Sitting there – smug bastard.

‘For the record’ – that’s Davey speaking – ‘I want you to state your name.’

Elegance all around, looking me right in the eye as he speaks: ‘Joshua Ben Hiller.’ Guilty as hell – not a thing on him – nothing in plain view.

Pulled him in a few hours before interrogation; doesn’t resist arrest. Lack of trouble being the first sign of trouble – Academy taught me that. Rich, aristocratic type, rumours in tabloids of homosexuality, emphatically denied by Public Relations people – just as smug as him.

I know he did it, he knows he did it. All that’s left: his admission.

Smug bastard.

‘Where were you on June seventeenth?’ Davey speaking now: rough accent, rough face. Look at them together; Jekyll and Hyde? Same facial features, close enough someone might think “related”, but you could get no further from the truth.

Davey’s rough face.

Joshua Ben Hiller’s respectable face.

A face of breeding, as my sister says every time she sees him in the paper. My reply: ‘To hell with breeding. Assholes are all the same.’ She’s romantic; belief in class equals morality.

‘I was at the theatre. I have the tickets. Holst’s Planet Suite, maybe you’ve heard of it?’ Way he’s looking at me and Davey says it all: we wouldn’t know, we’re not cultured. People like him cause doubt in statements about our classless society.

I step in, in his face: ‘Did you know Elizabeth Kress?’

‘Yes.’ Bingo, but not full house: he would be hanging himself if he denied it. Smart comes with respectable: Joshua Ben Hiller’s not some cracked up kid.

Davey: ‘What was the nature of your relationship?’ No good cop/bad cop. New game, new rules: indifferent cop/indifferent cop.

‘We were lovers.’ Again: denial equals hanging rope. All this so far is public knowledge any asshole can read anywhere. Filth-rags saying the late Lizzy Kress was a cover for his mano-a-mano night time activities. ‘Two years, in case you were wondering. Again, for your information, because I know you’ll ask, we engaged in congress perhaps twice a week. Sometimes more. Mostly at her place.’ Not common knowledge, but educated guesswork could have revealed. After all, still living with his common law wife.

‘Did she have any other partners?’ Reaction: perfectly timed flinch. Too perfect, too quick. Rehearsed?

‘Not that I was aware of.’

Jerking our chains. I want to punch him. Police brutality all over the news. I think better of it.

‘I am a respectable private citizen who has done much for our city, gentlemen. If I were you, I would be out there chasing the real criminals.

Davey feeds a line of bull – eliminating the respectable asshole from our inquiries. Joshua Ben Hiller eats it up. Joshua’s a Jewish name, but our man is of German descent: fourth generation. Officially an American. A respectable American. A respectable face on the front of respectable papers

Smug bastard.

I spark up.

Davey glares: non-smoker – constant arguments.

Joshua Ben Hiller speaking: ‘How did she die?’

My turn: ‘Painfully.’ Photographs in a black envelope. I reach, Davey no-no’s; shake of the head. ‘No sexual evidence. She wasn’t raped. Forensic says she had consensual sex maybe four hours prior.’ Genuine surprise now – uncertain. ‘She used a condom. Did you practise safe-sex?’ Bordering now on baiting – don’t care. Doesn’t reply anyway.

Davey: ‘Killer tied her down to a chair in her apartment. She had bondage gear stashed there, but maybe you knew that.’ Davey with me – no respect for the respectable face. But calmer than me. Probably better that way.

Davey, still: ‘Took a knife slashed her wrists and upper thighs. These weren’t random cuts, they were right on the veins. Probably a bit of splash. Been to the dry cleaners lately?’

I said, remembering things I’d read: ‘You went to med-school.’

‘I dropped out. It wasn’t for me.’ I knew that, too. Smug bastard too clever for medicine: philosophy, the arts instead.

‘But you remember the basics?’ Davey following the same path. Always worked well together. Reason we’re here together. Common approach, common thinking. ‘I mean, I remember where the veins are, what the best way to cut yourself is.’

My turn again: ‘He let her bleed, Mister Hiller.’ Emphasis on the Mister. Lets him know what I think of him. Get him angry; smash defences.

