They waited outside Neil's apartment, having gotten his address from his parole officer. They didn't arrest him, just told him they needed him to come in for questioning. Neil really didn't understand why the insurance company would need to talk to him, but he climbed into the back seat of the SUV and happily chatted away during the ride.
Alex pulled into their space at One Police Plaza and shut off the engine. Both detectives got out, and Bobby pulled open the back door, waiting for Neil to climb out.
"I . . .I don't understand," Neil stammered, "what are we doing here?"
"This is our office."
"Why does the police station have an insurance office?"
"Insurance?" Alex asked.
"Neil," Bobby began, his voice quiet, as if explaining something to a child, "we're not with the insurance company, we're cops."
"Cops?!" Bobby and Alex could feel Neil's panic rising.
"We just want to talk to you." Alex said as Bobby reached a hand into the back seat, coaxing Neil to get out of the truck.
Inside the interrogation room, Neil sat, first wringing his hands together, then raking his fingers through his hair. He stared at his reflection, talking quietly to himself. His lips moved, but his words were too quiet to be heard by Bobby, Alex and Deakins who were watching from the other side of the mirror as Neil's apprehension grew. It didn't take long before they knew he was close to his breaking point, and the time for questioning had arrived.
"Don't I get a phone call?" Neil asked before Bobby had even shut the door behind him.
"You're not under arrest." Alex told him, sitting on top of the table near him.
"I'm not?"
"Have you done something you should be arrested for?" Bobby asked.
"Uh . . . .No."
"Well, then why would you be under arrest?"
"Then I can go home?" Neil asked, a whining tone in his voice.
"Sure you can." Alex told him.
Neil smiled at her, a smile of relief, and stood. "But first," Bobby said, reaching across the table, pushing Neil back down in his seat, "we want to ask you a few questions."
Neil sat, heavily, ran his fingers through his hair, and began pulling at it.
"You know Charles Parker?" Alex asked him.
"No."
"Then why did you go to his house this afternoon?" Alex asked
"And why were you there at one o'clock in the morning?" Bobby added, right on the heels of Alex's question.
"I . . ."
"You . . .you what?"
"Yes, I know him."
"You've known him since high school." Bobby said, it wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Why were you there this afternoon?" Alex leaned in, closer.
"Because we're friends, don't you go to your friends houses sometimes?"
"Not at one in the morning, I don't." Bobby said, and stood up, walking around the table, hovering behind Neil's chair. "Why did you go over there in the middle of the night?"
"He called, and asked me to come over."
"I'll bet he was angry that you killed the wrong woman, wasn't he?" Alex asked.
"Yeah. . .I mean, no, I didn't kill anyone, I don't know what you're talking about."
Bobby bent down, his mouth at Neil's ear. "He was mad because you accidentally killed Connie, wasn't he? But you didn't know. He didn't tell you they were twins, did he? You saw Connie, at the gym, where Charles told you Cynthia would be, so you logically thought it was her." Neil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Bobby ignored it and continued. "Then when you found out it was the wrong woman, you . . .you followed Cynthia from the gym, and killed her."
Alex took over, leaning in even more. "You killed Cynthia because you didn't want Charles mad at you for killing the wrong woman, you thought he'd never find out about Connie. . . but he did, and he was mad, wasn't he? He was mad that you killed Connie."
Bobby straightened himself to his full height, looming over Neil. "Yes." Neil said, his voice so low it was barley audible. "He was still mad."
*****
Charles quickly checked his reflection in the hallway mirror before answering the doorbell. The smile he wore fell as he saw who it was on his front step. "Detectives. What else can I do for you?"
"You can turn around and put your hands on behind your back." Alex said, as she grabbed his wrist, wrenching it and turning Charles around in one fluid motion.
"What . . ?" Charles stammered.
"We've talked to Neil." Bobby said, bending slightly to look Charles in the eye. "He's told us everything."
"He's lying . . ." he winced as the handcuffs clicked tight. "I never hired him to kill Cynthia . . ."
Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder, steering him outside and down the steps. "If you didn't hire him, how is it that you know what he told us?"
