Rob gets interviewed. Who: T. Robert York and Sheriff Archer Avery When: December 31st Where: Crows Landing Police Station What: Questions Warning: None.
What is your full name?
“Theodore Robert York, as I’m sure you well know.”
How old are you?
“Thirty-three, as of this past June.”
Where do you work?
“I manage several properties, most notably the Regency Meadows Apartment Complex, along with several residential homes in town. In essence, I work for York-Brenner Enterprises.”
Where do you live?
“752 Northgate Avenue, here in Crows Landing.”
Do you live alone?
“I do not. The estate is currently divided between myself, my mother and the live-in house staff.”
Where were you on December 20th and 21st? Describe the events of those two days.
“I was making preparations for an event hosted by our family on the 22nd. For the most part, I was out of town, arranging entertainment and catering, finaling payments and ensuring that Saturday would go as planned, though I did try to keep several hours at my office in Regency Meadows. I was there from 10am to 4pm on the 20th, and between noon and 3pm on the 21st. The office receptionist can verify that, as well as several residents who spoke with me during those times. I can also provide the names of everyone else I met with during those two days. The house staff can attest that I was home by 11pm on both nights, as well. Security footage will show that I did not leave the house before 7am on the morning of the 21st or 22nd.”
Did you know Susanna Wilson?
“...I did, yes.”
How did you know her?
“She and I had a mutual acquaintance. ...I’d prefer to discuss this with the Sheriff.”
Sheriff Avery isn’t going to give you any special treatment, Mr. York.
“Nor will I request any from him, but I’m not going to answer any more questions unless I’m speaking to Archer Avery or have my lawyer present.”
==========
From behind the interrogation room’s one way glass, Archer Avery stood watching one of his officers go through the routine questions on Rob. It was routine, because Archer had a hell of a time imagining Rob doing anything remotely... messy.
Still, his town was in the midst of a clusterfuck of a time. People died, yeah. And Archer tamped down on the sense of unease gnawing on his gut by thinking he’d read somewhere that deaths tended to go up during the holidays. Suicides, especially. It’s how he was trying to rationalize the senseless death of that Gideon Fair kid.
Any kind of death in his town -- and try though he might, Archer had never been able to think of Crows Landing as anything other than his town, his home -- was cause for concern, bullshit holiday statistics or not. Susanna Wilson being found in the Wetlands by Gilman Fucking Black? Yeah. Cause for concern.
When Rob pulled out the caveat that he’d speak either to Archer or with his lawyer present, Archer picked the lesser of two evils and figured it’d be better all around if he just heard what Rob had to say for himself. Straightening his tie, the sheriff came around and gave a perfunctory knock on the interrogation room door before turning the handle and stepping in. A small jerk of his head and the officer was picking up his notepad and a file folder and hustling out of the room. In a deft movement, Archer relieved the officer of his file as he went past, stepping a little farther into the room. Then the door shut behind him, leaving Archer to rest his eyes on Rob.
==========
Rob was sitting at the table without touching it; his arms were folded and his spine was positioned straighter than the hard-backed chair he was sitting in. However, Archer had seen him sitting in his management office at Regency Meadows, listening to complaints from residents or answering questions regarding a lease. The posture was no different then, though at his own desk Rob was more likely to let his wrists or forearms rest on the surface. His reticence to do so here was largely due to the fact that he didn’t know when the table had last been cleaned, or who had last been sitting there. There was a tension in Rob York that was innate. He’d probably look just as uncomfortable and high-strung if he were trying to lounge on a beach.
“Sheriff Avery,” he acknowledged, tilting his head in a manner similar to the way he’d greeted Archer at the Christmas party. There were minor quirks to his expression, an uptick of a smile that might have been relief. It may also have been sheepish. Hard to tell, with Rob. “I have something of a situation.”
The phrasing was specific. Not you have something of a situation, and no righteous indignation at being questioned at all, which might have been expected. Yorks were very prone to righteous indignation, and this one was no exception to that rule. No, I have something of a situation meant that Rob was including himself in the case. Meaning that he had something of interest to say, or thought he did. His gaze shifted away from Archer’s face, darting suspiciously towards the mirror that he knew wasn’t really a mirror. There were nerves present, oh yes. “I... ah. Hm.”
