26
Randall Haight and I stood at the door to the meeting room. From inside we could hear the sound of men’s voices, and I thought I recognized Gordon Walsh’s dulcet tones.
‘Are you ready for this, Randall?’ I asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
I opened the door with my left hand, and patted Haight on the shoulder with my right, although it was as much a means of giving him an extra push over the threshold if required as it was a gesture of reassurance.
Chief Allan gave a muffled grunt as Haight entered the meeting room, but it was the only sound that anyone made. Haight took a seat beside Aimee on one side of the table, facing Allan, Gordon Walsh, and Soames. Engel and his fellow agent had taken two seats by the window, slightly apart from the main group. I sat against the wall and listened.
Walsh made the introductions for his side, and slid a recording device closer to Haight, who gave his name for the record. There were notebooks open and ready. Once Haight had settled into his chair, Aimee asked him to tell everyone, in his own words and in his own time, why he was there.
He began haltingly, but as he went on he grew a little more confident, and stumbled less. He kept his hands clasped in front of him, untangling his fingers only to take an occasional sip of water. His story began with the circumstances surrounding the death of Selina Day, his sentencing and imprisonment, and his eventual move to Pastor’s Bay. There was nothing in it that I hadn’t already heard, and he was interrupted only twice, once by Walsh and once by Allan, to clear up minor points. He then described receiving the succession of missives that had led him to this room. When he had finished, Aimee produced a number of sealed plastic bags, each containing an envelope and its contents, and handed them over to Walsh.
Only Engel appeared disengaged from what we had heard. I could see him zoning out shortly after Haight started speaking. This was of no use to Engel. His interest didn’t lie in an old killing far from the Northeast. It didn’t even lie in the safe return of Anna Kore. Engel wanted Tommy Morris, and Randall Haight’s disclosures would bring that consummation no closer.
Walsh asked if he and his colleagues could be excused in order to consult for a time, but Aimee offered instead to take Haight and me into her office until they were ready to resume. Haight went to the restroom, and while he was gone Aimee raised an eyebrow at me and said, ‘Well?’
‘He was as good as could be expected, and they let him talk. The next part will be more difficult for him.’
‘I know.’
Despite all her warnings, Aimee knew that we would have to expose Haight to a certain amount of aggressive questioning. It was like cleansing a wound: It was better to get it done all at once than in small painful increments.
Haight returned.
‘How did I do?’ he asked.
‘You did fine, Randall,’ said Aimee. ‘We both thought so.’
He was relieved, and not only because we felt that the first part of the interview had gone well. He had something of the spiritual lightness of a penitent who has recently unburdened himself of his sins and been absolved. He had told his story and no one had reacted with obvious disgust or anger. He was not cuffed, and he had not been pilloried. He had confronted that which he most feared, and he had survived thus far.
‘The FBI man, Mr. Engel, was in the restroom when I went in,’ said Haight.
‘Did he speak to you?’ I asked.
‘No, he just nodded. I couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t seem very interested in what I was saying.’ Haight sounded mildly offended.
‘Maybe you weren’t what he was expecting,’ said Aimee.
‘But what was he expecting?’ asked Haight, and I raised my hand gently at Aimee in warning. This was not an area that we needed to explore with the client; not yet, not until the next stage of the interview process had been concluded, but Haight wasn’t a fool. He sensed that there was a disparity between what we knew and what he was being told.
We were saved by a knock on the door. Aimee’s assistant stuck his head in to say that they were ready for us.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ I told Haight. ‘I promise that it doesn’t involve you, and it won’t affect anything that’s said in the next room, or any question that is put to you. When we’re done, we’ll take time to go over any other relevant details, okay?’
Haight had little choice but to agree. He had come this far, and although he could have sat in Aimee’s office and refused to come out until we’d told him everything, including the truth about UFOs and who had killed Kennedy, he didn’t, largely because Aimee and I kept him moving, and by the time we were back in the meeting room it was too late for him to do anything but sit back down in his chair and wait for the questions to come.
Walsh handled the next stage. He was careful, and consistent, and studiedly neutral at the start. He went back over Haight’s story, asking many of the same questions that Aimee and I had asked of him. He clarified Haight’s movements in the years since his release and touched on the subject of Lonny Midas.
‘You have no knowledge of Lonny Midas’s current whereabouts?’ said Walsh.
‘He’s not called that anymore,’ said Haight. ‘Lonny Midas doesn’t exist, just like William Lagenheimer doesn’t exist. They gave both of us new identities so that we couldn’t contact each other even if we wanted to.’
‘So you have no reason to think that Lonny Midas might have found you?’
‘None.’
‘Were you frightened of him, Mr. Haight?’
‘A little.’
‘Are you still frightened of him now?’
Haight began tugging at a loose piece of fingernail. I could see him doing it from where I sat. He pulled so hard that I saw him wince at the pain he was inflicting on himself.
‘William Lagenheimer was,’ said Haight, ‘but Randall Haight isn’t. Do you understand the distinction, Detective? That’s why I didn’t want to come here today. I wanted to stay hidden. Nobody could find me as long as I stayed hidden.’
‘But someone has found you, Mr. Haight. Someone knows who you are. The damage has been done now.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
‘Do you have any idea who this person might be?’
‘No.’
‘Could it be Lonny Midas?’
Haight just shook his head, but his reply didn’t match the movement. ‘Lonny always bore grudges,’ he said. ‘Lonny never forgave anyone who did him a bad turn.’
‘And he bears a grudge against William Lagenheimer, because William told the cops what was done to Selina Day?’
‘I think Lonny probably hates William. He probably hates him more now than he did on the day that he told. Lonny was a brooder.’
‘Could Lonny have taken Anna Kore to frame you?’
‘Yes,’ said Haight softly. ‘That’s the kind of thing Lonny would do.’
Walsh let the subject go. He moved on to routine questions, most little more than clarifications. Haight answered them easily, and I felt him start to relax again. He grew more loquacious in his replies, giving Walsh more than was necessary to answer the questions. Walsh even cracked a small joke, something about accountancy training and jailhouse lawyers, and Haight smiled in return. Everybody was getting along just dandily. I caught Aimee’s eye and shook my head, and she interrupted Walsh’s next question.
‘I’m sorry, Detective, I just need a quick moment with my client.’
Walsh wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t object. Instead he contented himself with giving me the hard stare. I knew what he’d been doing and now he’d been caught. This was a version of ‘good cop-bad cop’ with Walsh about to slip from the first role into the second.
Aimee murmured in Haight’s ear. As she spoke to him, he glanced at Walsh, and his face assumed an expression of hurt. When the interview resumed, he was noticeably more restrained in his mode of answering.
‘Tell me about Anna Kore,’ said Walsh. ‘Did you know her?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘But you’d seen her around town? After all, Pastor’s Bay is a small place. Everybody knows everybody, right?’
‘I guess I’d seen her around.’
‘Did you know her by name?’
‘No, I’d never spoken to her.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked. Did you know her by name?’