Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [101]
“I do remember how it was. He was always hanging around. And her, nosy old lady, she called the police on me.”
“You threatened them both,” Amanda said without flinching. “You wanted to hurt them both.”
“But I couldn’t have been the one who hurt them, could I?” He seemed to gloat. “Since I was safe and sound in here when they got whacked, wasn’t I?”
“But maybe you had a friend on the outside, one who was happy to help you tend to that unfinished business,” Sean interjected.
“I told you before, man, I ain’t got no friends.”
“Okay, Archer. So we know how you knew Derek England and Marian O’Connor. Tell me how you knew Connie Paschall.”
“Who?” Archer tilted his head to one side.
“Connie Paschall. The hairdresser down in Carleton.”
“I swear, I have no idea who you’re talking about. I swear, I don’t know a Connie whatever-her-name-is and I don’t know no hairdressers in Carleton. I don’t know nobody in Carleton.” Archer looked from Sean to Amanda to Corporal Leonard.”What is this?”
Sean opened the file and slid several color photos across the table. They stopped, as intended, directly in front of Archer.
“Oh, man, what is that?” He drew back sharply.
“That is Connie Paschall, after someone put a bullet through her head.”
“I swear, man, I do not know anything about this.” He shook his head, his face pale. He pushed back in the seat and turned his body so that he wasn’t even facing the photos. “Get them out of here. That’s so gross, man. I never seen a dead person before.”
“Vince Giordano.” Sean threw the name out there as glibly as he’d tossed out the photographs.
“Wha-what?”
“Vince Giordano. What’s he to you?” Sean leaned back in his chair.
“Nothin’, man. Don’t know him.” Lowell shook his head a little too briskly.
Sean took another photo from the file and leaned across the table to slap it down on the Formica in front of Lowell.
“What can you tell me about this man?” He tapped the photo of Vince Giordano taken right before his trial.
“Nothing.”
“Well, how about in this picture, then? You recognize him now?” Sean took out one of the photos that the Carleton police had faxed over that morning. “That photo was taken at Connie Paschall’s viewing two nights ago.”
Lowell shrugged and looked away.
“Take another look, Lowell.”
Archer Lowell leaned forward obediently and did a double take at the picture that lay before him on the table. He stared at it for a long time, then shook his head.
“I don’t know the man,” he said calmly. “Never saw him before in my life. I already said, I don’t know nobody named Giordano, and I don’t know nothin’ about these dead people.”
He looked up at the guard. “I wanna go back to my cell now. I don’t have nothin’ else to say.”
“So help me, God, Lowell, if I find out you had anything to do with this . . .” Sean’s voice was taut with emotion.
“I don’t know nothing.” Lowell stood with the help of his guard and turned to the door.
But he just couldn’t resist looking back over his shoulder and smirking, just a little, as he left the room.
“So, what do you think?” Amanda asked as she tried to keep up with Sean, who was all but racing to the assistant warden’s office.
“I think he was lying through his teeth. Oh, I think he might have been telling the truth about Connie Paschall, but he definitely recognized Giordano. In both pictures. Did you see the way he studied the picture from Paschall’s viewing? It took him a few seconds to catch on to the fact that Giordano had dyed his hair. That red would have been a dead giveaway, so Vince went to brown. The mustache, the glasses—it took Lowell a few seconds to see past those, but the minute the light went on, bingo. It was pretty obvious he recognized him.” He stopped in a doorway and added, “I’ll bet he’s a lot of fun in a poker game.”
“Can I help you?” The secretary at the desk nearest the door rose at their entry.
“I’m Chief Mercer, from Broeder. Warden McCabe said if I needed anything . . .”
“Yes, he said you might stop by.