Between Dreams and Nightmares

ONE June 7 8:45 a.m.The windowless room was small enough to make a New York studio apartment seem spacious. Amanda waited at a round, wooden table, just large enough for one suspect and two police officers to sit too close together. She looked at the mirror on the wall and she could feel the eyes on her from the other side. They were watching her every move, studying her behavior, analyzing her nervousness, and speculating about her guilt. She had been waiting in this box less than fifteen minutes and she could already feel the beads of perspiration congregating on her forehead. No wonder people confessed to things in these kinds of places. After intense questioning by detectives determined to make a case and the overwhelming bleakness of the confined quarters, Amanda could already understand how one would say and do most anything to get out of here. She was under a microscope and being watched by the unseen eyes of strangers whose agenda was to get to her. Another hour of this and she might confess to k********g the Lindbergh baby and whoever else was missing. She did her best to stop shaking, but she couldn’t control it. Her world was upside down. Amanda had never been in this kind of a threatening environment. She had never been a suspect in a murder investigation. Nor had she ever had a dead husband before. The accumulated horrors that had taken over her life surrounded her in this little room. Amanda’s slightly upturned nose, liquid blue eyes, delicate chin and shoulder-length brown hair completed an image that was girl next door, but there was something else--an aristocratic bearing that came from no one in her family. Until this moment, her attributes included an abundance of poise in almost any situation. Today, that poise was long gone. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. Her heart thumped loud enough to bring Edgar Allen Poe back to life and she was attempting to suppress the flight or fight reaction that had taken hold. She wanted to run for the door. She stared at the door to the small room, willing it to open and let her out. Was it really necessary to drag her here? And on her fortieth birthday? Maybe it was because she was a suspect; the wife was always a suspect. Unseen eyes would watch to see if she would c***k under the intimidation of this place and the accusatory questioning about to take place. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time passed, the door opened slowly. As they stepped into the room, Amanda immediately recognized the two detectives. She had seen them at the hospital twice in the past three weeks, both times under horrific circumstances. One of the detectives, a tall, lanky man in his mid-forties, entered. He was followed by a well-coifed woman about Amanda’s age. She had big brown eyes that seemed to penetrate their target; eyes that came in handy during interrogations. With black hair she wore at shoulder length, she was an attractive woman with a no-nonsense persona. The tall, lanky man wore a dark suit with a solid-blue tie. He had a moustache and tousled brown hair that was on its way to grey. He featured the look of someone who had seen a lot of these rooms and was annoyed to be visiting one more. They took the two empty chairs and looked at Amanda, for a time saying nothing; studying her, perhaps to see if she would feel compelled to fill the silence as nervous people often did. Amanda stayed quiet, trying hard not to appear nervous, which wasn’t working. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Harmon. I trust you remember us?” Detective Asner asked. “I do. You are Detective Asner, and your partner is Detective Weston,” she replied without hesitation. He nodded and said, “Thanks for coming down, today. We have some questions for you in connection with the death of your husband.” “Why do I have to be here, in this interrogation box?” Amanda asked, hearing herself sound much more confident than she felt. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t ask me what you need to know in my living room.” She hesitated a moment and then asked, “Am I a real suspect in my husband’s death? Do you think I did it? Do I need a lawyer?” Her now dead husband had been a criminal defense lawyer, and she already knew the answer to both questions, but she desperately wanted some reassurance that these detectives didn’t really believe she could have killed Brian. Asner leaned back in his chair and offered his interpretation of a comforting smile. “It’s just normal procedure to ask questions of everyone who knew the victim. Especially someone who lived with him and knew him well. They often know pertinent facts that help us solve the crime.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself. Amanda’s eyes were wide as she asked, “Once again, am I a suspect?” Detective Kim Weston leaned forward in her chair and fastened her penetrating brown eyes on Amanda’s. She spoke evenly and cordially. “At this point, everyone and no one is a suspect, Ms. Harmon. And everyone who might have killed your husband will be considered, examined and eliminated one by one.” “That’s not very comforting, detective. I just lost my husband of sixteen years and I’m not feeling particularly strong at this moment. I really need a little help with all this.” Tears appeared in her eyes as she tried to speak without falling apart. After a moment, Detective Weston gave her a nod and said, “We understand that you have been through a great deal, Ms. Harmon.” She shared an empathetic smile, and said, “We are