Nemesis by Bill Pronzini Page A

quiet, claimed one of four straight-backed metal chairs. Whitehead sat in a loose sprawl in another; he had a dragged-out, stale look at the tag end of his shift. Rodriguez began fiddling with the video equipment, scowling as if he were in a temper. Neither inspector could have felt half as dragged out, stale, and short-tempered as Runyon did.
    The room was identical to the last one he and Dragovich had been in, when they were working to cut Bryn loose after her false confession to the murder of her son’s abuser. Same metal table and chairs, same four bare walls—one of the cubicles without the two-way mirror. The only thing different from that time, and all the other times he’d been shut up inside similar interrogation rooms, was that now he was the one in the hot seat, with a video camera aimed at him.
    For the record, Rodriguez stated the date, time, and nature of the crime, and identified Runyon, Dragovich, Sutton, Whitehead, and himself. Then they got down to it.
    They let Runyon make his statement first, without interruption. He told it all in relevant detail, from his first meeting with Verity Daniels through all the steps of his manipulated investigation to the events of the night before, stressing how he received the wound on his neck.
    As soon as he was finished, Sutton asked the obvious first question. “Why would a wealthy woman like Ms. Daniels concoct such a melodramatic hoax?”
    â€œBoredom, I suppose. A way to generate some excitement in her life, get attention.”
    â€œShe tell you that?”
    â€œNo. She was too furious to admit anything.”
    â€œShe claims the extortion calls, all the threats are real.”
    â€œSure she does. The rest of her story falls apart otherwise.”
    â€œYou have any proof she didn’t get those calls?”
    â€œNo. Not any more than she has proof that she did.”
    Rodriguez, leaning against the wall now with his arms folded: “Let’s get back to last night. According to your story, she called and told you she’d been attacked by a masked intruder.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd begged you to come to her apartment. That’s the word you used, right? Begged?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy did you go if you didn’t believe her?”
    â€œAll I had at that point were suspicions,” Runyon said. “It was possible she was telling the truth, and I was still working for her—I had to be sure one way or the other.”
    Whitehead asked, “What made you suspicious?”
    â€œThe tight security in her building, for one thing. It wasn’t likely any uninvited or unannounced stranger could have gotten in. The security guard on the desk confirmed it. George something.”
    â€œHaxner. That’s why you asked him all the questions about security?”
    â€œAnd about Ms. Daniels’s state of mind when he talked to her, yes.”
    Sutton: “She denies there was a man in a ski mask with a knife. Denies she called you, says it was the other way around. You called her and invited yourself over—told her you had some new information on the extortion attempt.”
    Runyon said carefully, “I don’t lie to clients for any reason, or involve myself personally with them in any way.”
    â€œNot even good-looking women like Ms. Daniels?”
    â€œNot anybody.”
    â€œRich, too. Rich and attractive. Two good reasons to come on to her.”
    Dragovich said, “My client has already stated that he doesn’t involve himself personally with his clients.”
    Sutton ignored him. He said to Runyon, “She says you started coming on to her from the first. More and more aggressively every time you saw or talked to her, until last night you made a direct pass. When she said no, you grabbed her and started pawing her. Told her if she didn’t put out you’d walk away and let the extortionist have her.”
    The anger began to climb in