Through the two-way mirror, Cliff had been handcuffed to the bar running across the center of the table and he was red in the face.
“For someone who didn’t want to be represented by the same attorney as his murderous mother, that statement about Quinn being the reason his mother is locked up doesn’t jive,” Grimm said.
“Psychopaths never make one hundred percent sense,” Phillips said. “After spending more time talking with Candace, I’ve come to understand her relationship with Cliff better. She was only able to have one child due to complications in childbirth and almost lost him. Knowing she couldn’t have another child; she spent his whole life coddling him. I believe she felt threatened by Sandy and Barbie.”
“Do you think that is why she killed them?” Quinn asked.
“It’s motivation,” he said. “And we know Quinn was threatening her with the articles she was writing, and then when she found out you’d spoken with Cliff that set her off and she attacked.”
“Don’t remind me.”
The sound of a door opening and closing had them all turning toward the mirror as Agent Street finally entered the interrogation room and took a seat across from Cliff. “Good morning, Mr. Beamer. I understand you’ve been waiting to specifically talk to me and give your statement.”
“That’s right.”
“Where’s your attorney, Mr. Delacorte?”
“He’s my father’s attorney. I’m representing myself.”
“I highly advise against that. It’s your legal right to be represented, if you can’t afford one, one can be appointed for you. Have you not been made aware of your rights?” Street asked.
“I have, and like I told Detective Phillips I have sat for the bar; I’m just waiting for the results. I know the law,” he replied.
“Very well.”
The door to the interrogation room burst open and Samson Delacorte entered with Russel Beamer on his heels. “Not another word, Clifton.”
“He hasn’t said anything anyway,” Street clarified. “But do come in and talk him into representation, he shouldn’t do it himself.”
“What are you charging him with?” Russel asked. “And why is he handcuffed like that?”
“Because he took a lunge at a reporter out in the hallway. And until he cools his temper, he’ll stay in cuffs. As for charges, he’s being charged with tampering with evidence in an investigation, and we have the DNA evidence back in the Heather Randall case,” Street said. “Care to wager who that belongs to?”
Russel turned his back and faced the wall.
“Dad, I swear.”
“I don’t want to hear your lies, Cliff. I’m through covering up for you.” He turned and walked over to the table until he could look Agent Street in the eye. “I’m as guilty as my wife. I hired Everette Wills to keep an eye on my son and look where that got him. His mother took the poor man out. She thought he was going to implicate Cliff in the murders because she found out he was corresponding with that reporter, Quinlan Moynahan.”
Cliff yanked against the metal bar. “That meddling bitch. I told her it was all her fault. If she’d stayed away…”
“Shut up. It’s no one’s fault, but your own. Your mother did what she did because she indulged you too much. While I tried to protect the family name from all your screw-ups over the years. I’ve scheduled a press conference for later today. I’m resigning as district attorney. My political career is through. The two of you have seen to that.”
“How’d you even get my DNA to test? I didn’t give a sample or consent,” Cliff said.
“Off the cup you drank water from yesterday,” Street said.
“Cheap move, agent,” Delacorte said.
Cliff came out of his chair, kicking it backward. He yanked so hard against the bar that the cuffs rattled against the metal. “It won’t stand up in court. That’s a violation of search and seizure.”
Delacorte picked up his chair, sitting it upright.
“No, it isn’t, son.” Russel pushed him down in it. “Sit down and take your punishment like a man. And if you haven’t learned the law any better by now, it’s no wonder you can’t pass the bar exam after three tries.”
“What? I failed again?”
Russell pulled the opened letter from his pocket. “It came in the mail this morning.”
