Richard Montanari (31 page)

    Byrne
tapped the iPhone screen, selecting another photograph. This one displayed a section
of the room devoted to the Antoinette Chan case. It was a collage of clippings
from the original stories in the
Inquirer, Daily News
and the tabloid
Report,
as well as from follow-up stories when Kenneth Beckman had been
brought in for questioning.

    'I
see you are following the Antoinette Chan case,' Byrne said.

    Novak
crossed his hands in his lap, began to rub a finger over his left fist. A
classic self-touch gesture. They were getting into a discomfort zone. 'It is an
interesting case. One of many. I have research going back one hundred years.
I'm sure you'll agree, this city has no shortage of crimes against persons.'

    Byrne
held up his hands, surrendering the point. 'You'll get no argument here,' he
said. 'But let's talk about current cases first, okay?'

    Nothing.

    'What
did you find interesting about the Chan case?' Byrne asked.

    Novak
leaned back in his chair, looked down, breaking eye contact with Byrne. A
disconnect. 'It was particularly brutal, I thought. The weapon used was a claw
hammer, if I remember correctly.'

    'That's
correct.'

    'It
seems an intimate act, using such a weapon,' Novak said, looking up briefly,
then quickly away. 'A lot of passion.'

    'Do
you know a man named Kenneth Beckman?' Byrne asked.

    'No.'

    The
answer came way too fast. As soon as it left his lips, Jessica saw that Novak
knew it was the wrong move.

    'But
you went to grade school with him,' Byrne said. 'Little Kenny was in your class
from second through sixth grades.'

    'He
was?'

    'No,'
Byrne said. 'At least, I don't think he was. The point is, based on your quick
answer he
might
have been someone you knew, yet you said no without even
giving it a moment's thought. Why was that?'

    Novak
shifted in his seat. 'This man you're asking me about - I take it he was in the
photo lineup you showed me at my apartment?'

    'Yes.'

    'I
don't know anyone by that name.'

    Byrne
reached into the box, slid the photo lineup across the table. Novak looked at
it, his eyes carefully roaming across the six faces. This was clearly for show.
He shook his head.

    Byrne
jabbed the photo on the iPhone screen, enlarging it. It was a news clipping of
the Antoinette Chan case. 'You said you were doing research. What kind of
research?'

    'I'm
writing an opera.'

    'An
opera?'

    'Yes,'
Novak said. He shifted his weight again in what Jessica knew to be an
uncomfortable steel chair. 'It is an epic story of crime and punishment in this
city. It covers more than a hundred years. What you are looking at here is my
research.'

    'Some
of your research into the Antoinette Chan case named Kenneth Beckman as a
suspect.'

    Novak
hesitated. 'I can't remember every person's name. Real names are not important
to the theme of my work.'

    'What
is the theme of your work?'

    'Crime,
punishment, guilt, redemption.'

    'Kenneth
Beckman is dead.'

    Nothing.
No reaction.

    'He
was murdered,' Byrne continued. 'His body was found at the same crime scene
where Antoinette Chan was found.'

    Novak
remained silent.

    'Hell
of a twist, no?' Byrne said. 'I'm seeing that as the end of the first act.'

    Novak
looked up, a smug look on his face. It was not the look of someone with nothing
to hide but rather of one who has very carefully hidden everything.

    'If
he was involved in the murder of Antoinette Chan, I might make reference to
karma, fate, all that. None of it has anything to do with me.'

    'So
the name Kenneth Beckman means nothing to you?'

    'Nothing.'

    'What
about the name Sharon Beckman?'

    'Is
that his wife?'

    Byrne
just stared.

    Novak
fashioned a thin smile, shook his head. 'Is this the part where you say
"Did I say
wife
? I didn't say
wife.
How did you know it
wasn't his daughter or sister?" Is this where you say these things,
detective?' Novak clasped his hands in his lap. 'I saw
Sleuth.
The
original film, that is. The one with—'

    'Laurence
Olivier and Michael Caine.'

    This
time Novak's look said touche.

    'You
still haven't answered my question,' Byrne said.

    Novak
stared at the floor.

    'Mr.
Novak? Does the name Sharon Beckman mean anything to you?'

    Novak
looked up. 'No.'

    Byrne
let the exchange settle for a few moments. Then he removed the clear plastic
evidence bag containing the sample of Atriana paper.

    'Do
you recognize this?' Byrne asked.

    Novak
took the evidence bag from Byrne, held it up to the fluorescent light. The edge
of the distinctive watermark was clear.

    'I
do.'

    'Where
do you recognize it from?'

    'I'm
familiar with the line. It's called Atriana.'

    'What
is Marcato LLC?'

    Pause.
'It's a publishing company.'

    'Books?
Magazines?'

    'Music.'

    Byrne
nodded. 'And you use this paper?'

