Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [117]
“I really appreciate having a chance to speak with you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have agreed to do it if it weren’t for Mac Smith,” she said.
Brixton nodded his thanks in Smith’s direction as Mitzi walked away.
A half hour later, after the caterers had performed the cleanup in what seemed a matter of minutes, only Mac, Annabel, Mitzi, and Brixton remained. Mac led them into Annabel’s office, where four chairs arranged in a tight semicircle awaited. Mitzi’s nervousness was apparent. She crossed one leg over the other and it was in constant motion. Her fingers kept going to her face when they weren’t tapping out a rhythm only she could hear on the arms of the chair.
“I suggest that Bob start,” Smith said to Mitzi, “by telling you what his investigation has led him to conclude. Let’s hear him out before asking questions or challenging what he has to say.”
Mitzi’s sigh was contemptuous, but she agreed.
Brixton had many times gone over how he intended to put it to Mitzi. He wanted to make it as easy as possible, to say it in a way that would acknowledge that he knew that his conclusions would be painful for her. On the other hand, he didn’t want to come off as being unsure of his findings, and hoped that he could find a comfortable middle ground.
He spoke for ten minutes. Mitzi tried to protest a few times but Mac kept things on track. When Brixton was done—he made it clear that he believed that it was Mitzi who’d stabbed the young man in Augie’s parking lot and that she (or her father) had arranged to pay off Louise Watkins to take responsibility—he sat back and waited for her reaction.
It was slow in coming. She squirmed in her chair as though to find a more comfortable position, and made a series of false starts. From her posture he assumed that she would issue a flat denial of everything he’d said. But to his surprise she suddenly smiled at him. He returned it.
“I assume you’ve already gone to the press with your suppositions,” she said, struggling to inject calm into her voice. “A reporter called me about it.”
“Yes, I’ve spoken with someone from the press,” Brixton acknowledged. “But it’s not my intention to turn this into a media story. I just want to be able to tell my client, Ms. Watkins’ mother, that her daughter didn’t stab the man at Augie’s. That’s important to her, which I’m sure you can understand.”
“Because I’m a mother?” Mitzi said. “I don’t have children.”
“As a human being,” Brixton said.
His comment caused her to draw a deep breath. She looked as though she might break down and cry. After a few more steadying breaths, she said, “I did not stab anyone, Mr. Brixton.”
Brixton looked at Mac and Annabel before saying, “Then did your friend, Jeanine Montgomery, now Jeanine Jamison, actually stab the man?” He started to explain how he’d come to that possible conclusion but she waved him off. “It was all an accident, Mr. Brixton. Good God, do you think Jeanine would do such a thing deliberately?”
“No,” Brixton said.
“We were foolish teenage girls, unsure of who we were. We came from good families. We were raised to respect life and to try to make this a better world. Jeanine’s parents had high hopes for her. So did mine. Is it so difficult to understand why our parents would do everything under heaven and earth to protect their daughters? Do you have daughters, Mr. Brixton?”
“Two.”
“Well?”
“Sure,” Brixton said, “I’d go to great lengths to protect them, but it wouldn’t include seeing an innocent young girl spend four years in prison for something she didn’t do. She was paid off to, as you say, ‘protect’ you and Jeanine. But nobody protected her. She was vulnerable. Ten thousand bucks was like hitting a mega-lottery for her. She was a hooker and a drug dealer, a disposable human being in the scheme of things.” He felt his anger level rise and fought to keep it under control.
“Is there anything else you wish to say?” Mitzi asked.
“Then you are confirming that Louise Watkins was paid to take the rap for you,” Brixton said.
Mitzi said nothing.
“Or take the rap for the first