Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [6]
Ever since he could remember, Lee had an unusual ability to “read” people. He used to think that everyone could do this, and it wasn’t until after his training in psychology that he had realized how uncommon his gift was. He studied aspects of human behavior in textbooks explaining things he had always known instinctively. He could see into people—into their souls, so to speak.
Now, looking at the scared young man sitting in front of him, Lee was quite certain that the boy was not guilty of his girlfriend’s murder.
Detective Butts entered the room with two paper cups of coffee and slid one across the scarred Formica table to the boy.
“Thought maybe you could use one too,” he said, sitting down across from him. “Hope you take it regular.”
In western New Jersey, where Lee grew up, “regular” meant milk, no sugar, but in New York City, regular coffee always included a liberal amount of sugar.
“Thank you,” the boy replied in a small voice, but he didn’t touch the coffee. Butts flipped back the plastic lid of his own cup with a well-practiced gesture and slurped it noisily.
“That’s better,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He appeared to be enjoying himself. “I hate to start the day without it, y’know?”
The young man stared at Butts, his face still frozen in fear. He reminded Lee of a fox he had once seen cornered—the animal had the same expression of wariness and creeping panic. This interrogation was going to be a waste of time; he knew Butts was showing off for him, trying to impress him with interrogative skills. First soften him up, become his friend, then close in for the kill. This technique seemed so obvious to Lee that he couldn’t imagine any criminal—even the simplest shoplifter—not seeing right through it. This kid was no criminal, though, and he figured that Butts knew this—but procedure was procedure. You had to jump through the right hoops.
“Okay,” the detective said, setting his coffee down and glancing at a file on the table, “Mr…. Winters. Rough luck, by the way—sorry about what happened to your girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” Winters responded softly.
“Can I call you Ralph?”
“Okay,” the boy answered, his voice still barely above a whisper. Lee had the impulse to intervene, but that was out of the question. This was Butts’s investigation, and the last thing he wanted was to alienate the burly detective.
Ralph sat staring at the untouched coffee in front of him, as a thin ribbon of steam spiraled upward through a tiny hole in the lid.
“Okay, Ralph,” Butts said, “why don’t you tell me anything you can think of that might help?”
Ralph gulped twice, his Adam’s apple rising and falling sharply in his thin throat. He appeared to be on the verge of tears.
“Says here you’re a chem major,” Butts continued, maybe to save Ralph the embarrassment of tears. Whatever his motive was, it apparently worked. The boy leaned forward, and his eyes seemed to focus on Butts for the first time. He reached for the coffee, his hand trembling.
“Yeah. Organic chemistry. I’m studying to be a pathologist.” He took a sip of coffee.
“Oh, really?” Butts’s tone was friendly, jocular. “You interested in forensics?”
“Uh, I want to specialize in diseases, actually.”
“Well, well,” Butts replied, smiling. “How ’bout that? You gotta be real smart to do that kinda stuff, I know that much. Me, I was no good in science. I envy guys like you.”
Ralph seemed suspicious of this attempt to butter him up. He sat looking at Butts, his hands wrapped around the paper coffee cup.
“So, Ralph, what can you tell me?” Butts said, his tone indicating it was time to get down to business. “How long have you known Marie?”
“Since last semester. We, uh—we were in the same comparative lit class.”
Butts frowned. “But you’re a science major.”
“It’s a required course. I need it to graduate.”
Butts cocked his head to one side. “I get it. And Marie was a religion major?”
“Comparative religion, yeah. She wanted to teach