Monday 15 – Thursday 18 October 2012
Henry Chadwick, attorney to Cody Seaborn, wasn’t entirely happy with the situation in the interview room. There he sat, a highly paid, highly professional attorney at law, and a two-bit, scruffy, obviously uneducated detective and his female sidekick had silenced him. And there was his client chatting away and leaving himself wide open to be made the whipping boy in the police case against Missy Fairmont. If word got out to his colleagues, Chadwick would become a laughing stock – the attorney who was silenced by a boy and his detective. Still, there was little he could do if his client informed him not to contribute to the interview.
He leaned back in the chair, uncomfortable from being restrained and immobile both physically and professionally. It gave him a chance to take another look at the detective. Chadwick, an expert in analysing body language and a devotee of Paul Eckman, could pick up the tiniest nuances in the body language of almost anyone. He set his eyes first upon Detective Sue Lennard and then upon Detective Brian Hunt as casually as he could.
Hunt was doing his utmost best to maintain a connection of sorts with Cody Seaborn. Chadwick noticed the subtle way that the detective was mirroring Seaborn’s posture, gestures, and voice. He made a mental note to find out how much Hunt knew about body language because the detective was definitely using it to his advantage. Perhaps, Chadwick thought, this Hunt isn’t as uneducated as I assumed.
‘Mr. Chadwick,’ Detective Hunt turned his questioning to the attorney, ‘would you like to explain why you’re eyeballing me? You wanna date with me or something?’
Chadwick refused to answer or avert his eyes from Hunt.
‘Just ask your questions of my client, Detective Hunt.’
Knowing that he had managed to get under Chadwick’s skin, Hunt smiled at the attorney.
‘Cody, tell me about the lead up to killing your uncle, Detective Russ Seaborn.’
‘It was pure coincidence that Uncle Russ was in charge of the investigation.’ He paused and ran his hands through his greasy hair. ‘She, Missy, was supposed to go to the police and report that she was being stalked. It wasn’t meant to be a detective that took on the case, but that officer, Ricketsen, he took the case up to my uncle. Anyway, I saw Uncle Russ leave the Fairmont’s house that night, and I followed him. It looked like he lost control of the car and ran off the road. I pulled off the road a ways behind where his car ended up, and I ran to see if he was okay.’
Lennard meticulously made notes of Seaborn’s recollection.
‘I got to the car and the passenger window was busted clean out so I looked through that. He was coming round. There was blood coming from the top of his forehead, you know, like from his hairline. I opened the door when I saw that his files of the case were on the floor of the passenger’s side. I took the opportunity to grab the files. That’s when Uncle Russ recognised me.’
For Hunt and Lennard, the kid’s confession was hard to listen to. They had lost a good detective and a loyal friend the day Russ Seaborn had been killed.
‘Why’d you shoot him, Cody?’ Hunt asked as compassionately as he could.
‘Because he recognised me. I figured in that moment, he put it all together and got me. He tried to take the files off me, but I wasn’t going to let them go. I had to take everything he’d collected to see if he’d been able to get any evidence on me. He wouldn’t let go of the files, so I shot him.’ The words fell from Cody’s mouth as if he was reading a shopping list.
Hunt interrogated him for another hour on the subject of his uncle. The kid and his family had only recently moved back to New York, and none of Cody’s family had spoken to Russ in over fifteen years. There had been some falling out over money, and as with many other families, it had been enough to split the Seaborn family into factions. Russ stayed in New York, and his little brother, Cody’s father, had moved to Washington.
‘So,’ Hunt said, ‘the decision to kill your uncle was all yours?’
‘Yeah, it was,’ Cody answered quietly and lowered his head. Hunt wasn’t sure if the boy looked down out of remorse or shame, and he expected that it didn’t really matter at this point. Russ Seaborn was dead and Hunt had his man, however, a lingering gnawing feeling rose in the pit of Hunt’s stomach. There was more to this story than Cody Seaborn was letting on.
. . . To be continued . . .