How to start? Rob shifted, uncrossing his arms so that he could fuss with his shirt cuffs. Straightening the edges as he spoke. “Ms. Wilson... was on my payroll. In a manner of a speaking.”
===========
If Rob’s posture had been noticeably different, perhaps then Archer might have been more... concerned. If he was at all amused by the I’m-going-to-touch-as-little-as-possible rigidity of Rob York, it didn’t show on the sheriff’s impassive face. As it was, very little showed on Archer’s expression even on a good day, so the two were alike in that respect. This was very much how either might look were they to have the meeting at Vic’s, say. Well, maybe not. Archer, at least, felt more comfortable in a police station than he might anywhere else, but it was hard to tell that from his squared off shoulders and squared away appearance.
He nodded at Rob’s greeting, listened carefully at what was being told to him -- listened as closely as if he could hear the jangling of Rob’s nerves -- and waited until Rob really started fidgeting before he approached the table and took the other chair across from him. The file folder came to rest on the tabletop without being opened; Archer took his customary notepad from inside his uniform jacket pocket but didn’t open that, either. He examined Rob’s face for a few seconds. Apparently satisfied with what he found there, Archer spoke. “She was on your payroll.” A statement of fact, an inherent question, an invitation to continue: the stoic cop spoke as gently as he would to a lost child. Not patronizing, not consciously... but he seemed to understand that this was difficult for Rob. An adversarial chat would get them nowhere. He’d been requested, after all. Skipping the step that involved lawyers made Archer’s job a lot easier.
========== “Mn,” Rob answered, the vaguest possible affirmation. A stenographer would have balked. For a brief moment, it seemed he’d just leave it at that, and let the silence between the two men settle in for a nice long stay. However, he did come to realize on his own before being told that mn wasn’t actually a valid response to anything. This was difficult for him. He’d always struggled to place himself above carnal desires and human weaknesses... or at the very least, he’d always struggled to give off the impression of doing so. The man wouldn’t even chew in public, and here he was about to divulge secrets to someone he barely knew.
Divulging them to Sue Foster might be worse, however. At least with Archer there was some faint hope of understanding. The Sheriff had always been polite, professional, stoic... over the years of his living in Regency Meadows, Rob had come to view him as a kindred spirit in a sense. A bastion of order in a chaotic world. Someone who saw the inherent value in the system, the need for a system, and upheld the rules. Rob respected that. Was grateful for it, although it meant that some of his discomfort was due to the fact that he’d been breaking certain rules. He wasn’t strictly sure that his arrangement with Susanna Wilson actually broke any laws, but it sure didn’t fall into the realm of morally decent. Falsifying records, creating a fake identity to funnel money to in order to cover up the arrangement... some of that did break laws, even if he wasn’t profiting from it.
Rob cleared his throat once, and clarified, choosing to look at a blank wall rather than the Sheriff’s face as he gave the details.
“Yes. I met Ms. Wilson through a mutual acquaintance; Marcus Caravahlo. He’d hired her on my behalf, without my permission, for the purposes of engaging in a sexual act. I declined to do so, but Ms. Wilson did leave her phone number with me.” Rob sighed, closing his eyes briefly, the tension visible in his jawline. A moment of clenched teeth. Anger, but it was self-directed. Fueled by shame. “Three months later I contacted her to arrange a private meeting. As you’re aware, I’ve quite a busy schedule, and as such I’m disinclined to devote time to courting women. Ms. Wilson was willing to make herself available for... companionship. I paid her handsomely in exchange for her services. I did not engage in intercourse with Ms. Wilson, but the sessions did have a... sexual nature to them. I...”
How to put it? How many details did he have to give? “I kept these meetings clandestine, of course. I was meeting her regularly in an apartment that I keep for... privacy. Generally once every few weeks. There is a record of all of this, though it’s encoded. The last time I saw Ms. Wilson was December 16th, in that apartment. I’d purchased a necklace and a pair of stockings for her as a Christmas gift. Although I’d booked her for two hours, I asked her to leave before the time was up. I’ve not seen her again, since.”