Memories: Father speaking. ‘Only way you ever know someone is if you get ‘em angry.’

Present: Joshua Ben Hiller does not look riled. Thinking to myself: The night is yet young.

‘We have the pictures’ – Davey – ‘of the crime scene. They ain’t too pretty.’

‘I can imagine.’

Moving in close to him, now. Smell of cheap aftershave; surprising, really. Unexpected. ‘Was it you? Was it you she was having sex with before she was killed?’

Davey: ‘We know, you know.’

‘DNA tests, yes. I am up to speed in forensic techniques. The sperm won’t belong to me.’ Looking at him, cop-radar on full alert. He’s truth-telling.

‘Do you read the papers?’ Joshua Ben Hiller not so relaxed. Look at his hand: clench/unclench on arm of chair. ‘The tabloids will have a field day with this. There has to be a more civil way.’

No doubt in my mind. Maybe it’s my cigarette smoke: wet-eyed, bloodshot, pale-face. No, not my smoke. His fear/guilt/anger.

‘Lieutenant’ – looking at me with respectable eyes – ‘I loved her.’

‘Much as you love your wife?’

‘More so. I married Hilary’ – speaking about his common law wife; the one he still lives with – ‘out of convenience. That’s what it was all about: a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

‘She had affairs?’

‘Numerous. Of course, being my wife, she’s not so high-profile, high-sensation to tabloid vultures.’

‘Are you homosexual?’ Davey batting the question out of left field. Sideways glance. I think; that’s my boy!

‘No. No truth to the rumours. I had a homosexual admirer, once.’ Truth there, but watch the agitation. That hand: one/two, clench/unclench – speed up the tempo.

Davey’s eyes meet mine. We know. I walk round the table, spill the envelope. Photgraphs, black-and-white, spill on the floor. The two cops desensitised; this is everyday for us.

Joshua Hiller’s hand: clench/unclench. Too fast now. Blink rate at same speed – human metronome.

And he looks:

Down.

That’s the crack; split the wound, the blood flows. Tears flow also.

Anger/frustration/guilt.

Clench/unclench/clench/unclench.

Listen to the facts:

Affair: respectable face/downtown whore – Joshua Ben-Hiller/Lizzy Kress.

Things turn nasty: tabloids closing in. Ben-Hiller scared.

Ben-Hiller connections – Tony Gambino; known mob affiliate, asshole supreme. Tony Gambino: façade-respectable. Tony Gambino: slimeball. Connection right there.

Connection that counts: Ten years ago, respectable party. Coke-sniffing, whore-banging. All respectable on the face; country house, valet parking. Look behind the doors, Tony Gambino doing three women in the bathroom when he meets Ben-Hiller. That’s how business deals are made.

Gambino uses Ben-Hiller/Ben-Hiller uses Gambino. Everybody’s happy as long as they’re Gambino/Ben-Hiller. “Business” deals: Ben-Hiller spills his soul. Let Davey take notes – history of crime in city. Gambino/Ben-Hiller quite the double act. Laurel and
Hardy on the make.

Flash-forward ten years. Ben-Hiller never killed – never actively involved in death. That’s respectable. That’s why he’s “better” than Gambino. Why we should be nice to him.

One exception: Lizzy Kress.

Tabloids closing in; shucking off gay trysts for whore-infidelity. Ben-Hiller’s wife knows about Lizzy Kress; doesn’t care.

Ben-Hiller says to Gambino: Lizzy Kress is an inconvenience. Mob parlance = kill the bitch. Respectable parlance = pay her off; get her out of town. Miscommunication for Gambino/Ben-Hiller – the first? Don’t know, don’t care.

Ben-Hiller = not guilty/yes, guilty. Ben-Hiller does not = trigger man. Ben-Hiller killed her. He said, “Kill her,” to Gambino. Now; his fault.

Ben Hiller in his seat; shaking, red-faced. No tears, cannot make them. Pain seems incredible.

His fault.

Respectable, my ass.

Gambino/Ben-Hiller = asshole/asshole.

Ben-Hiller = respectable my ass.

Interrogation over, I grab a cigarette. Light it, smoke it, stub it. Think of Ben Hiller and Lizzy Kress.