Chapter Thirty-Three
Detective Sloan heard about the wedding the same way as most everyone else in the country did. Pre, during, and post wedding coverages filled front pages all around. From comments about how beautiful the bride looked to open lamentations about how the former philanderer decided to settle down, every news outlet had enough fodder to share with its respective audience.
What surprised Sloan the most was there was no single mention of how the two prevailing story lines in the news intersected. Except for the casual mention of a college connection, nothing was said about Caroline and her friendship to Alyson. Was it an omission or deliberate attempt at obfuscating the truth?
It had been made clear to him Sloan wanted to talk to Caroline he had better have more concrete evidence than the testimony of someone who is in direct contact with the events of the day. The question was, as he looked on mesmerized by the well-orchestrated imagery of the ceremony and wondering about his own misfortune in never finding a significant other, to what extent he was willing to push his luck with the impending interrogation of Keith Lloyd.
Long before Sloan got enamored with his job and getting bad guys pay for their misdeeds, he had a clear sense of his manhood. For whatever reason unknown to him, he seemed to attract the wrong kind of a woman. He was a magnet for trouble and every encounter ended up being transactional affair. He had his serious doubts whether of any of them rose to the level of romance. Nothing compared to the delight of catching someone in a lie. Seeing them squirm as their brain makes a feeble effort at eluding his capture.
Sloan had made the extraordinary request of bringing in the Lloyds for questioning on a weekend, changing his mind last minute. He couldn’t afford to wait for them to change their tune.
“Well, I sure hope we don’t make a habit of doing this.” Sloan started as he sat the father and son, lawyer and suspect team in an interrogation room. Tiny in dimension and dimly lit with no windows, not even a sign of an air duct. It made for a suffocating trap that makes the weakest of criminals sing their confessions in the hope of escaping the entrapment.
“I thought you said we’re not expected here until next week.”
“I changed my mind. Do you have a problem with that?” The gloves were coming off, and Sloan was ready to play hardball to get to the truth.
“The difference is, well two differences, one crystal clear evidence that Keith Lloyd’s DNA was found on the body of the deceased. I could get you locked up for that alone. The only thing that is saving you, of course, is the testimony you gave incriminating a number of other people. Do you want to know what I find interesting, Albert?”
“Let’s not forget there has been an immunity agreement here. My client provided information on the condition that his immunity is granted, which you agreed to. I have recorded proof of that very discussion, and I am sure any judge would be interested to hear how you manipulated my client.” Albert put forth his best argument. This wasn’t about his son anymore. This was about his professional fortitude.
“Oh, that… So, I had a linguistic expert analyze what you told me and that your client, your son here, said at an entirely different time. No two practiced actors could have done a better job. Right down to the description of events and places. There was an uncanny resemblance in your testimonies, which taken at face value would seem an earnest attempt at getting to the truth. What are we kidding ourselves with here? Do you want to know the chance of that kind of matching is less than 0.01%? That is the expert opinion. Do you want to know what the analyst said to me that made me start to wonder?”
There was quiet stare from the other side of the table on the part of the lawyer. An almost gleeful expression on the part of the client. Sloan wondered what that might be about.
“No two people can experience the same events and describe them exactly the same way. Now in your case, one experienced the events, and the other simply relayed the telling of the experience. It was as if someone burning in a fire and another looking from a sideline experienced the burning sensation the same way. Practically impossible, right? So, that leaves us with the only possibility that what you both shared with us is practiced narrative you wanted us to believe. Not judging the motive. Only stating the facts.”
Another quiet stare. Albert was calculating where this line of inquiry was heading. He realized he had made a mistake. It was a terrible mistake. One that was going to cost him everything. In his desperate hope to believe and protect his son, he allowed himself to believe the story without challenging the plausibility.
“Here is what is interesting, too. This you will appreciate, I am sure. We reviewed surveillance footage of the house. Would you like to guess what we found?” Sloan slipped in the question with a confidence of a hunter that had its prey marked. He didn’t specify which house he was talking about. There was no footage. If there were, he wouldn’t have embarrassed himself with all the stumbles in this investigation. But the difference was Keith Lloyd wouldn’t have a way of knowing. If he did, he would be a step ahead of everyone else.
“I would like to talk with my client alone,” Albert said.
“Take all the time you need. We are not leaving here until we get to the bottom of this issue.” Sloan rose from his chair and left the father and son in the tiny room, which was kept at 60 degrees cold on purpose. Everything was set up to amplify the sense of danger, and Albert was feeling the unraveling of the life he had built.
“I am sorry, dad,” Keith said as soon Sloan left the room.
“This is not the time to be sorry. What are you not telling me?”
A cold silence invaded the room. The longer it went on, the more scared Albert became.
“There is only one way out of this, son. This is not a joke. You have got to tell me the truth. Not as your father, but your lawyer who is trying to get you off the hook. Was there a party that night?”
“Yes,” Keith answered in a weak voice.
“Was the party held at the house in Newton?”
“Eh… No…”
“So you were never at the house in Newton?”
“Eh… I… was…”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was an accident, dad. She wasn’t supposed to die. I loved her very much.”
With that statement, Albert Lloyd knew the end was near. All that he had worked all his life for crumbled before his eyes… He sat next to his very own son with a broken heart. How could life be so cruel? What has he done to deserve this? He wanted to strangle his son on the spot. He wanted to die. He wanted to escape to anywhere but where his very own son was a suspect in the murder of someone with an imminent confession about the crime. He wanted to scream. What good was it going to do?
