Page 170 of Random in Death
“Record on,” Eve began, and watched that hateful rage fill Francis’s eyes as she read the necessary into the record.
“Dr. Bryce, as I’m sure your son’s attorney has informed you, you are allowed in this interview due to your son’s age. However, you will be required to leave if you interfere with this interview.”
“As you state, Lieutenant, my client is a minor, a child, and should be treated as such.”
“You want to be babied, Francis?” Her voice was a verbal sneer. “You came to the wrong place. Your client had the skill, the capacity, the intellect, and the murderous purpose to cook heroin, from the poppies on.”
She tossed crime scene photos on the table.
“To then devise a lethal formula. Peabody.”
Peabody brought up the formula, on-screen.
“This is an entry from Francis Bryce’s computer, from his lab,” Peabody said. “Along with the tox reports on Jenna Harbough, Arlie Dillon, Kiki Rosenburg, and the contents of the second syringe on his person after the attack on Delaney Brooke.”
“As you see, they match,” Eve continued.
“This is a tragedy for all involved. My client’s mother was an addict. The boy spent his first formative years living with her addiction, then her death from an overdose. Clearly, this trauma affected him emotionally, mentally.”
“Want to hide behind Mommy now, Francis?”
“Please direct your questions to me, Lieutenant. My client isn’t required to speak.”
“I bet he’s got a lot to say though. He likes to think he’s so much smarter than anyone else. So much better.”
“I know,” Francis whispered. “I know I am.”
“Quiet now.” Derwood patted Francis on the arm, and was shrugged away.
“Not as smart as he thinks.” Eve spoke directly to the lawyer. “Hell, we made his stupid shoes inside hours. Not strong enough to boost himself out of a bathroom window.”
At that Peabody brought up the wall with scuff marks.
“Worse, they’re doofus shoes. No self-respecting kid, with the money, would wear them. Add the cheap baggies. What did the first witness call him, Peabody? The one who saw him walking off the dance floor at Club Rock It after he jabbed that lethal dose into Jenna Harbough?”
“Dooser. It’s a combination of dick and loser.”
Eve kept her attention on the lawyer, but she heard Francis’s breath suck in, then quicken.
“Kids noticed the doofus, dooser clothes. His big brain wasn’t smart enough to dress like a normal teenager, and he was too physically weak to get out of the club clean.
“But he did this first.”
Eve put Jenna’s crime scene photo on the table, angled it so Francis could see.
“His early childhood—”
“Jenna had an early childhood, too. She’ll never be an adult. Neither will Arlie Dillon. He made sure they saw him. After he stuck that needle in them, he made sure they saw him. Because girls don’t look at him. I mean, why would they? But he made sure these two did before their short life ended by his hand.
“You want me to feel sorry for him because his mother was a junkie. Bullshit.” She slapped Arlie’s photo on the table. “Tell that to her mother. He plotted, he planned, and it didn’t matter who they were as long as they were pretty teenage girls. The kind of girls who wouldn’t look twice at him, avoided him, wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”
“Lieutenant, we intend to engage a top child psychiatrist to examine the boy.”
“Fine with me. We’ve got our top shrink observing this interview.”
Jerking, Francis looked up at the camera. “I told you no! I told you no psychiatrists, no therapists. I said no!”
“Francis.” Bryce reached out to him, jolted back when his son slapped his hand away.