Charles stopped suddenly in the middle of the steps, and stared blankly at Bobby. "I want a lawyer."
Alex pulled into their space at One Police Plaza and shut off the engine. Both detectives got out, and Bobby pulled open the back door, waiting for Neil to climb out.
"I . . .I don't understand," Neil stammered, "what are we doing here?"
"This is our office."
"Why does the police station have an insurance office?"
"Insurance?" Alex asked.
"Neil," Bobby began, his voice quiet, as if explaining something to a child, "we're not with the insurance company, we're cops."
"Cops?!" Bobby and Alex could feel Neil's panic rising.
"We just want to talk to you." Alex said as Bobby reached a hand into the back seat, coaxing Neil to get out of the truck.
Inside the interrogation room, Neil sat, first wringing his hands together, then raking his fingers through his hair. He stared at his reflection, talking quietly to himself. His lips moved, but his words were too quiet to be heard by Bobby, Alex and Deakins who were watching from the other side of the mirror as Neil's apprehension grew. It didn't take long before they knew he was close to his breaking point, and the time for questioning had arrived.
"Don't I get a phone call?" Neil asked before Bobby had even shut the door behind him.
"You're not under arrest." Alex told him, sitting on top of the table near him.
"I'm not?"
"Have you done something you should be arrested for?" Bobby asked.
"Uh . . . .No."
"Well, then why would you be under arrest?"
"Then I can go home?" Neil asked, a whining tone in his voice.
"Sure you can." Alex told him.
Neil smiled at her, a smile of relief, and stood. "But first," Bobby said, reaching across the table, pushing Neil back down in his seat, "we want to ask you a few questions."
Neil sat, heavily, ran his fingers through his hair, and began pulling at it.
"You know Charles Parker?" Alex asked him.
"No."
"Then why did you go to his house this afternoon?" Alex asked
"And why were you there at one o'clock in the morning?" Bobby added, right on the heels of Alex's question.
"I . . ."
"You . . .you what?"
"Yes, I know him."
"You've known him since high school." Bobby said, it wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Why were you there this afternoon?" Alex leaned in, closer.
"Because we're friends, don't you go to your friends houses sometimes?"
"Not at one in the morning, I don't." Bobby said, and stood up, walking around the table, hovering behind Neil's chair. "Why did you go over there in the middle of the night?"
"He called, and asked me to come over."
"I'll bet he was angry that you killed the wrong woman, wasn't he?" Alex asked.
"Yeah. . .I mean, no, I didn't kill anyone, I don't know what you're talking about."
Bobby bent down, his mouth at Neil's ear. "He was mad because you accidentally killed Connie, wasn't he? But you didn't know. He didn't tell you they were twins, did he? You saw Connie, at the gym, where Charles told you Cynthia would be, so you logically thought it was her." Neil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Bobby ignored it and continued. "Then when you found out it was the wrong woman, you . . .you followed Cynthia from the gym, and killed her."
Alex took over, leaning in even more. "You killed Cynthia because you didn't want Charles mad at you for killing the wrong woman, you thought he'd never find out about Connie. . . but he did, and he was mad, wasn't he? He was mad that you killed Connie."
Bobby straightened himself to his full height, looming over Neil. "Yes." Neil said, his voice so low it was barley audible. "He was still mad."
*****
Charles quickly checked his reflection in the hallway mirror before answering the doorbell. The smile he wore fell as he saw who it was on his front step. "Detectives. What else can I do for you?"
"You can turn around and put your hands on behind your back." Alex said, as she grabbed his wrist, wrenching it and turning Charles around in one fluid motion.
"What . . ?" Charles stammered.
"We've talked to Neil." Bobby said, bending slightly to look Charles in the eye. "He's told us everything."
"He's lying . . ." he winced as the handcuffs clicked tight. "I never hired him to kill Cynthia . . ."
Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder, steering him outside and down the steps. "If you didn't hire him, how is it that you know what he told us?"
Charles stopped suddenly in the middle of the steps, and stared blankly at Bobby. "I want a lawyer."