But what the hell. His mother didn't show. He had no father. He was a poor kid, and here he was all alone. It was perfect, really. They couldn't ask for a better situation. Just a couple of quick questions.
McThune cleared his throat and went into a deep frown. "Mark, have you ever heard of obstruction of justice?" "I don't think so." "Well, it's a crime, okay. A federal offense. A person who knows something about a crime, and withholds this information from the FBI or the police, might be found guilty of obstruction of justice." "What happens then?" "Well, if found guilty, such a person might be punished. You know, sent to jail or something like that." "So, if I don't answer your questions, me and Mom might go to jail?" McThune retreated a bit and looked at Trumann. The ice was getting thinner. "Why don't you want to answer the question, Mark?" Trumann asked. "Are you hiding something?" "I'm just scared. And it doesn't seem fair since I'm just eleven years old and you're the FBI, and my mom's not here. I don't know what to do, really." "Can't you just answer the questions, Mark, without your mother? You saw something yesterday, and your mother was not around. She can't help you answer the questions. We just want to know what you saw." "If you were in my place, would you want a lawyer?" "Hell no," McThune said. "I would never want a lawyer. Pardon my language, son, but they're just a pain in the ass. A real pain. If you have nothing to hide, you don't need a lawyer. Just answer our questions truthfully, and everything will be fine." He was becoming angry, and this did not surprise Mark. One of them had to be angry. It was the good guy-bad guy routine Mark had seen a thousand times on television. McThune would get ugly, and Trumann would smile a lot and sometimes even frown at his partner for Mark's benefit, and this would somehow endear Trumann to Mark. McThune would then get disgusted and leave the room, and Mark would then be expected to spill his guts all over the table.
Trumann leaned to him with a drippy smile. "Mark, was Jerome Clifford already dead when you and Ricky found him?" "I take the Fifth Amendment." The drippy smile vanished. McThune's face reddened, and he shook his head in absolute frustration. There was a long pause as the agents stared at each other. Mark watched an ant crawl across the table and disappear under a notepad.
Trumann, the good guy, finally spoke. "Mark, I'm afraid you've been watching too much television." "You mean I can't take the Fifth Amendment?" "Lemme guess," McThune snarled. "You watch 'L. A. Law,' right?" "Every week." "Figures. Are you gonna answer any questions, Mark? Because if you're not, then we have to do other things." "Like what?" "Go to court. Talk to the judge. Convince him to require you to talk to us. It's pretty nasty, really." "I need to go to the rest room," Mark said as he slid his chair away from the table and stood.
"Uh, sure, Mark," Trumann said, suddenly afraid they'd made him sick. "I think it's just down the hall." Mark was at the door.
"Take five minutes, Mark, we'll wait. No hurry." He left the room and closed the door behind him.
FOR SEVENTEEN MINUTES, THE AGENTS MADE SMALL TALK and played with their pens. They weren't worried. They were experienced agents with many tricks. They'd been here before. He would talk.
A knock, and McThune said, "Come in." The door opened, and an attractive lady of fifty or so walked in and closed the door as if this were her office. They scrambled to their feet just as she said, "Keep your seats." "We're in a meeting," Trumann said officially.
"You're in the wrong room," McThune said rudely.
She placed her briefcase on the table and handed each agent a white card. "I don't think so," she said. "My name is Reggie Love. I'm an attorney, and I represent Mark Sway." They took it well. McThune inspected the card while Trumann just stood there, arms dangling by his legs, trying to say something.
"When did he hire you?" McThune said, looking wildly at Trumann.
"That's really none of your business, is it now? I'm not hired. I'm retained. Sit down." She eased gracefully into her seat and rolled it to the table. They backed awkwardly into theirs, and kept their distance.
"Where's, uh, where's Mark?" Trumann asked.
"He's off somewhere taking the Fifth. Can I see your ID, please?" They instantly reached for their jackets, fished around desperately, and simultaneously produced their badges. She held both, studied them carefully, then wrote something on a legal pad.
When she finished, she slid them across the table and asked, "Did you in fact attempt to interrogate this child outside the presence of his mother?" "No," said Trumann.
"Of course not," said McThune, shocked at this suggestion.
"He tells me you did." "He's confused," said McThune. "We initially approached Dr. Greenway, and he agreed to this meeting, which was supposed to include Mark, Dianne Sway, and the doctor." "But the kid showed up alone," Trumann added quickly, very eager to explain things. "And we asked •where his mother was, and he said she couldn't make it right now, and we sort of thought she was on her way or something, so we were just chitchatting with the kid." "Yeah, while we waited for Ms. Sway and the doctor," McThune chimed in helpfully. "Where were you during this?" "Don't ask questions that are irrelevant. Did you advise Mark to talk to a lawyer?" The agents locked eyes and searched each other for help. "It wasn't mentioned," Trumann said, shrugging innocently.
It was easier to lie because the kid wasn't there. And he was just a scared little kid who'd gotten things confused, and they were, after all, FBI agents, so she'd eventually believe them.
McThune cleared his throat and said, "Uh, yeah, once, Larry, remember Mark said something, or maybe I said something about 'L. A. Law,' and then Mark said he might need a lawyer, but he was sort of kidding and we, or at least I, took it as a joke. Remember, Larry?" Larry now remembered. "Oh, sure, yeah, something about 'L. A. Law. ' Just a joke though." "Are you sure?" Reggie asked.
"Of course I'm sure," Trumann protested. McThune frowned and nodded along with his partner.
"He didn't ask you guys if he needed a lawyer?" They shook their heads and tried hopelessly to remember. "I don't remember it that way. He's just a kid, and very scared, and I think he's confused," McThune said.
"Did you advise him of his Miranda rights?" Trumann smiled at this and was suddenly more confident. "Of course not. He's not a suspect. He's just a kid. We need to ask him a few questions." "And you did not attempt to interrogate him without his mother's presence or consent?" "No." "Of course not." "And you did not tell him to avoid lawyers after he asked your advice?" "No ma'am," "No way. The kid's lying if he told you otherwise." Reggie slowly opened her briefcase and lifted out the black recorder and the micro-cassette tape. She sat them in front of her and placed the briefcase on the floor. Special Agents McThune and Trumann stared at the devices and seemed to shrink a bit in their seats.
Reggie rewarded each with a bitchy smile, and said, "I think we know who's lying." McThune slid two fingers down the bridge of his nose. Trumann rubbed his eyes. She let them suffer for a moment. The room was silent.
"It's all right here on tape, fellas. You boys attempted to interrogate a child outside the presence of his mother and without her consent. He specifically asked you if you shouldn't wait until she was available and you said no. You attempted to coerce the child with the threat of criminal prosecution not only for the child but also for his mother. He told you he was scared, and twice he specifically asked you if he needed a lawyer. You advised him not to get a lawyer, giving as one of your reasons the opinion that lawyers are a pain in the ass. Gentlemen, the pain is here." They sunk lower. McThune pressed four fingers against his forehead and gently rubbed. Trumann stared in disbelief at the tape, but was careful not to look at the woman. He thought of grabbing it, and ripping it to shreds, and stomping on it because it could be his career, but for some reason he believed with all his troubled heart that this woman had made a copy of it.