trying to sort through the evidence as quickly as possible. I know that sometimes it can sound a little detached and clinical, but we need to get critical facts so that we can figure out who killed your husband. With your help, we can assure you that we will find that person and they will stand trial.” Amanda looked at Kim Weston a moment and then over at Dean Asner, who frowned like he was short on patience and wanted to get back to the task at hand. “A little understanding would help, detectives. I can barely function at this moment and you’re treating me like I am a criminal.” Asner wore an expression that said he didn’t have the time or inclination to coddle her. “Look, Ms. Harmon, we just need to get a little information. We’re sorry we have to do it right after the loss of your husband, but we need to find a killer quickly and we know you want that too.” Amanda looked at him silently. After a time, he asked, “You know that your husband dealt with people who had criminal records, correct?” “He was a criminal defense attorney, so yes, of course.” “Are you aware of clients or former clients who threatened him?” “From time to time that happened. As you might expect, some of these guys were unhappy when they lost their cases and had to go to prison. So periodically, someone would make a threat against Brian.” “Any recent threats?” Detective Weston asked. “Let me think a minute.” She drew a deep breath. They wanted her to identify suspects, but she really didn’t know much about the list of accused criminals that comprised Brian’s client list. She considered the question, then replied, “I know one client was angry because he decided he didn’t like the plea deal he entered into last year. And then some guy called the house and said he was going to get my husband for representing scumbags. I don’t know who he was. I just hung up on the guy.” “Who was the client unhappy with his plea deal?” Detective Weston asked. “Not sure.” She paused a moment and then added, “His name was something like Waggoner. You should find a name like that in my husband’s files.” “Any other explicit threats that you remember in the last couple of years?” Amanda squeezed her hands together to keep them from shaking. She took a few moments to replay the question in her mind and then replied, “Not that I can think of at this moment.” Asner put his hands together in front of him and nodded. There was a moment of quiet and then he asked, “So, let’s deal with the hard stuff. You were having serious problems in your relationship with your husband, correct?” He studied her reaction. “Yes, we had separated.” Amanda offered, her distress evident. “You must have been extremely angry with your husband. I mean, he gave you lots of reason to be angry, right?” “There were a lot of emotions. We had been together for a long time.” She looked first at Asner and then at Weston. “I don’t like how this feels,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t say more until I speak with an attorney.” Detective Kim Weston studied her a moment and then said, “Well, you have that right, of course. If that’s what you need.” Amanda looked at her in disbelief. “I just lost my whole life, and you drag me down here to question me in this,” she looked around the room and then added, “hole in the wall. And I feel like you’re convinced that I was the one who killed him.” Kim Weston’s brown eyes still studied Amanda as she replied. “We are gathering information. We understand that this process makes people nervous, and you are entitled to an attorney if you think you need one, but our job is to talk to everyone who has information. You are not accused of anything Ms. Harmon, but what we do involves eliminating suspects. As soon as we have enough information, we want to disqualify you as a potential suspect and move to others who are more likely.” Amanda took a moment to calm herself before she replied. “Okay, I understand. I just want to go home and try to put what’s left of my life back together.” She paused a moment and then looked back at Asner. After a moment she said, “Yes, detective, you know that my husband and I had serious problems. He cheated on me.” “You must have been extremely angry,” Kim Weston said. Amanda found herself nodding. “Yes. Angry, disappointed and sad.” “And it wasn’t the first time, was it?” She stared back at the detective, wondering if they already knew the answer. “No, it wasn’t the first time.” The words came out angry and she couldn’t decide if she was angry at Brian’s conduct or the detectives making her relive it. “How many other times were there?” Dean Asner asked, leaning in as he spoke. She studied him, assessing, and trying desperately to keep her emotions under control. She looked over at Weston who was watching her. They waited and let her deal with the uncomfortable silence for a time, and then Detective Kim Weston used even tones to say, “You need to answer these questions if you want to be eliminated as a suspect.” She shrugged and added, “You can see that we are asking you about facts that could supply a motive.” Amanda stared at her for a time, remaining silent. Kim Weston said, “Ms. Harmon, we are going to find out about everything with or without your cooperation. If you hide pertinent facts, it will affect your credibility and possibly our ability to rule you out.” Amanda contemplated the uncomfortable position that left her with two bad choices. After a time, she drew a deep breath and said, “One other occasion that I know of.” “When?” Amanda looked at Asner and then back to Weston. “About