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No, better to stick to the playacting, cooperate, and give the writer something, in the hope that Rupert Collier would be depicted favorably in his column. He began by telling Van Durbin what a fan he was of the media. “You could call me a news junkie. So I’m happy to answer any questions I can. Fire away.”
“Good, good. Let’s start with why you left the DA’s office.”
“That one’s easy.
Selling cars pays better. A hell of a lot better. I wouldn’t have an office near this niiiiice at the courthouse.”
Van Durbin chuckled. “You decided that you’d just as well reap the benefits of your daddy’s labor.”
Rupe recognized that for the well-placed dig it was, but he gave a good-natured thumbs-up. “Daddy didn’t raise no stupid children.”
“Right. You would have been a sap to stay in public service.”
That was one of those trick questions, which wasn’t really a question but a statement. Rupe was savvy enough to see the trap. “I serve my community in other ways now.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Van Durbin flashed him an obnoxious grin. “But back then, you were committed to ‘sweeping Travis County’s streets free of the criminal element.’ I cheated. I read that quote somewhere.”
“I performed my job to the best of my ability.”
Van Durbin flipped back several pages of his notepad and read some of the scribbles. “Uh, I jotted down just a coupla things I wanted to ask you about. Oh, here. Was Ms. Price’s book accurate? Strickland was convicted of manslaughter? Not murder?”
“That’s right.”
“Why not murder?”
“I determined that his crime wasn’t premeditated.”
“In other words, he didn’t plan on killing her. She did something that set him off and wound up dying over it.”
Another carefully laid booby trap. “Mr. Van Durbin, surely you’re not suggesting that she ‘asked for it.’”
“No, no, I’d never even imply that.” But his wicked grin belied the denial. “Strickland flew off the handle, killed her in a fit of passion, something like that?”
“If you want a clarification of the difference between the charges of murder and manslaughter, you can go online and access the Texas penal code.”
“Thanks, I might do that. Just so I’m clear in my own mind.” He tapped his temple with the eraser of his pencil. “You and that homicide detective… what was his name?”
“Gosh… who worked that case?” Rupe screwed up his face as though searching his memory. “I can’t remember offhand. I was an ADA, working my patooty off, seventy, eighty hours a week. I was getting thrown cases right and left. A lot of felony cases. Worked with a number of cops, a slew of detectives.”
Van Durbin snapped his fingers. “Moody. Dale Moody.”
What Rupe was thinking was Shitshitshit!, but what he said was, “I think you’re right. I think it was Moody.”
“It was. My research assistant verified it and has been trying to run him down. She’s checked with the Austin PD, but he’s retired and they wouldn’t give her any information on him. He doesn’t have an Austin address. His name’s not on the county tax rolls. You wouldn’t by any chance know where I could find him, would you?”
“Until a few seconds ago, I couldn’t even recall his name.”
“That’s a no, then?”
“That’s a ‘Sorry I wish I could help you, but I can’t.’”
Van Durbin scratched something in his notepad. “So I guess if I wanted to ask him about his investigation and Strickland’s trial, I’d be out of luck.”
“I guess you would.”
Van Durbin propped his ankle on his opposite knee and jiggled his foot. “Unless you wanted to open up to me about it. Talk me through it yourself.”
Rupe gestured down at the book. “Ms. Price thoroughly covered it.”
