Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [70]
“A question,” Smith said to open the discussion. “Has Jeremiah been targeted as a suspect in the murder of Nadia Zarinski?”
“No, sir,” Klayman answered. “We just want to ask him some questions about his relationship with the deceased.”
“I told you I didn’t have one!” Jeremiah said.
Smith put his hand on the young man’s arm to quiet him, and said to the detectives, “Any questions about the assault or resisting charges are off the table for now.” He looked pointedly at Johnson, who’d been on the receiving end of Jeremiah’s punch at the Millennium Arts Center. Johnson nodded.
“Okay,” Smith said, “ask away.”
SMITH, JEREMIAH, AND SENATOR LERNER had met before the detectives arrived. During that meeting, Smith told Jeremiah that he did not have to answer any of the police’s questions, and suggested that he not—“… in the event you have information about the victim, or the murder itself, that might be incriminating.”
Jeremiah had assured Smith he had no reason to not answer questions: He did not know Nadia Zarinski, had never even met her.
“Why, then, Jeremiah, are people—the police say there are two people—saying that you not only knew her, but that you’d had some sort of a romantic relationship with her?”
“I don’t know. Whoever they are, they’re liars.”
But Smith was now convinced that the only lying was coming from Jeremiah’s lips. What was the young man thinking, that by denying it, he could will it to be the truth? Deny, deny, deny, and you’ll eventually be believed? Had growing up in Washington, D.C., contributed to Jeremiah’s belief, a city where lying was routinely indulged in, and plenty of people got rich teaching others the subtle art of misinformation, so-called?
KLAYMAN ASKED THE SAME QUESTIONS while Johnson noted the answers in a small spiral pad, and received responses identical to what Jeremiah had told Smith.
“Who are the people who claim that Jeremiah knew the deceased?” Smith asked. He knew the answer about one of them, a student at American University.
“We’re not at liberty to divulge that at this point in the investigation,” Klayman replied.
“I thought you could face your accusers,” Jeremiah said. “That’s the law or something, isn’t it?”
Klayman ignored the comment and asked, “Where were you last Monday night, Mr. Lerner?”
Jeremiah didn’t respond.
“Answer the question, son,” the senator said, the first words he’d spoken since the questioning began.
“I don’t remember,” said Jeremiah. “I was home, I think.”
“In your apartment in Adams-Morgan?” Klayman asked.
“Yeah.”
“Anybody there with you, your roommate, a date, anybody?”
Jeremiah shook his head.
“Nobody to confirm you were there? Did you leave the apartment that night?”
“I don’t think so. No, I stayed there all night.”
“Last night of the long weekend?” Johnson said, looking up from his notebook. “No partying?”
Smith injected, “This isn’t a trial, gentlemen. This isn’t cross-examination. You’ve asked your questions, and he’s given you his answers. Move on.”
Klayman and Johnson glanced at each other; both were thinking the same thing: The kid’s lying.
Klayman continued. “Would you be willing to appear in a lineup, Mr. Lerner?”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Smith said. Did they have a witness to the murder? he wondered. “Next?” he said.
Before Klayman could ask another question, Senator Lerner left the desk, came around behind Jeremiah, and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I believe we’ve been extremely cooperative, gentlemen,” he said in measured tones, as though beginning a speech on the Senate floor. “But I think it’s time for this to end. Are there any last-minute questions you have, any final pieces of business? If not, I’d appreciate my son and I being left alone.”
Klayman and Johnson said nothing for a few moments. Klayman looked at Smith, whose posture and