two years ago. He had an affair with a legal assistant that lasted three months. It was a painful time in our lives, but we made it through.” “Who was the woman he got involved with, Ms. Harmon?” “Do we really need to dredge that up again?” Amanda asked, her voice almost pleading. “Yes, ma’am,” Dean Asner replied and waited. Amanda shook her head before responding, “Alexandra Carr.” “Do you know where she is these days?” Asner asked. “No. She left the firm in the wake of what happened, and I haven’t heard of her since.” “We’re sorry for having to ask these personal questions, Ms. Harmon,” Detective Weston offered. Then she added, “And then there was your husband’s other affair that you learned about in the last few weeks.” “Yes, that’s right.” “Where were you on the night of May 28, between 6:00 p.m. and midnight?” Asner interjected. This was the big one. Everything else was just the set-up. It all came down to whether she had a sufficient alibi. She considered the fact that Brian would have told her not to answer police questions like this without counsel, but she was all in at this point. She glanced at the mirror, wondering who might be watching from the other side. She looked at Asner and said, “I was at work until about 7:00 and then I went back to my friend’s house. I was there all night until I got the call about Brian and went to the hospital.” He nodded. “This friend is Barbara Gibbs, correct?” “Yes.” “Was Ms. Gibbs with you from about 7:00 p.m. on?” Asner asked, studying her expression. “No,” Amanda said feeling vulnerable. “She had a work meeting and didn’t get back home until about 9:00.” “Were you both in the house from 9:00 p.m. on until you left for the hospital?” “Yes.” “Can anyone attest to the fact that you were at Ms. Gibbs’ house between 7:00 and 9:00? Did anyone see you?” “Not to my knowledge.” “Did you talk to anyone on the phone?” “No.” Asner nodded, weighing this information, and asked, “You were staying with Ms. Gibbs since you learned that your husband had cheated on you?” “Yes.” “And you had no intention of getting back together with your husband?” Her eyes began to water as she said, “No.” “But you did want some kind of revenge for his betrayal, right?” Asner posed. Amanda looked at him. “I wouldn’t call it revenge. I mean, you know that Barbara helped me by approaching the woman Brian was sleeping with, but our motive was to make things unpleasant for her and Brian and maybe to get her to stop the affair, not to hurt her.” “Your husband betrayed you and you wanted to get even with him, right?” Anger took over Amanda’s expression. “He was an asshole. He wrecked our marriage. I was angry at him and endlessly sad, but I did not kill him. I didn’t even want him dead, I just wanted him out of my life.” Asner nodded, considering her response. There was an extended silence and then he said, “You confronted your husband about his affair shortly before he was killed?” “I confronted him, yeah.” “What did you tell him?” Amanda was quiet for a time and then said, “I told him that I thought we were going to be one of those forever couples. I told him that I had been stupid to give him a second chance to betray me. And I told him that I was moving out.” “What was his response?” “He said that he thought we had been over for a while.” “Then what?” “I left. Then I called him and arranged a meeting at his office to divide our money and possessions.” “And when you met, did you talk about his actions?” “Yeah. I told him that he had betrayed me and destroyed everything we built.” “What was his response?” She stared straight ahead and choked up as she answered. “He said that she was his future.” “Did either of you say anything else?” She nodded. “As I was leaving, I told him that I didn’t forgive him for what he had done to us, but I didn’t wish bad things for him in the future.” She drew a breath and then added, “I think those were the last words I ever said to him.” Detective Weston nodded, and then said, “We have reviewed your husband’s case files and I have collected about two dozen names that I want to run by you. We need you to tell us what you know about them and whether they have ever been the source of any known threat to you or your husband.” “Okay. I don’t know anything about most of his clients, but I’ll tell you if I recognize any of the names.” Detective Weston read a list of twelve names that they had somehow selected from Brian’s files. Amanda shook her head as each name was mentioned. About fifteen names later, she said. “That one is familiar. Brian mentioned Michael Waggoner, I told you that.” “Okay,” Weston replied. “Let’s finish the list and then we’ll talk about the names you know. She read the remaining names. “There was one other name on your list that is familiar. He mentioned Craig Jackson as some kind of a bad guy, but I don’t remember any details. None of the other names are familiar,” she replied with a shrug. “Can you provide any more details about Waggoner? Anything else you remember about the threat or what he said?” Amanda considered for a moment. “No.” “Is there anyone else you can think of who might come after your husband? Anyone with a reason to be angry at him, or to want something from him?” “Maybe the husband of the woman Brian was sleeping with, Derek Miller,” Amanda replied. “Anyone else who comes to mind?” “I’m sorry,” Amanda replied. “I don’t have anything more.” The detectives were studying her closely, looking for a tell or for something she was trying not to reveal. As the questions kept coming, one after another, some with the