Masked Prey (Lucas Davenport #30) - John Sandford Page 0,92
a minute away from the federal building, when Chase called to say that the would-be shooter, William Walton, had been conferring with his attorney when she called, and both were available at the federal lockup.
“They’re skeptical. We’re drafting an agreement but the Brick says he’s not signing anything until he hears what you have to say about it.”
“Brick?”
“The attorney, the PD. His name is Brett Abelman. We call him the Brick because . . . he’s like that. Former cop in Newark. He’s good.”
* * *
—
ABELMAN WAS A TALL, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man with a heavy brow ridge and a nose that had been broken more than once. He was not happy to see Lucas—and he told Bob and Rae that they’d have to wait outside the interview room. An assistant federal attorney was with him and she had an improvised confidentiality statement in her hand, ready to be signed.
Abelman was gruff. “What could you ask that hasn’t already been asked? Why should I let you speak to Mr. Walton?”
“Basically because what I’m going to ask him . . . actually, I’m going to tell him something he doesn’t know and that you don’t know, and I’m going to ask him what he thinks about it,” Lucas said. “You might be able to use it in your defense. I don’t see how any answer he gives could be used by the prosecution.”
“If you’re fucking with me, Marshal . . .”
“I’m not. I’m trying to catch the guy who shot this kid,” Lucas said. “We know it wasn’t Walton.”
“All right.” He turned to the assistant federal attorney and said, “Give me the paper, Denise. If this is a trick, you’ll all be sorry. I promise you.”
“I don’t even know what it’s about, except that I’ve got a ranking FBI agent breathing down my neck,” the woman said.
She gave Abelman the paper and the use of the back of her briefcase as a tabletop to sign it on.
“Let’s go,” Abelman said. “I keep saying . . . if this is a stunt . . .”
“Yeah, I know, you’ll have us all gelded,” Lucas said. To the assistant DA, he said, “It’d be best if this were me and Mr. Abelman and Mr. Walton.”
“I’m a very curious lawyer,” she said.
“You’ll have to be curious about something else,” Lucas said. “This is just the three of us.”
* * *
—
WALTON WAS BROUGHT into an interview room where he sat across a table from Abelman and Lucas. He was a short, thin man with lank brown hair, a round face, and a spade beard that tried to disguise a receding chin, but failed. His eyes and nose were red, as though he’d been crying, or possibly was allergic to the lockup.
Abelman had already told him that Lucas was coming. Abelman said to Lucas, “So ask.”
Lucas said to Walton, “I can reveal some details about the case that might help your defense. Specifically, might defeat any suggestion that you were part of a larger plot to kill a senator’s child. That might be important.”
Walton stirred in his chair, said nothing, glanced at Abelman. Abelman said, “Huh. Keep talking.”
“I have a preliminary question, though,” Lucas said. “This isn’t what I’m here for, but if you could answer it, I’d be willing to tell a courtroom that you cooperated on this point.”
“What’s the question?” Abelman asked.
Lucas looked at Walton. “Do you know or have you ever heard of a gun dealer named Lee Wilson?”
Abelman said, “Whoa,” but Walton put up a hand and said, “I can answer that question.”
Abelman: “You sure?”
Walton nodded and looked back at Lucas. “Yeah, I’m sure. To answer your question, no, I never heard of him. Never bought anything from him. That’s the honest to God truth.”
Lucas nodded. “Thanks. Now, this is what I really want your opinion on. What if I were to tell you that 1919 is a joke, set up by some hackers who were trying to troll the local neo-Nazis?”
Walton stared at him for a long moment, his face slowly going redder than it already was and then he said, softly, “What?”
Abelman said, “You’re telling us that . . .”
Walton half rose from his chair, eyes on Lucas, and he shouted, “What?” Spittle flew across the space between them. “It’s a joke? It’s a joke?” He looked at Abelman. “Is he fucking with me?”
“I don’t think so . . .”
“A teenager put it together, that’s why the site’s so crude,” Lucas said.
“What about the letter? You all got the letter? The letter