Mr. White's Confession: A Novel by Robert Clark

Author:Robert Clark [Clark, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Picador
Published: 1999-10-14T23:00:00+00:00

Later in the morning. Wesley argued with the captain. No, he hadn’t gotten a confession, but just by the way White talked, it was clear he was going to hang himself in the courtroom—that his daftness, his lack of remorse, were just as damning as a confession.

The captain wasn’t buying it; or maybe he personally agreed with Wesley but what the district attorney wanted was a confession in time for election day. The captain said he’d like to let Welshinger have a try.

“Jesus Christ,” Wesley said.

“You got a problem with him?”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But White will.”

“You said he claimed he’d forgotten all that.”

“Lock him in a cell with Welshinger, maybe it all comes back and he clams up even tighter.”

“Or he gets religion,” the captain said.

“I don’t hold with Welshinger’s religion sometimes. Too physical.”

“I hold with results. So I want you to let him have at White.”

“If it’s got to be that way. But you let me put it to him, okay? Like it came from me.”

The captain smiled. “Sure, Wes. That’s fine. I want all you guys to get along, to cooperate.”

Wesley went down the hall to the vice room. Trent was eating a sandwich and working a crossword puzzle.

“So where is he, the monsignor?” Wesley said.

Trent looked up and flicked the tip of his pencil across the butt of his thumb. “Out in the back lot. I think he’s simonizing his car or something,” he said, and looked back down at his puzzle.

Wesley found Welshinger at the very rear of the parking compound, where the officers who had their own cars parked. He was bent down, rubbing the back bumper of his Hudson with a wad of fine steel wool. The trunk lid was open. Welshinger straightened himself and said. “Top of the morning, Lieutenant.”

“Same to you. I see you’re working on your lunch hour.”

“No rest for the wicked.” Welshinger grinned and resumed nibbing the bumper.

Wesley looked into the trunk. In addition to the spare tire and the jack, the interior was crammed with cartons of cigarettes, packages of nylon stockings, pint bottles of liquor, and wrapped candy boxes from Fanny Farmer. “Quite a treasure chest you got here.” He saw a crumpled bag stuffed into a corner, with a woman’s bathing suit protruding from it. Wesley reached in and fingered the shoulder strap as Welshinger rose up from the bumper. Still touching the suit, Wesley smiled and said. “Going to try out for Miss America?”

Welshinger’s lips were expressionless. Then he smiled and said. “Don’t soil the merchandise. Just something for a lady friend.” He lowered the lid of the trunk. “So how’s tricks? Do something for you?”

“Well, you know White?”

“Whole city knows, Wes.”

“Yeah. Well, the DA wants a confession. I tried, but the bastard’s being stubborn, thick about it. Says he can’t remember, same crap as before. I thought maybe a different approach might help. Thought you might try your hand, if you’d oblige me.”

Welshinger smiled broadly. “Well, sure. Anything for a pal, Wes.” he said.

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