously think he was doing anything but further implicating himself. But then again, this was someone who believed, sincerely believed, a host of ridiculous things—starting with the idea that John would fake a paternity test.

He was putting a lot of faith in Mila supporting his story of falling on the steps Sunday morning. Hell, he seemed confident that Mila would confirm the preposterous story that she had called him in the middle of the Ghost Walk to make sure he planned on coming over for pot roast or what-the-fuck-ever the next day. Presumably he knew his mother well enough to be confident that she’d back him up.

But it would take more than Mila’s word. A parent’s alibi held less weight with, well, everyone than an objective observer’s might. That was just a fact. Plus, phone records either confirmed a story or they didn’t. But okay. There was plenty to be deduced from the attempt to create an alibi, but in fairness, sometimes innocent people also panicked and tried to build firewalls out of thin air when they thought the attention of law enforcement was focused on them.

Beau’s cell phone buzzed. He checked it, apologized, and left the interview room, leaving Swenson to finish up.

The door to the observation room opened a moment later, and Beau slipped inside. He joined Archie at the window.

“What do you think?”

Archie said grimly, “I think he’s your guy.”

Beau’s nod seemed impartial. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t disagree.” Beau’s eyes gleamed in the gloom. “But we don’t have enough to charge him with. Yet. We’ll subpoena his cell phone records, but we’re still waiting for John’s phone records to find out who he called on the afternoon of the Ghost Walk. So it could be a while.”

Archie stared at Monig through the glass. “That was a stupid lie.”

“Which one?”

“The one where Mila phones him in the middle of the party to see if he’s on for Sunday dinner. Even without the phone records, I don’t believe Mila would lie for him.”

“Don’t be so sure. There’s not much you won’t do for your kids.”

Archie remembered Beau’s situation and was quiet.

Beau said, “Anyway, we’ll get the phone records. The real problem is going to be attaching motive. Everyone we’ve talked to so far indicates this guy has possible mental health issues, but coworkers thinking you’re crazy or odd isn’t an actual diagnosis. So far, we haven’t learned of any troubling medical history we can point at. And a good lawyer could make his delusions regarding John sound like wishful thinking, something a jury could sympathize with.”

“There’ a lot of room for reasonable doubt. I know.”

“Why do you think he’s so locked into the idea that John was his father?”

“No idea.” Archie could feel Beau’s curious gaze. Sure, he had some idea. John had been rich, handsome, smart, and highly respected. The kind of father figure a kid, whose own social status was a bit shaky, might long for. John was a little eccentric, sure. But not so eccentric that he was regarded as a weirdo or a laughing-stock.

But most importantly, he was kind and supportive and interested. He made you feel as if you mattered. Archie had received a lion’s share of that kindness, support and interest—but so had Desi. And he had also seen John treat Monig very much the same way, even when Monig was being a rude little shit.

Beau said, “It’s not impossible. Mila and John were in medical school together. She moved to Twinkleton to go into practice with John. They had a romantic relationship on and off through the years. And Mila listed Monig’s father as unknown on his birth certificate, which certainly leaves it open to speculation.”

Archie said, “I’m not saying it couldn’t have happened. I’m saying, if it had happened, there’s no way John wouldn’t have acknowledged Monig as his. John loved kids, loved the idea of having a family.” He met Beau’s gaze. “I’m not blind to John’s faults. But just looking at this from the standpoint of victimology, John was kind-hearted. Too kind-hearted, maybe. Sure as hell, too kind to lie to Jon Monig about being his father when anyone can see how desperately Monig wants to believe it.”

“No, I agree,” Beau said. “I don’t see John ducking out on his responsibilities, let alone faking a paternity test. But juries like motives to make sense. Killing John doesn’t resolve any of Monig’s issues, and revenge is always a hard sell.”

True. Revenge as a motive was always problematical for juries. Sane people did not opt for revenge. Sure, they might resort to petty or spiteful behaviors, but full-out, blood-spattered violence was rare. To be believable, it had to be driven by something a jury could identify with: the murder of a child, financial ruin, false imprisonment, you stole my girl… Hollywood movie stuff.

He said a little wearily, “I know.”

“Where are you headed now?”

“Fraser House. I’ve got to check out. Officially.”

Beau nodded, reached out, looped the chain of Archie’s St. Christopher medal around his index finger. He smiled, leaned forward and touched his mouth fleetingly to Archie’s. “Am I seeing you tonight?”

“I hope so.”

“What time do you think the spook show will be over?”

“It’s a séance, so I’m thinking it’s going to run past midnight.”

“The witching hour.”

Archie made a face, smiled reluctantly.

“Are you okay?” Beau asked with unexpected gentleness.

“ Me ?” Archie was surprised. “Yeah. Of course. Why not?”

Beau smiled faintly, shook his head. “Be careful tonight.”

“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” Archie assured him.

Beau said seriously, “I am.”