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“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The time has come, Mr. Ketcham, for you to disabuse yourself of the notion that you are intellectually equipped to parry with me, and that you will somehow be able to dig yourself out of the hole you dug for yourself.”
“I want my lawyer.”
“We know, Mr. Ketcham. All you are doing is wasting time.”
“You know what?”
“Please examine the photographs, Mr. Ketcham, and identify the police officer who, following your detention in connection with illegal trafficking in controlled substances, committed oral rape upon the person of Miss Cynthia Longwood.”
“I have never been arrested in my life, and neither has Cynthia. Where the hell are you coming from?”
“If you are willing to cooperate with us in the prosecution of this police officer, which would require your testimony in a court of law, on our part we will do whatever is necessary to protect you, and additionally will not bring narcotics charges against you.”
“Protect me from what? Who?”
“The same persons who took you to the NIKE site and left you there to die of starvation.”
“Oh, come on. I told you the whole thing is a case of mistaken identity.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” Washington said. “Mr. Savarese knew precisely whom he ordered be taken to—and left to die a painful death by starvation at—the NIKE site.”
“Mr. who?”
“Mr. Vincenzo Savarese.”
“The gangster?”
“It has been alleged that Miss Longwood’s maternal grandfather has a connection with organized crime.”
“You’re not actually trying to tell me that gangster is Cynthia’s grandfather?”
“You seem surprised. You really didn’t know?”
“No. I didn’t know, and I don’t believe it now.”
“In other words, you decline to identify the rapist and cooperate with us in his prosecution?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“We all must make decisions in our lives,” Washington said. “I must in all honesty tell you I think you have just made the wrong one. But I’m sure you have your reasons. If you will wait here, Mr. Ketcham, I’ll inform the FBI agent that we’re through with you. Perhaps they’re finished with your clothing by now.”
“What does the FBI want with me?”
“Your being taken to the NIKE site against your will constitutes kidnapping. That’s a federal offense. They will ask your help in identifying the people who committed this crime against you.”
“And I will tell them the same thing I told you. I have no idea. It was obviously a case of mistaken identity.”
“You don’t really believe that will make any difference to Vincenzo Savarese, do you?” Washington asked. “You are the man who not only introduced his beloved granddaughter to the use of cocaine, but put her in a dangerous situation where she was brutally raped.”
Washington walked to the door, put his hand on the knob, and then turned to look at Ketcham.
“Shortly after the FBI releases you—Mickey O’Hara of the Bulletin is outside, convinced that his many readers will be fascinated to learn about the stockbroker who was found in a deserted NIKE site wearing nothing but an overcoat—Mr. Savarese will learn you are still alive. The next time he abducts you, it will be to a place where no one will find you.”
Mr. Ronald R. Ketcham looked at Detective Jason Washington, licked his lips, and announced, “The bastard that did that to Cynthia is the one on the top.”
Washington said nothing.
