Nantucket Grand (17 page)

“But Oscar was a citizen.”

“For less than a year. And not to you, anyway. You don't buy those magic tricks, am I right? Pass a test, wave the wand, abracadabra you're a citizen. So you went to the doctor, got the drugs, lured him out to the town dock to talk about Jill, then knocked him down, hit him with the syringe and dumped him. Looks like he's just some crazy kid on a toot. He falls into the water and boom, it's over. Fifteen minutes later you're back in the sack, sleeping like a baby.”

“Look, wait, I never—”

“I get it, kid. You cared about this girl. She was more than a prom date. You've known her all your life. You saw her being lured into some kind of crazy chemical nightmare. You tried talking. You tried to reason with this punk. But you were getting nowhere.”

Lonnie's voice turned soft and chummy. “I'll tell you something, kid. That little thug deserved to die. You were doing us all a favor. Kind of like a vigilante in the movies. Like Batman. And we need a Batman right now, because this island is turning into Gotham City, right under our noses. We have a drug problem. Problem? It's a crisis. It's a catastrophe. And this Oscar Graham was throwing gas on the fire, trying to burn this island down for a profit. So no one's blaming you. Hell, I'm proud of you. The way these mooks fuck around with drugs, he was probably going to kill himself anyway. This kid was not long for this world. So what were you supposed to do? Let him take out more innocent kids like Jill? Just stand by and watch? That's not your style, Mason.”

He leaned forward. “Look. We have your DNA on the body, we have your texts on Oscar's cell phone, we have an eyewitness. You had motive and opportunity. You have no alibi. And you have justification! If this was the Wild West, no one would blink an eye. You confess, I can get you a good deal, I can make it easy for you. Give up the doctor and you might walk. You might even get a good citizenship award!”

“So…I wouldn't go to jail?”

“Cooperate and we're talking probation, tops.”

“But, I just, I…it's…”

“Keep lying and I guarantee you will be doing hard time at Cedar Junction. ‘See Walpole and get turned into an Aryan Brotherhood bitch.' That's the slogan. They'll trade you for cigarettes, kid. By the time you get out, there won't be anything left of you. That would be a tragedy. I would hate to see that happen. You do not deserve that.”

“Freeze it,” I said. “Let me guess. He signed a confession.”

“Signed and sealed. Did you see the way he was looking down and sideways? Touching his face with his fingers? Those are classic ‘tells' the kid was lying from the get-go. We knew it and he knew we knew it.”

“Did you use the multiple choice questions when you walked him through the confession? You know the ones—where all the choices are bad?”

“Hey, I'm not sure what you're trying to—”

“Why did you decide to dump him in the harbor? Was it because you thought the tides would carry the body out into the Sound? Or was it just a place you'd met before? Maybe it was his idea. Pick one. Pretty soon you've coached the whole thing out him.”

“Hey, watch it, Chief.”

“There was no eyewitness, was there?”

“It doesn't matter. He signed the confession.”

“I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Lonnie, but the Reid Technique has been pretty much totally discredited. It's against department policy in like thirty-eight states.”

“But not Massachusetts.”

“I knew something was up when you started off with the polygraph. Then the folder full of ‘evidence.' I couldn't see you, but let me guess. You were standing the whole time. Got to impose the authority. You tell him you know he was lying. But he wasn't, Lonnie. And the prosecution will fight tooth and claw to keep those lie detector charts away from the defense. Maybe that's what you meant by ‘sealed.' What next? Right, the ‘minimization,' that's the term. It's not so bad, anyone would have done it in your position. Blame other people and make it easy on yourself. Scare the crap out of him, then offer a way out. It's a textbook Reid interrogation.”

“So what?”

“So it's the most effective system ever devised for extracting false confessions. People have studied it for years. They did tests at some university.”

“Who gives a shit?”

“No, this is interesting. They put two kids in front of computers and had them IM each other. The only rules were no talking and do not under any circumstances hit the ‘alt' key. That would automatically shut down both computers. So after about ten minutes, the researchers shut off the computers from the control room and then went into the testing cubicle and said, ‘Who hit the alt key?' They both denied it until the researchers told them that they were monitoring the keystrokes. Then the kids started building their own scenarios—maybe they brushed the key with the side of their hand, they were typing too fast, it was an accident, whatever. Sound familiar?”

