President's assassin

She did not reply.

I said, "For Godsakes, you gave us the co

She mumbled, "But… you lied, and I… you deceived me about-"

"No-we did not lie."

"Yes, you-"

"We identified ourselves as federal officers pursuing an official investigation." Following an instinct, I bluffed and said, "Knowing that, you still lied about the circumstances regarding your crippling. We can and will investigate your story, but we already know what we'll find, don't we, Mrs. Barnes? You lied to us-on tape." She gawked at the recorder as I informed her, "That's a prosecutable federal crime, if you're interested."

Je

"But, I… but, Jason couldn't… I mean- I think I'd like to speak to my-"

Before the L-word could slip out of her lips, I raised my voice and said, "In a few hours, your son will murder again. If you withhold information that could help us stop him, I will arrest you for willful complicity in murder, for obstructing an investigation, and for willful concealment. I'll drag you out of this house in cuffs, and I'll put you in jail."

Mrs. Barnes turned her head and looked at Je

I said, "On tape, we already have you lying to federal officers. You'll be convicted. You'll go to prison, probably until you die."

In a way I was telling the truth, because any lie to a federal officer-even absent a Miranda warning-is a punishable offense. But as a lawyer, I was well aware that juries don't really expect mothers to rat out their own kids. So this mild exaggeration was obviously not intended to be interpreted too literally.

But what mattered was not what I knew, what mattered was what she knew, and, judge's wife or not, apparently she didn't know enough. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she appeared to be on the verge of a complete meltdown. But she still wasn't talking, which was a

Je

I got it.

Je

"No… it's not-"

"Wow-I mean, wow! What will that do for the glorious and esteemed Barnes name?" But in the event she couldn't piece it together in her muddled mental state, I spelled it out for her. "The Barnes name in all the history books, beside Sirhan Sirhan, Lee Harvey Oswald, and that loony Hinckley. There'll be books about you, your family, reporters crawling through everything, biopics of how you raised a sociopath, probably a Broadway play some instant TV movies… Hey, who do you think they'll get to play you, Mrs. Barnes?"

"Stop it, Sean." Je

"You're right. What was I thinking? Poor, poor Margaret Barnes. Why was I concerned about the wives, parents, and children of the sixteen people her son murdered today? How about Mr. Larry Elwood, Terrence Belknap's driver, who we found this morning, barbecued to a crisp, after Jason put a few slugs in his skull." Pause. "Or Agent June Lacy, one of Jason's partners, who would've been married next week-except Jason, this morning, put a bullet through her throat."

Margaret Barnes was shrinking into her seat. On her face you could see guilt, and in that guilt you could see that Jason's actions made sense to her, that something inside this family either had created or at least corrupted a human vessel capable of every wicked deed I had just described.

Je

I said to Je

"Sit down, Sean," Je

I sat.

Margaret Barnes was looking around the room, wide-eyed, and if she had a gun, a noose, and limbs that worked, I had not one doubt she would climb up onto a stool, slip the noose around her neck, and swallow a bullet herself. Actually, after what I'd just done to this poor lady, I felt ashamed enough to join her. Je

Margaret Barnes looked at her, a little shocked by this insight. A good interrogator has to find common ground with the subject, of course. And the parent of a killer bears a special shame, and the mind of that parent searches for excuses, for solace, even absolution. Je

"But you can't… It's not his fault."

"Whose fault is it, Margaret?"

She did not reply

"Margaret, help us understand."

Mrs. Barnes sipped from her sherry, and from her expression I wasn't sure she could piece it all together. She said, "He… his childhood…"

"Being robbed of his mother?"

"Yes. And my husband, he was very… he was quite strong-willed. And headstrong."

Je

I knew why she did it, but turning off the recorder was, I thought, a bad move. But also, I realized in that instant that Je

After a moment, Mrs. Barnes blubbered, "You can't imagine."

"Yes, well… I don't want to imagine. I need you to describe it. You'll feel better by telling us."

For a long moment, Margaret Barnes stared into Je

With a distressed expression she recoiled back into her seat. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Yes… yes, you do. You've always wanted to talk about it. Haven't you?" She added, "For Jason. You owe him this."

In the past two minutes Margaret Barnes had learned her son was a homicidal maniac, that the two agents in her home had come to destroy her soul, that she was about to become the most shamed mother in the country, and possibly that she would spend the remainder of her years in prison. Interrogations are a tricky business, and every experienced interrogator will tell you there is a moment, not a crescendo necessarily, but a turning point after which the subject either blurts out everything or the lawyers take over. In fact, she looked at Je

Je