force of a punch, Amanda tried to reassure herself that she would make it through this. That she would walk out of here with her freedom if she just held on for a little longer. She left her thoughts and returned to the moment. Kim Weston studied her for a few moments and exchanged glances with Dean Asner. “Do you own a g*n?” “No.” “Did your husband?” “Not to my knowledge.” “What is your blood type?” “What?” “Your blood type. What is it?” Amanda looked at them curiously. “O positive. Why?” Detective Weston ignored the question and asked, “Have you suffered any recent wounds or injuries?” “No.” “What was your husband’s blood type?” “B negative.” Kim Weston nodded and said, “There was blood at the scene that wasn’t your husband’s. It was O positive, and it was about twelve feet away from where your husband was found when the first responders arrived. So, we know that whoever was there was wounded, and it was probably a gunshot wound.” She let that statement settle and then said, “It looks like your husband shot someone at about the same time your husband was shot, but whoever the other person was managed to walk away and there were no guns found at the scene.” “None?” “Right, which means the other person took Brian’s g*n as well as the one he or she came with.” “Is there evidence to help identify this other person?” “Not yet, we checked hospitals and clinics to see if anyone with a gunshot wound showed up for treatment within twenty-four hours after your husband’s death, but we have not identified anyone so far.” “So maybe it was not a serious wound?” “Maybe it was a superficial wound,” Kim Weston said nodding, “Or maybe this person has more underground places he can go for treatment. People involved in crimes don’t like to go to hospitals or doctors with gunshot wounds because they know doctors are required to report it.” “Does this information give you any ideas about who could have been might have been in a shootout with your husband?” “No. I’ve never even known Brian to possess a gun.” “We would like you to give us a DNA sample. We are going to collect them from others as well, because it will help us determine who was in the room at time your husband died and eliminate others as suspects. Is that agreeable or do you want us to get a court order?” “I’ll do it if I get a copy of the findings of the test. Otherwise, you can go get an order.” “That’s agreeable.” Asner picked up the phone in the small room. “Sandi, could you bring in the swab kit?” He hung up and then a tall woman with a radiant smile came into the room. “Hello, Ms. Harmon. I’m just going to take a small saliva sample from the inside of your mouth, okay?” Amanda nodded, and then opened her mouth as the swab was inserted and moved against her cheek. The woman put the swab in a tube and then said, “Thank you, Ms. Harmon.” She gave a nod to the detectives and then walked out of the room. Kim Weston looked at Amanda and said, “Okay, Ms. Harmon, thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch when we have additional questions.” “That’s fine, detectives. Please talk to me at home in the future.” She looked around the small room. “This place gives me the creeps.” “We understand your concerns,” Asner said, without agreeing to the request. “We’ll keep them in mind,” Asner added, as Amanda stood to leave. She swallowed hard and walked from the room. Amanda made her way out of the police department and into the southern California morning sunshine. It was a little before 10:00 a.m. and she was exhausted. She took a deep breath of the morning air and tried to push away the anxiety of being questioned as a murder suspect, so that she could focus on the destruction of the life she had known for so long and the death of the man she knew like no other. She felt drained. And now she would go home to an empty house and obsess about everything, endlessly; Brian’s murder, whether the police believed she killed him, and the other woman—the affair and her death. As she climbed into her car, her head hurt. Her blood pressure had to be off the charts. She could feel blood pulsating through her veins. She desperately needed help to get through this and she knew exactly where she could get it; her two best friends had never let her down and they would be here for her now. After Amanda left the room, Asner looked at his partner and asked, “What do you think?” “I don’t know. She was certainly screwed over by this guy,” Weston replied. “But I don’t think she killed him based on what we know already.” “She had a pretty good motive,” Asner said thoughtfully. “Her husband was chasing skirts well past the warning stage.” “Yeah, maybe. But lots of women get cheated on and they don’t kill the asshole. I mean, they can just leave.” “Do you speak from experience?” he asked grinning. “Screw you, Dean, and yes, I do. I was engaged to a guy I had been going out with for a year. Then I found out he was doing a co-worker.” “Really?” he asked. “How did you find out?” “A friend saw them together and told me. I confronted him and he admitted it. The point is, he was an asshole, but I didn’t kill him.” “I get it,” Dean Asner said. “And maybe Amanda Harmon didn’t either. When we get the DNA analysis, we can probably rule her in or out with respect to the murder. Then we can cut her loose and the FBI gets their shot at her. Maybe she’s not a murderer. Maybe she’s just an accessory in an extortion plan.” Kim Weston shrugged. “Maybe, but other than a little curiosity, we have no horse in that race. That little nightmare belongs exclusively to the feds.”