Chapter 3

After arriving back at the station, the detectives slowly walked Lisa Evans upstairs to their squad room, and then into one of the empty interrogation rooms. They chose the starkest one they could find, a room that needed a paint job and could have used some new furniture as well. They wanted the most negative environment they could create.

"We're going to have you wait here for a few minutes, while we get our files together. You're sure that you don't want to speak with a lawyer?" Detective Nesbitt was giving her every opportunity to make that decision, but this time she declined with a quick shake of her head. In the drab surroundings she still looked very pretty, even though her blue eyes were brimming with tears. She sat down heavily in one of the chairs, while the detective left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Be sure both cameras are on for the full time we're with her. I want a good record of everything that is said in there. I have a feeling we're going to break this case wide open, and I don't want to lose a word of what she has to say." Detective Klein was speaking to his commanding officer, the man who would record and bear personal witness to what was said in the interrogation room.

Just then Peter Nesbitt walked up with the files they had accumulated. He had been thinking about their pending interview with Lisa Evans, and said, "Let's go grab a coffee first; let her stew a while." There was quick agreement, and the three men left to spend the next 20 minutes in the staff coffee room discussing the case and how they would handle her interrogation.

Life does not take place in a single linear progression; innumerable events occur in overlapping time frames. While the two detectives were out that morning, speaking with Mark Evans' manager, on the other side of town a volunteer answered the phone at Crimestoppers.

"Good morning, this is your local Crimestoppers office. We pay up to $1000 cash for good tips on outstanding crimes. How can you help us fight crime? Please be aware this call is being recorded."

There was no reply for several seconds, making the volunteer manning the phone think there was no one there, but just before she hung up, her older male caller said, "Ah ... is this the place where I can get money if I help the police?"

"Well sir, that depends on what you tell us, the type of crime involved, and how much the police feel you contributed to solving it. Do you have some information on a crime?"

There was silence again for a few moments before the caller spoke, "So, I don't get no money now? I gotta wait? What if the cops want to cheat me out of my money? Then what, huh?"

"Well sir, we need to know for sure that you helped. The money doesn't come from the police, so there's no reason for them to try to cheat you, sir. Why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll give you a code number for later. You can call me back in a few days, and I will tell you whether the information has been a help, and what it would be worth."

The man was a little indignant as he said, "I want some juice now! I need the money now."

"Well sir, that's just the way it works. What do you mean you need some juice? If you're homeless, and need food, I can give you the addresses of a few shelters that provide meals."

"I don't need no damn food; I need juice! You know, grape juice, the kind they sell for five bucks a bottle."

The woman chuckled to herself, but said to the man, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, right now. If your information is good, though, you could probably afford a lot of those bottles of grape juice."

"OK, then. I'll wait. What I seen was someone throwing away a gun. In the river. I was under the Third Street Bridge, just mindin my own business on Sunday morning, at least I think it was Sunday morning, when a fella pulled up into the public access lot. When he got out he was carrying a gun, and two shovels. He threw them all in the river, right there practically in front of me. I was scared, let me tell ya. I figured for sure he was going to see me and use that gun on me."

The operator was mildly interested in what the old man had to say, and so she asked, "Was that at the parking lot on the east side of the Third Street Bridge? Did he throw them way out in the water?"

"Yup, that's the place, and no, he just sort of dropped them over the end of that little dock that's there. Them guys should have no trouble finding the gun." He hesitated before adding, "I can describe him too. He was big, and had light hair. Not blond, just kinda light. And his car. It was dark blue, and the license number started with AZSS, but I forgot the rest. Jimmie showed up with some juice, and he shared, so I forgot some of it. But the rest is right. I lived in Arizona, and one time I owned a Chevy Impala SS. That's how I remember."

The woman had written all of the information down, and was now ready to end the call. "Well sir, I have everything we need, I think. I'm going to give you a number that you need to remember. The number is 127. You call back in a few days and tell me that your calling about tip number 127, and I'll tell you if it has been a help to the police. We might even know how much the information is worth. If it's worth some money for you, we'll tell you where you can pick it up anonymously."

The call was quickly ended, and the Crimestoppers operator phoned the information in to the police liaison officer she reported to. He figured they would send a diver out very shortly, as keeping guns off the streets was one of the mayor's top priorities.

As it turned out, the police diver was on the scene in not much more than an hour, and it only took minutes to find the three items that had been thrown into the river. The proper reports were filled in, and then filed with the Crimestoppers report. By 2:30 the shovels were with the property clerk, and the gun had been dropped off at the forensics lab for eventual testing to see whether it matched any of the outstanding crimes in the city.