And now for the appeal. For this, he was willing to meet Archer’s eyes. “I realize that this is a murder investigation, Sheriff, and I do not want to impede. I was fond of Ms. Wilson, and I’m willing to do anything I can to help your efforts in bringing her killer to justice. However, you must understand that this is a... ah... delicate... situation for me. If any of this were to become public knowledge... my connection to the victim... the damage to my reputation would be irreparable. As you well know, one’s reputation in this town is paramount. Please, I... I ask only for discretion, in the matter.”
==========
So Robert York was capable of being... lonely.
Not a muscle twitched in Archer's blank expression. When he thought about it, he liked Rob okay. Even when Hunter was kicked out of the apartments, Archer's reaction was tempered by the idea that she had broken the rules. Rob wasn't being unreasonable by enforcing his own rules. While Archer understood Hunt's outrage...? Rob wasn't wrong. Therefore, there was no need for Hunter's extreme reaction. Fucked if any of it mattered now, but still. In addition to his sense of right and wrong, Archer had a sense of fairness. Things could be right and not fair. Things could be wrong and still more or less fair.
Putting all of this information from Rob into the Wilson file for every officer to see would be right. But Rob didn't need Archer's help to be a subject of gossip around Crows Landing. Some of Archer's favorite rumors about Rob involved his reactions to things of a 'sexual nature.' Maybe because imagining stuffy Rob York's reactions to simple biology were jokes that wrote themselves. Hearing a drop of truth to those rumors now, with what Rob was telling him, was something another man might think extraordinarily funny, even under the circumstances. Archer didn’t allow himself to have a reaction like that.
His chair creaked as he leaned back just a little, a posture of the receptive listener, non-adversarial.
It didn’t surprise him, any of this, as much as it probably should have. Rob was fastidious to the point of being fussy and the fact that he’d plan something so elaborate for something that could be as simple as companionship seemed a matter of course. Archer read between the lines where Caravahlo was concerned; it was like him, he thought, to send a literal ‘fuck you.’ Susanna Wilson. The number of run-in’s the law and Susanna had together, she’d known the police station nearly as well as he did. Or she would, if she had a single thought of her own in her head. That was unkind, to criticize a victim, and Archer felt some compassion for her, getting more notoriety even in death.
Rob’s description of her services with him... they put Susanna into a more favorable light than maybe even Rob knew. She wasn’t just some lousy hooker -- O’Brien had a large repertoire of jokes concerning Archer and hookers so it was a subject the sheriff had to hear about often -- but a woman capable of some discernment and sympathy. No matter how good the money was (and with Rob paying, it was sure to be more than adequate) there had to be the temptation to tell everyone just how fucking weird Rob York really was. Could tell the whole damn town. Though there were plenty of salacious rumors in the Landing, the specifics of Rob’s arrangement with Susanna hadn’t come to light until Rob told Archer himself.
With a thoughtful look, the sheriff flipped open his notebook and quickly jotted down a few words that would serve as a reminder: ‘apartment. 16th. necklace.’ The pad was flipped closed again. Stretching the muscles in his neck, tilting his head to one side, then the other, Archer brought his steady gaze back to rest on Rob. There was a modicum of understanding in his expression.
After a long moment, Archer spoke softly. “Yes. I know how things are. In this town. People talk. Hell, they’re gonna talk just about you being in here today.” A pause. “You have my discretion, though. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, what we just talked about isn’t gonna leave this room. If your alibi checks out -- no reason to think it won’t -- that’ll be the end of it.”
Archer touched the knot in his tie, a thoughtful gesture, and adjusted his shirt collar with thumb and forefinger. He hunted down his words with care. “You could’ve... come to talk to me. Before now.” A shrug said he was letting it go at that, but Archer did believe that after the body was found and word began to spread, Rob could’ve saved himself some grief by coming directly to him. It wasn’t worth dwelling on and he didn’t feel strongly on the subject. He did have something else he wanted to ask, though.
“You knew Ms. Wilson. Have any idea if she was having any difficulties recently? More than usual. Anything she might have confided in you?”
==========
“I should have approached you, yes,” Rob corrected, casually accepting the fault for not going to Archer sooner. It had been a crime of omission, and he knew there was no excuse for it. He’d been hoping that he’d never have to. That Susanna’s connection to him might stay buried. It hadn’t occurred to him initially that his silence might impede their murder investigation, however, simply because he was certain of its irrelevance. “That was a miscalculation on my part. I apologize.”
