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“That old barn is used as sort of a halfway house for aliens coming in. When he entered the country, Ruiz was directed there, told he could obtain false documents from a guy who’d meet him there. The papers cost him all the money he had, but with them he could get work immediately. Immigration officials are looking for the guys who run that operation.” He paused, then added, “Through the interpreter, Ruiz also admitted to killing Foster Speakman.”
“It was an accident,” Griff said.
“That’s what he claims.”
“It’s the truth.”
“He said you and he were fighting. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Since Griff and McAlister—that was his name, Jim McAlister—hadn’t had time to confer privately before this interrogation, the lawyer cautioned him now with a soft clearing of his throat. Not that Griff would have blurted out the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
The younger detective continued. “Ruiz was a bit sketchy about the cause of that altercation.”
Manuelo was being loyal to his late boss. He wouldn’t incriminate Speakman by telling the police that he had been ordered by him to kill Griff. Griff saw no point in telling them, either. He kept his poker face.
“You want to shed any light on that, Mr. Burkett?” the younger detective prodded.
“I can’t.”
“Was there some kind of thing between you and Speakman?”
“Before that night, I’d met him only once, and it was a friendly meeting.”
“You had no cross words that night?”
“No.”
“Did you provoke Ruiz?”
“No. Not intentionally anyway. He attacked me from behind.”
“He admitted that,” the older detective grumbled. He was frowning, as though confused. Or highly skeptical. “Still doesn’t explain why he attacked you.”
“I don’t know why.”
“Come on, Burkett,” the younger detective said. “Of course you know. What were you doing there?”
The lawyer cut in. “I’d like a private word with my client before he answers that.”
“No, it’s okay, Mr. McAlister. I can answer.” Griff was betting that the police didn’t know about his relationship with Laura. He was gambling that Rodarte had kept that like an ace tucked inside his sleeve, waiting to play it when it would be most advantageous to him and most detrimental to Griff and Laura. He said, “The meeting that night was a second job interview.”
“Job?”
“To do endorsements for SunSouth.” It was an implausible claim but also impossible for them to disprove.
“What about all that money?”
“Beats me,” Griff lied, speaking before McAlister could stop him. “The box was sitting on the desk in plain sight. Speakman told me to open it and look inside. I did. About that time is when Ruiz attacked me. Maybe he thought I was about to steal the cash from his boss. As I said, I don’t know what set him off. Whatever it was, he’ll regret it for the rest of his life. He worshiped Speakman.”
Clearly the detectives believed there was more to it, but that was all they were going to get from him.
Grudgingly, the younger detective said that Ruiz had told them the same story. “He admitted to killing his boss accidentally during his struggle with you, and said that when he ran from the house, you were trying to save Speakman’s life. All of which clears you.”
Jim McAlister sat back in the vinyl chair, looking complacent.
“Did he also corroborate everything I told you about Rodarte?”