“Not really.”

“Funny, because that's exactly the same trick you pulled with the polygraph and the fake eyewitness.”

“I never admitted the eyewitness was fake.”

“Admitted? That's an odd word to use. If you really had an eyewitness.”

“I have a confession and I have a case and that pisses you off because we beat you to the punch. Plus we have the texts. They're on the phone but I made a transcript of the best ones. Mason Taylor's Greatest Hits.”

“Let me see it.”

“My pleasure.”

He had the sheet of paper folded like a letter in his pocket. He handed it over and I opened it up.

Oscar: I know everything now

Mason: SEP

OSCAR: AYCOOYM??!!

Mason: DFI

Oscar: I'm going to the police

Mason: YBS

Oscar: GOOMF

Mason: YHBW

Oscar: YRW

Mason: YD

Oscar: You don't get it. This isn't just drugs
or porno. That's just a smoke screen.

Mason: For what?

Oscar:
I'm not telling anyone but Chief Kennis.
Read it in the papers.

Mason: It's all just OPM

Oscar: That's ACK! TMSHTF

Mason: YOYO

Oscar: EOD

Mason: AMF

“What the hell are they talking about?”

“You tell me, Chief. They write in code.”

I scanned the paper again. “Oscar found something, or overheard something. And it got him killed.”

“But what?”

“First we have to figure out what all these acronyms mean. And I know the perfect person to ask.”

I took the paper back to the interview room and handed it to Mason.

He glanced at it. “You pulled this off Oscar's phone.”

“It was in a waterproof case, fortunately.”

“He was always afraid he was going to fall off the docks. Some kid slipped last summer. Lost his whole contact list.”

“I need you to translate it for me, Mason.”

“Uh, okay. Hold on. He says he knows everything, and I say SEP—someone else's problem. He comes back with AYCOOYM—Are you completely out of your mind? And I say DFI—dumb fucking idea. He says he's going to the police and I say YBS—you'll be sorry.”

“Why? Why say that?”

“Because the police don't help.”

“A lot of kids seem to feel that way.”

“Yeah. Because of cops not helping. Anyway…Oscar texts GOOMF—get out of my face. And I say YHBW—you have been warned.”

“Warned? Warned about what?”

“These are dangerous people, Chief. I mean—obviously.”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“He says YRW—Yeah, right, whatever. Like he doesn't believe me. Like he trusts the cops. And I say YD—you're dead.” He caught my frown. “It wasn't a threat! It sounds like a threat but it wasn't! I was just—I was afraid something bad would happen to him and it did. I asked him what was going on, and he wouldn't tell me. It's right there. He wanted to talk to you, Chief.”

“So what's OPM?”

“Other people's money. And ACK's Nantucket, obviously. That's what this whole island is about, that's what he was saying—other people's money. Then he says TMSHTF—too much shit hit the fan, and I tell him—you're on your own—YOYO. He says EOD—end of discussion and I say Adios…well, sometimes people mean ‘my friend' but mostly, it's…adios, motherfucker.”

“And that's not a threat?” Lonnie broke in.

“It was a warning, like I said. But he wouldn't listen. That's it.”

“More,” I said. “That's the one word that jumps out for me. He said it was more than the drugs and the pornography. What was he talking about?”

“He wouldn't tell me! He says it right there. He's not telling anyone but you. So, like—there's stuff we don't know about, okay. But the stuff we do know about is bad enough.”

I thought of Chick Crosby and his cameras. “You're right. Thanks, Mason. You've been a big help.”

We left him alone again.

“What a load of crap,” Lonnie said. “That kid's a killer.”

“He says he was home in bed when the killing was going down.”

“So what?”

“I don't know. I'd like to take a look at his room. Maybe there's something there you missed.”

“We never checked out the kid's bedroom. Why would we? I'm sure it has a bed. That doesn't mean he was sleeping in it on the night of the murder.”