When the gun was checked in, it was quickly noted that the caliber and type of jacketed ammunition that was still in it matched perfectly with the recent crime scene in George Washington Park. Within minutes the gun was being checked over in detail, and a test bullet had been fired for comparison purposes. It was immediately shown to be a match for the slug removed from the block of firewood discovered at the Park. A report was immediately sent upstairs to the attention of the detectives in charge of the case, and a technician was dispatched to pick up the two shovels from the property clerk.

Just as different chains of events can run in parallel, they can also eventually intersect, and that is exactly what happened when the detectives and their commander walked out of the staff coffee room. They were met just outside the door by the clerk who was delivering the ballistics and Crimestoppers reports.

"Detectives! I was just bringing this information up to you. We've got the gun from the George Washington Park shooting. There is some information for you in the attached Crimestoppers report as well. It just might even lead you right to the perpetrator." The grinning clerk from the forensics lab handed the two reports to the surprised detectives, and headed back to his own department.

Detectives Klein and Nesbitt took turns looking over the two reports. Within seconds, they were seated side-by-side in front of a computer terminal, calling up records from the vehicle registration department. When they were finished doing that, the two of them held a quick conversation.

"Pete, I'm going to suggest we split up on us. If you'd like, I'll start the questioning of our guest in the interrogation room, and you can take a uniformed officer and go call on Mr. Moore. We should have him in here for questioning as well."

"That sounds like a plan, Dave. Things are coming together nicely, aren't they?"

New parallel lines of action were formed as Detective Klein picked up their accumulating stock of reports and information and headed for the interrogation room where Lisa Evans continued to wait. As he did that, his partner spoke to his commanding officer, asking for a uniformed officer's assistance on a surprise visit to Blake Moore. He was soon out the door with a patrol car scheduled to meet him at the Moore residence.

When Detective Klein entered the interrogation room, Lisa Evans was sitting quietly at the table, her face a mask displaying neither sadness nor fear. She seemed to be stoically awaiting her fate, whatever that might be. "I'm sorry we kept you waiting, Mrs. Evans. I'm ready to get started now. Please be aware that this room is under the surveillance of two video cameras, and everything we say and do is being recorded."

She looked at him with a bit of surprise evident, and said, "I don't mind if you tape us; I have nothing to hide."

As he shuffled papers, he replied, "That's good. We should be able to get started then." He sat back and looked at her briefly before taking her on directly. "I'll start where we ended it when we spoke at your home. Once again; are you having an affair with Blake Moore? Yes or no."

His decision to once again drive to the heart of the matter had a noticeable effect on her. Her shoulders slumped a bit and she turned her head so that she could no longer meet the eyes of the detective. After a few seconds she said in a soft voice, "Yes."

Detective Klein pulled a couple of pages from the pile of papers in front of him. "It's a good thing that you decided to be honest with me. We have proof of your affair right here, printed from your husband's laptop."

His statement seemed to shock her, as her head jerked up, and she once again stared directly into his eyes. "What do you mean, you have proof? Nobody knew about Blake and me."

"Your husband certainly knew, as you can see in these pages. Here's the email he sent to his lawyer almost a month ago, telling him that he wanted him to start preparing papers for a divorce on the grounds of adultery. Here's a map from two weeks ago, clearly showing the route you drove that day, complete with time stamps that show you spent two hours at Blake Moore's residence. Here's a copy of the email your husband sent his lawyer that day, telling him how you had lied when he called you that afternoon, when you told him you were at home."

The pieces of paper slid across the table one at a time, each coming to rest in front of the seated woman. She looked back and forth between the papers and the detective several times before picking up each of them and confirming that each appeared to show exactly what the detective had said they did. Finally she spoke, "How ... how did Mark do this? How could he know where I was? This map..." She picked up the detailed map, and traced the route that was clearly marked upon it, showing the route she drove from her home to that of her lover.

"I don't know how your husband first found out, but something made him install this device in your car." He picked up a small black device, smaller than a package of cigarettes, and slid it across to her. On its side was embossed PT--200, and below that was Rocky Mountain Tracking. "He bought this off the Internet, along with an unlimited tracking option, and has been able to use his laptop to get a complete, real-time, location history for you, with full addresses, as well as date and time stamps. He could tell where your car has been every minute of every day since he installed that device under the dash."

She stared at the small, innocent looking electronic unit like it was a scorpion about to sting her. "You mean, Mark has known about us for weeks? Oh God ... And he wanted a divorce!" She began to cry again, and the detective took a moment to reclaim the papers and tracking device, which he stacked in a separate pile beside him.

"He certainly did, along with the time and place for all four of your liaisons with his friend over the last month. The last map was created at just after midnight Saturday night, the night he went missing. That was the same approximate time that he sent an email to his lawyer, telling him how he was going to drive over to Moore's place and confront the two of you. He told his lawyer that he was concerned he would be arrested if he broke into the house, or ended up in a fight with your lover, his supposed friend."