Free The Art of Deception by Ridley Pearson Page B

She went to sleep later than me and got up earlier. Probably headed straight for a coffeehit, a Seattle’s Best, down a few blocks. You should check with them. Right? They open at six, and she’s always one of the first through the door.”
    “So her clothes were gone,” LaMoia stated. “In the morning, I’m talking about—when you woke up, whatever else she’d been wearing—those clothes were gone?”
    “What clothes? How the fuck would I know?” Clearly flustered, Neal shook his arms in front of himself as if his hands had gone to sleep. “She wore them to bed, that’s all I’m saying.”
    LaMoia reviewed his notes. “A moment ago you said you fell asleep after having sex with Ms. Walker. That you fell asleep
after
the sex. Now you’re saying she wore panties to bed? Can you be more precise?”
    “She wore them to bed
before
I took them off her.” He added, “And that would have been
after
the sports,
after
the hummer, to be
more precise.”
    “And what clothes if any, did she leave behind at your apartment that morning?”
    “She’s the one picks up, not me.”
    LaMoia said irritably, “So you’re saying she cleaned house that morning, before she left for the coffee?”
    “Listen, she had clothes at my place, okay? How the fuck do I know what was there and what wasn’t? She lived there with me, don’t forget. Right? Clothes? What? On the floor or something? How the hell would I know?”
    Matthews thought the story was getting away from him. The little pauses. The rapid eye movement. She excused herself and left the conference room, returning a few minutes later with autopsy photographs of two different women.
    She wasn’t hoping to win a confession, to cause some Perry Mason moment in which Langford Neal hung his head, weeping, and detailed the events of that night. She did, however, intend to run Neal through a litmus test. If she came away with anything,she hoped to at least identify his lies and to make sense of his motivations for telling them. Making a legal case was not her responsibility. All that she wanted was the truth. Until the attorneys were invited in—Neal had yet to request one—she could basically say anything she wanted, could match him lie for lie. She knew how to use her looks against guys like Neal. Just before reentering the conference room, she tucked in her blouse and squared her shoulders, emphasizing her chest. Let him look all he wanted to. Let him be distracted.
    She placed the photos in front of Neal. LaMoia knew they’d made the handoff—Neal now belonged to her. She said, “We had a similar fatality last year. Also a young, attractive woman. We’re investigating possible connections.”
    “The connections being bridges and water,” Neal said.
    “And/or the men these women dated.”
    “You’re looking at me for some head case that jumped off a bridge a year ago?”
    “No, we’re looking at you for Mary-Ann Walker, Mr. Neal.” She made a stage show of looking over at LaMoia. “Who said anything about Mary-Ann jumping?”
    “Not me,” LaMoia answered.
    “Nor did I,” Matthews said.
    “Try the papers, the television,” Neal protested.
    Matthews said, “Mary-Ann Walker did not jump, Mr. Neal.”
    “But you just said—”
    “She was beaten badly, possibly raped, and subsequently was discovered in water wearing a torn thong underwear and a cotton camisole top—just exactly as you’ve now described for us. How she arrived into that water remains under investigation.”
    Neal lost the shit-eating grin.
    “You’re clearly a smart man,” she lied. “A man who understands women. You don’t have to tell me that some women get themselves into difficult spots. Make promises and change theirminds. Get a little too drunk and ask for it and then beg off the sex with the old headache excuse. They cocktease a guy and then refuse to put out.”
    LaMoia did a double take on Matthews.
    Neal looked uncertain.
    “Right?” Matthews said.
    “Yeah, sure.