I shrugged. “I'd still like to take a look.” I pulled out my cell, called Charlie Boyce and told him to meet me at the Taylor house.

Lonnie was shaking his head. “Dan will never let you in without a warrant, Chief. He already thinks we're out to get his kid. Turns out he's a conspiracy nut.”

“We'll see.”

We got to see even sooner than I thought. Dan was at the front desk berating Lily Holdgate, the State Police dispatch officer. Lily had known Dan all his life and had learned to let the bluster jostle past her like a joggers on the bike path.

“I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation, Daniel,” she was saying as we walked up to them. Dan spun on Lonnie, cutting off Lily and ignoring me.

“What the hell is going on, Fraker? Mason's letter about police violence must have really hit a nerve!”

“His—what? I don't read the newspaper, Dan. Neither does anyone else. They buy the
Inky
for the classifieds, that's it. And that man on the street feature. That's fun.”

“Then what is this about?”

“Try murder. Your son just confessed.”

“You useless retarded piece of—”

He grabbed at Lonnie, but the tall Statie danced backward a few steps and Dan stumbled. I took his arm.

“We have to talk.”

“Stay out of this.”

“I want to help Mason, Dan. I'm on your side and it looks like I'm the only one.”

“This miserable little prick is trying to frame my son!” He wrenched himself around, face-to-face with Lonnie again. “Is Mason back there? I demand to see my son.”

“No way. Not until the bail hearing.”

“Come on, Dan,” I said, tugging him back toward the door. “There's nothing you can do here.”

“No, goddamn it! I'm not going to let—”

“It's not up to you. Keep fighting with Lonnie and you'll wind up in jail yourself. Your best move is—calm down and think. Come on, let's go. Now.”

He let me lead him out of the station, still blustering. I told him my plan, such as it was, on the short walk to his car, parked on the grassy verge of North Liberty Street.

“How will seeing Mason's room help anything?” he demanded.

“I have no idea. That's why I want to look.”

“I don't get it. I need to call a lawyer.”

“Yes, you do. Meanwhile, Mason was at home in bed when the murder happened. It would be nice if we could prove that.”

He shook his head. “With a dated diary entry?”

“How about a time-stamped e-mail?”

“Did he say he was online?”

“He said he was sleeping.”

“So he was e-mailing in his sleep?”

“He might have the time wrong. It's worth a look.”

“We can't even get into his computer. It's password-protected.”

Dan climbed into his car. I slapped the roof. “Go home. Charlie Boyce will be there. Leave him alone and let him snoop. I'll meet you at the house in a few minutes.”

“Chief…”

I leaned into the open window, and pressed his shoulder. “I know Mason didn't do this.”

He spoke to the steering wheel. “Thank you.”

I walked back to the State Police HQ, brushed past Lonnie and stepped into the interview room. I told Mason what I wanted. He swore me to secrecy. I told him I might have to share his password with other law enforcement personnel as well as the prosecution if the case ever came to trial. That didn't matter to him.

“Anyone but my dad,” he said.

“You got it.”

***

Charlie and Dan Taylor were both standing in Mason's bedroom when I got there five minutes later. Dan's wife, Marian, hovered in the doorway. She looked like she was afraid to step inside, as if she might ruin some saving scrap of evidence with a false step. Or maybe she just wanted to keep her distance from Dan.

Charlie gave me a hapless shrug.

“Nothing?” I asked him.

“I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for. I thought maybe…a midnight snack? And some forensics hotshot could tell when the kid ate it by testing the bread crusts. You know…bread goes stale at a certain rate, so…”

“Nice thought.”

“We don't allow eating after eight o'clock at night,” Marian said from the doorway “I always tell him, the eating box is closed.'”

“Yeah, so…I don't know,' Charlie said.

I went into Mason's twenty-seven-inch display iMac. I also noticed a thirteen-inch MacBook air on the bed. The room had its own little flat screen, hooked up to an X-Box. No one could say Mason suffered a deprived childhood. He had a whole little digital world set up here.