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“Your girlfriend,” Conklin said, his voice colored with wonder. “Bro, your girlfriend was a man.”
Chapter 91
I WATCHED LOUIE’S FACE change from red to mottled to a bloodless, almost clammy white. He moaned, then started banging his head on the table until his attorney got up from his chair, grabbed Louie’s shoulders. Shook him until he stopped.
Montana looked up at me, his expression explosive, and it wasn’t an act.
“Where the hell is your inspector going with this, Lieutenant? Do you have any evidence against Mr. Bergin? If not, pardon me for saying drop dead, and we’ll see you at his arraignment.”
“We lifted Louie’s print from one of our victims,” I said, “and his DNA is at the lab. Marked ‘rush’ and red-flagged.”
“He gave you his DNA?”
“He abandoned it. We collected it,” I said, sitting down beside Louie, talking just to him.
“Louie, help me understand why you and ‘Cherry’ killed those young women. Inspector Conklin and I, we really want to hear your side of the story. Maybe there’s some kind of mitigating circumstance —”
“Suck my dick.”
“Hunh. Well, you were right, Richie,” I said to Conklin. “Louie really doesn’t like women at all, but I do get the feeling he’s drawn to women sexually. You think?”
“And that’s where Kenny comes in,” Conklin said, rolling with me. “He kinda pimped for him. Isn’t that right, Louie? You did the rapes, and then the two of you snuffed the girls.
“And after you and your lover killed together, what then? You guys got your jollies? I think the jury is going to hate you for that, don’t you, Lieutenant?”
“Don’t answer, Louie. Don’t say a word,” Montana said urgently.
“I think you’re going to tell us everything,” I said to Bergin, “because you’re going to do better with us than you’ll ever do with a jury. And then there’s this.”
I placed a white number 10 envelope on the table. It was addressed to Louie in smudged blue ink. He could see it, but it was beyond his reach.
He blinked as he recognized the handwriting.
I’d been counting on that.
“The fall to the alley that Cherry took was easy compared to the one you’re going to take,” I said. “Have you thought about what it’s going to be like? Twenty years or so, isolated on death row, waiting your turn for the needle?”
“That’s enough, Lieutenant,” said Montana, slamming down the top of his briefcase. “Mr. Bergin hasn’t even been indicted for jaywalking —”
“We’re going to nail Mr. Bergin on three homicides,” I snapped. “But I can offer this much wiggle room.”
I held my fingers a quarter of an inch apart.
“Really,” Montana said. “That much?”
“A young female was found in LA two years ago, dumped alongside the freeway,” I told him. “The DNA in her rape kit matches the DNA we found inside Louie’s victims.
“If your client tells us about the Car Girl homicides and that victim in LA, we’ll work with the DA. See if we can take the death penalty off the table. You have my word.”
“We’ll get back to you,” said Montana. “Louie, we’re out of here.”
“This is a limited-time offer,” I said, putting my hand over the envelope.
“Can I have that letter?” Louie asked. He was almost sheepish about it.
In the last few moments, Louie’s expression had melted like candle wax. His eyes were red, his face suffused with pain and loss.
“This is evidence,” I said, looking into Louie’s big, wet eyes. “But I’ll read you a line or two.”
