Rough Trade

inquired the officer.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m surprised. We took a look at your father’s appointment calendar for that morning. He was booked solid with appointments. Coach Bennato, a Mr. Wallenberg, Harald Feiss—they were all scheduled to see him. Your name didn’t appear anywhere.”
    “Our offices were right next to each other. My father and I talked a dozen times a day. I never made an appointment.”
    “Do you recall what time this conversation with your father took place?”
    “No. I didn’t notice the time. I was working in my office, and he buzzed to say he wanted to see me.”
    “What did the two of you discuss?”
    “Team business,” replied Jeff, catching my eye and looking for my approval.
    “Anything in particular?”
    “Jeff and his father discussed several items of team business,” I cut in.
    “I’m afraid we’re going to need Mr. Rendell to be more specific,” said Detective Eiben.
    “And I’m afraid that unless you can offer some kind of compelling reason why you need that information, I’m going to have to advise my client to not answer the question. His discussions with his father involved confidential team business.”
    “How confidential could it have been if they were screaming at each other at the top of their lungs?” interjected Detective Zellmer, obviously taking the part of the bad cop.
    I ignored him and turned to Jeff. “You don’t have to answer that,” I said.
    “Who owns the team now that your father is dead?” asked Eiben, changing tack.
    “Jeff and his wife Chrissy are now the owners of the Milwaukee Monarchs franchise,” I replied.
    “He left it to both of them?” demanded Zellmer, feigning incredulity.
    “He left the team to his son,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Wisconsin is a community property state.”
    “So I guess it’s safe to say that you’re the person who stood to benefit the most from his death?” inquired Zellmer, looking hard at Jeff.
    “Children usually are the ones who benefit financially from a parent’s death,” I pointed out.
    From behind his horn rims Jeff’s eyes blazed. There was no doubt that the idea that he had been enriched by his father’s passing, when indeed the opposite was true, galled him.
    “So tell me, how would you characterize your last conversation with your father?” urged Zellmer.
    “What do you mean?”
    “What was the general tone of the conversation? Amicable? Routine? Angry?”
    “I’ve already told you that we argued.”
    “Did your father raise his voice?”
    “My father always raised his voice.”
    “And did he on this occasion?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you?”
    “Yes. I already told you that.”
    “And did this argument turn physical at any time?”
    “What do you mean by ‘turn physical’?”
    “Did you lay your hands on your father at any time during the course of this argument?”
    “What kind of question is that?” demanded Jeff, outraged.
    “It is actually a very simple question,” replied Zellmer with real menace. “Did you or did you not lay your hands on your father?”
    “No. Of course not,” replied Jeff, looking the homicide detective straight in the eye.
    “But if you had, it wouldn’t have been the first time you and your father had come to blows,” pointed out Detective Eiben affably. “You had struck him before on other occasions.”
    “That is absolutely not true,” protested Jeff.
    “Oh, come now, Mr. Rendell. There was even one occasion where it made it into the newspapers as I recall. I believe you punched your father in the face in the parking lot of the stadium after a Steelers game.”
    “I was fifteen years old, for chrissake! I was just an immature kid!”
    “So how would you characterize your behavior yesterday?” demanded Zellmer.
    I rose to my feet. “Unless you have any other questions of substance, I’m afraid I’m going to have to put an end to this interview,” I announced. “My client lost his father under tragic circumstances yesterday. As far as I know, no crime has been committed and he is not a suspect. I can only assume that it is merely force of habit that has caused you to treat him as one.”
    Detective Eiben closed his notebook with great ceremony and put it into his pocket before getting to his feet. “Then we’ll just thank you for your cooperation at such a difficult time,” he said flatly.
    I could sense Jeff relax now that the interview was over. He led the way to the entrance hall, opened the closet door,