Doc shuddered, touched his hair. “I’m not bald.”
“No, so you wore a cap over your hair to protect you from the blood splatter. And you’d know to protect yourself, Dr. Richards. After all, you’re a surgeon, you’re used to blood, right?”
Doc shook his head slowly, back and forth, licking his cracked lips. “Why are you saying these things to me? This is all crazy.”
Arturo, his voice soft now, leaned forward again. “She’d already cut you loose, hadn’t she? Or was about to. You knew it and it burned you, destroyed everything you felt for her. She’d made you feel worthless, like less than nothing, but you held it together. You went to work as usual, but what she’d done festered. You’d given her two years of your life, supported her even though you hated what she was doing. So what if you wanted more for her, you were only being honest, right? That gave her no right to kick you aside. It gnawed at you, deep down, and then you remembered the serial killer who’d just killed again in Las Vegas and how you’d worried about him attacking Deborah. And then it came to you—what better cover was there? You knew he cut their throats. You could do that easily.
“I know you didn’t take your car. There are cameras in the parking lot. Your car stayed put, which means you ran back to Deborah’s house, not a problem for you. You’re an athlete, a surfer, you can run. You gathered everything you needed, waited for your chance to tell everyone you were taking a nap in the on-call room, but you ran home, instead, and broke in like a burglar would, like the serial killer did. Deborah was asleep, as you expected her to be. She must have looked beautiful lying there, but I guess it didn’t matter anymore, you hated the faithless bitch’s guts.”
Arturo leaned close, his voice dropped to a near whisper. “Tell me, Doctor, how did it feel when you sliced open her throat?”
Doc was shuddering like a palsied man, sobbing, shaking his head back and forth.
“Before you closed her eyes, did you see her confusion, her horror, her terror?”
Doc was no longer shuddering, no longer sobbing. He sat silent, frozen, tears pooling in his eyes, and yet again he started shaking his head. “Why are you saying these things to me? I did nothing to her—I loved her; she loved me. I did close her eyes, I told that agent I did, I couldn’t bear looking into her eyes and knowing I’d failed her, I wasn’t there to protect her. I did not kill her. If you don’t believe me, I don’t know what else I can say or do.”
“I know what you can do. You can take a lie detector test.”
The pain left Doc’s eyes, replaced by—what? Fear? Doc said, “I didn’t think you were using lie detectors anymore, not accurate enough.”
“Maybe not for court, but accurate enough for us. You’re in our crosshairs now, Doctor, our prime suspect. You could save yourself and us all a lot of trouble if you take it and pass.”
Doc said, “Yes, all right, I will. I did not murder Deborah and I’ll prove to you I’m not lying.”
“Good choice, Doctor. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You want a cup of coffee?”
56
* * *
Cam shook Arturo’s hand. “Good job getting him to go for the polygraph. I thought he’d be too smart for that.”
Arturo gave her a twisted smile. “It’s possible he might beat it. He’s a doctor, knows how it works, knows the physiology. But if he’s hiding something that might not be enough.”
“You have someone good?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah, I do. Buzz Quigley, and he’s here in the building. I’ll bring him back with his machine, set him up in the interview room. I’ll need a few minutes, though, to write out some questions he needs to ask.”
Cam called after him. “We’ll get Doc the coffee, talk to him a bit.”
“Have at it,” Arturo called back. “The recording equipment’s still running.”
Cam and Daniel walked in together, said hello to Doc as if nothing unusual was happening. Cam placed a cardboard cup of black coffee in front of Doc. “You like it black, right?”
“Yes, sure.” He looked exhausted. He took a wary sip, nodded to himself, and drank more. He paused, seemed to collect himself, and drank again.
Daniel said, “Here at the Santa Monica Police Department, you get to drink Peet’s, not the usual bitter burned stuff so popular in cop shops. Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Doc looked back and forth between them. “I’m going to take a lie detector test. Of course you already know that. You were standing on the other side of that mirror, watching and listening, right? That’s the way you do things.”
“Right,” Cam said, and pulled out a chair and sat down. “Doc, I know this is a really tough time for you, and I’m sorry we have to ask you these questions. But there’s still a killer out there, and you did withhold information from us, so now we have to follow up. You understand?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Tell me, Doc, how well do you know Gloria Swanson?”
A small smile bloomed, briefly, then fell off his face. “Deborah knew her, thought she was a kick, and smart, too, as focused as Deborah is—was. I mean, she kept that name of hers. She was actually going to try to trade on it.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Daniel said.
Doc drank more coffee. “Sure, I guess. Anyway, she’s a nice girl. I’m sure she competed with Deborah on lots of parts. I myself don’t know her that well at all.”
“Have you seen the news that she barely escaped being the seventh murder victim?”
He gaped at them. “Gloria? When? Is she all right?”
“Last night,” Cam said. “And yes, she is.”
“So she escaped? Good for her.”
“You didn’t know?” Daniel asked.
“No, I haven’t been watching much news lately. Since Deborah died, I’ve been on leave from the hospital, at home in my old place, mostly. I haven’t paid much attention. I spoke to Deborah’s parents this morning, Agent Wittier, about her body being released on Monday. They’re making funeral arrangements.” He shook his head. “Isn’t it odd how your world can come to a dead stop and the world outside keeps on going around you? I’m glad Gloria’s okay.”
Cam said, “Do you know where Gloria lives?”