Mortal Danger

of money over gambling. He’d met a friend of the real instigator at the Roundup; the arrangements for cold-blooded murder had all taken place through him.
    The in-between man had recognized that Tavares had several prison tattoos and questioned him about his past. The stranger then mentioned that a man who owed big gambling debts lived close to Tavares. He named BrianMauck as the man who hadn’t paid the loan shark. That had been about six weeks before.
    “So that was about the time you were doing the tattoo [on Brian]?” Catey asked.
    “Yes,” Daniel answered, but he knew nothing about where Brian had gambled, how much he owed. In fact, he’d never discussed gambling with Brian. None of the other investigators he had talked to had mentioned that Brian Mauck had a gambling problem (which he did not).
    “Okay,” Catey said. “ Why would you agree to do this?”
    “For the money. To get a place to live.”
    It was obvious that Tavares was making things up as he went along. He’d already admitted to two murders, but he was trying to protect Jennifer. He insisted that he was hired to kill both of the Maucks for ten thousand dollars apiece, but Jennifer hadn’t known about it.
    “Did you use anything to muffle the sound of the gun going off?”
    “Yeah, a towel.” He believed he’d found it right there in his neighbors’ house.
    Brian had come to the door about seven and let him in. He hadn’t been upset about having such an early visitor, Daniel said, and he hadn’t argued with him. Tavares said he was totally focused on his mission to kill Brian, and he admitted he hadn’t even tried to discuss ways Brian could pay the money he allegedly owed.
    He’d simply carried out his orders, shooting Brian and then Beverly. He said he’d been “so med-ed out” that he was “in a fog.” He told Tom Catey he didn’t know why he had pulled Beverly over by Brian.
    “How come you covered them up—took the time to put the blanket over them?” Catey asked the question again.
    “Respect.”
    Both Ben Benson and Tom Catey were struck speechless for a moment. This was a man who seemed to have no empathy for others. He had taken two lives for no good reason they could see, and now he was talking about “respect.”
    He just didn’t get it. It was almost like talking to a robot.
     
    Lieutenant Brent Bomkamp walked into the interview room. He was a new factor in the dialogue. First, he complimented Tavares on being a stand-up guy who had basically told them the truth about the Maucks’ murder. Tavares preened.
    But then Bomkamp accused him of lying about part of his story.
    “We know it, you know it, and what’s gonna happen is these guys [who] have been working their asses off for the last two days are gonna have to go out and try to follow these little threads you’re laying down. And you know they will end in nothing that fits with what you’re telling us.
    “These are smart guys,” Bomkamp said, pointing to Ben Benson and Tom Catey. “These are my best guys. We’ve put you at the scene. We’ve got other physical evidence that’s not matching what you’re saying. You’ve shown you’re willing to be a stand-up guy. You’ve been honest. Just tell the whole frickin’ truth.”
    Tavares was off balance, going from Bomkamp’s compliments to his accusations, and he protested weakly. Bomkamp assured him that his detectives would find out the whole truth, but they would have to search all of Tavares’s property, question his wife, and it would take weeks before the case moved ahead.
    “Nobody hired you to do this,” Bomkamp asked flatly. “Did they?”
    “No.” Tavares admitted that he had lied to save face. He said that Brian Mauck had insulted him, calling him a “fucking punk,” and that Bev had said even worse things about Jennifer Lynn, calling her the c word. Maybe Brian was mad because he’d gone down to his home so early in the morning to ask about the tattoo, Daniel allowed, but Brian’s insults had just been too much for a man who’d spent so much time in prison. Being called a “fucking punk” had deeply insulted him.
    Although the three detectives in the room doubted that either Brian or Bev Mauck had ever used those epithets, they didn’t argue with Tavares.
    Now, finally, he had told as much of the truth as he probably ever would. Transcribed, his lies and his slow revelation of what had really happened took a hundred and twenty-five pages.
     
    The confession by