    'Yes,'
Novak said. 'I use the paper to bind special editions.'

    'Where
would I find a copy of one of these editions?'

    'They
are all over the world.'

    'When
was the last time you purchased this paper?' Byrne asked.

    'I
don't recall.'

    'If we
search your apartment will we find this paper? Maybe cut into five-inch-wide
strips?'

    'No,'
Novak said. 'All the paper I had was stolen. Someone broke into my house.'

    'Oh
yeah? When was this?'

    'Six
months ago.'

    'Did
you report it to the police?'

    'Yes.'

    Novak
was certainly smart enough to know that they would look this up. He probably
would not have said this if it weren't true. 'What else was taken?'

    'A
watch, an MP3 player.'

    'And
paper,' Byrne added.

    No
reply.

    Byrne
stared at the man for a few moments, as if commiserating with him over the
strange state of the world. 'Well, I was at your place this morning, and I have
to say that if I had broken in I would've found a few more items of value than
just a wristwatch, a Nano, and some paper. Some of your audio equipment would
go for more than a few bucks on the corner, don't you think? Pioneer Elite,
Mcintosh. This is serious jelly.'

    'I
didn't have all that equipment then.'

    'Ah,
okay,' Byrne said. 'I'm sure you still have the receipts from when you
purchased the equipment, yes? We may want to look at them.'

    Novak
remained stone-faced. 'I could probably find them.'

    'Great,'
Byrne said. 'That would help a lot.'

    Jessica
excused herself, stepped out of the interview room. She got on the phone to
West Division detectives, made her request. A few minutes later she got a fax
of the incident report. Novak was telling the truth. At least about the
break-in. She stepped back into the interview room, handed the fax to Byrne. He
read it, looked at Novak.

    'It
appears you were telling the truth,' Byrne said.

    'Imagine
that.'

    Byrne
put the fax into the binder, closed it. 'Yet you know what I find odd?'

    'What
is that?'

    'With
all your meticulous research into the Antoinette Chan case, you do not remember
the name Kenneth Beckman. His name was in the papers - on television, too.'

    Novak
shrugged. 'I must have missed it.'

    'Imagine
that.'

    'You can
see why we might be interested here, Mr. Novak.' Byrne held up the bag with the
paper sample. 'Here is an item belonging to you, and it was found at the scene
of a homicide.'

    'It
was an item
stolen
from me,' Novak said. 'And while the injustice that
was done to me pales in comparison to what was done to Mr. Beckman I am just as
much a victim in this as he.'

    Byrne
took it all in, waited a few moments. 'Sounds positively operatic.'

    For a
few moments Novak said nothing. Then, almost on cue: 'I believe we have reached
the point where I should contact my attorney.

    Among
other things, I'm sure he will be interested in the photographs you have of my
personal and private property, and how they were obtained.'

    Byrne
looked at Jessica. She held up her iPhone so that Novak could see the screen.
She tapped a few icons and a moment later they all watched the progress bar
move left to right. The images had been deleted. Byrne looked back at Novak.

    'What
photographs?' Byrne asked.

    The
two men stared at each other for a few seconds.

    'We're
almost done here,' Byrne finally said. 'If you'll excuse us for a moment.'

    Byrne
stepped out of the room, closed the door, slid home the bolt. He bumped a fist
with Jessica. They had, of course, printed the images from her iPhone before
starting the interview. In addition, while holding up her iPhone in the
interview room, she had also taken Joseph Novak's picture.

    They
met with Dana Westbrook in the coffee room. They watched Novak on the monitor.

    'Unfortunately,
this is not enough to hold him or get a search warrant,' Westbrook said.

    'We
have to consider his collage of murder stories, boss.'

    'Not
against the law last time I checked. If it was, I might be in jail myself. Last
night I watched a double feature of
Manhunter
and
The Silence of the
Lambs.''
Westbrook checked her watch. They had to be careful about how long
they kept Novak. They would soon have to charge him or let him go. They'd all
had a refresher course in this recently with the Eduardo Robles fiasco. 'Plus,
none of the snapshots would be admissible. No probable cause, and how they were
obtained would certainly be explored by any defense attorney.'

    Jessica
looked back into the room. Novak had not moved a muscle. He sat with his eyes
closed, his long legs crossed in front of him.

    'Can
we put him under surveillance?' Jessica asked.

    Westbrook
walked back to her office, returned. She had looked at the duty roster. 'I
don't have a single warm body available. There may be someone on last-out
tonight. I'll talk to the watch commander and see what I can do.'

    
Anything
could happen between now and then,
Jessica thought. Still, it was what it
was.

    'Cut
him loose,' Westbrook said.

    Before
Novak rounded the corner he stopped, as if he'd forgotten something. A few
seconds later he spun on his heels, walked briskly back, heading directly for
Jessica and Byrne.

    
What
the hell is this?
Jessica wondered.