Break and Enter Read Free Page B

murder in Philly, got scared, moved to Harrisburg, and her bad heart caught up with her. My train’s at five-thirty tomorrow.”
    Peter shook his head. “You just can’t take my serve.”
    “What are you on?” Berger asked, indicating the courtroom.
    “Robinson.”
    “Yeah. Nice guy, my kind of guy. How’s Morgan doing?”
    “He’s nervous in there.”
    “Get him to jump up. Scarletti hates it when they jump up.”
    BACK IN THE COURTROOM, he started with Nelson again.
    “Okay, the next question,” the detective replied into his microphone, reading from his statement sheet, dipping his head slightly toward themicrophone, readying himself. “Question: ‘After pushing Judy Warren onto the couch, what did you do next?’
    “Answer: ‘I told her I knew she was giving it out on the side. She said I was insecure, that I had to be kidding. I’m not insecure. I’m amazingly secure, more than practically anybody. Most guys who say they’re insecure are trying to make you think they’re actually secure enough to admit their insecurity. Reverse psychology. You could even argue that because I’m pointing that out to you that I am in fact doing the same thing, just with another layer of subterfuge.’
    “Question: ‘Spell that last word.’
    “Answer: ‘S-u-b-t-e-r-f-u-g-e. So, see what I mean? I wasn’t kidding. I told her I knew she was spreading her legs for about ten new guys a week. She laughed. I told her I knew about the other guys. I gave her a chop. Judy started looking at me funny. I told her not to scream, so the fucking bitch screams. Maybe she was doing it through the television, she had these tricks—I learned them all. I had to hit her to shut her up, and then I held her down to change the TV channel. I got the sports on Channel Three. They got that guy—Why don’t you fucking say something? Just
sit
there … like my father, getting old, shriveling up, both of you preparing for the next step—a swift slice to the prostate. You and my dad, ha! That’s good. I like that. I know this will be part of the police record. You can put in there that my father, Dr. James Covington Robinson the Third, majority stockholder of—‘
    “Question: ‘Do you remember the question, Mr. Robinson?’
    “Answer: ‘All right, so I wanted to watch the sports guy, the guy with the helmet of hair—shiny, you know, shiny with hair spray. The guy, what’s his name, who’s totally into the
genre
of being a sportscaster in a major market—one of the lesser American arts. So Judy was on the sofa and she had her heels up and was kicking me in the balls. Nobody kicks me in the balls. I guess I was pretty pissed, especially since she was trying to use radiation on me. I got her again and she grabbed this lamp and jammed the light bulb against me. It was goddamn hot. She was fighting—you know what I’m saying? Not screaming. She knew I was serious. I got her once in the leg with my knife, but she kept kicking like she didn’t feel it. Then I jumped on her … I got… I was completely fucked in the head because of all the radiation that was going around.
    This is totally scientific. You should see the crystal therapy research going on in California. The Western rational mind just can’t
see
this radiation. And she was flipping the music at me with her eyes—you know what I’m saying? Sort of Madonna, but better. You’re gonna find this out anyway, what the fuck. I mean you got the damn prints already. Right?’
    “Question: ‘I can’t comment on that, Mr. Robinson. I can’t say what will happen to you.’ ”
    Benita, the good-looking court reporter, filled the sudden silence with her soft clacking. The roving jurors whispered among themselves at the back of the room. Peter glanced at Judy Warren’s family. Her mother sat, head bowed, twisting her wedding ring around her finger, thinking what? That she should have protected her daughter, a young girl studying part-time to be a dental technician? Judy had