A miscalculation, indeed. He was aware that he sounded aloof, but was at a loss for how he should sound, instead. The sheriff's next question only served to confound him more. Had he known Ms. Wilson? Barely. There was an awkward silence as he struggled to find his own phrasing.
“Ms. Wilson and I...” God, how to put it delicately? “I didn’t ask her for details about her life, or encourage her to share them with me. There were minute aberrancies in her behavior when I last saw her that I found noteworthy, but did not ask her to explain, but they weren’t... I doubt that they’d have any... ah. Hm.”
Rob began fussing with his glasses. A nervous gesture. Distracting himself through a practical task. Cleaning a lens to avoid having to make eye contact. “I paid her handsomely to fulfill a role for me. Getting to know her too much personally would have... negated... my being able to mentally fit her to that role.”
And that was as far as he was going to go with that. The glasses were replaced on his face and he looked up, a stony, sallow mask merely reciting details. “She texted me to set up the meeting, which was unusual. Normally she waited for me to contact her. She requested that I buy her the necklace, which was also unusual. She’d never asked for a specific gift, before. She... was very pleased with it. In fact, she... well. She didn’t seem troubled that night. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was the most comfortable - content - that I’d ever seen her, personally.”
Color rose from his neck to his cheeks as he spoke, remembering exactly how she’d been acting. The teasing. The confident smirk. How she’d unexpectedly made him feel like a teenager, almost a willing slave. Rather than admit that out loud, he just said, “I’m afraid I’m unaware of any.... ah... difficulties... she might have been having at home.”
========
Simply inclining his head slightly at the offered apology, accepting it and letting the matter drop, Archer waited out the awkward pauses and hesitations as Rob sought the words he’d use. As if he understood exactly what he meant in saying that getting to know Susanna personally would’ve negated his need for her services, Archer nodded in an encouraging manner. Silence was the sheriff’s second skin; it was easy to believe that he’d stick to his word concerning the discretion he promised Rob.
With his ever-impassive facade, he watched the changes in Rob’s face as he talked: the microexpressions impossible to hide, the mask that came up as his glasses were put back on, the heightened color at the end. He could push, would push if Rob had been a suspect. Rob was a person of interest but there wasn’t anything in what he was saying to make Archer’s bullshit detector go haywire. In the delicate fucking Yorkisms he was being given, Archer figured Rob was being square with him.
The notepad flipped open -- ‘victim proactive, happy’ -- and he let it fall shut again when he was done.
Though it was Rob’s last statement that truly answered the question asked, it was the part before that that piqued the cop’s interest. Waiting a few seconds to see if Rob would hold his gaze, Archer asked, “What was so special about this necklace?” He’d relaxed fractionally, still professional but less rigid, and curiosity showed in his dark blue eyes. There was a spark there as gears turned and looked to mesh with other gears. Had to be some great fucking jewelry to make Susanna Wilson... content. Of all the descriptors Archer could ever use on her, that hadn’t been one he would’ve ever consciously chosen.
==========
“Nothing at all to speak of,” Rob answered, finding the tangible subject matter much easier to speak about than the nature of his relationship with the gift’s recipient. “She’d texted me a picture of it, but I’ve long since deleted any traces of communication with Ms. Wilson; in the interest of not being found out should my phone fall out of my possession, I generally purged any messages from her within a day or so of receiving them. Had I known something like this might happen, I would have kept a more diligent record.”
It must have occurred to Rob at some point that his purged records meant that there was a distinct lack of evidence tying him to Susanna Wilson. Her cell phone, the clothes she’d last been wearing, the necklace... none of that had been found thus far, so if he’d chosen not to be forthcoming, he could have stood on the ground that any connection was purely hearsay, and left it at that. Sue Foster might have advised him to do so. Of course, if her phone did turn up with his contact information in it, he would have been found out, and he didn’t actually want to withhold any evidence that might be helpful.
“In any event, the necklace itself was large and cheap -- less than three hundred dollars. Enamel, bronze, and crystal, no precious materials.” Certainly not worth strangling a woman to steal. “She was enamored with it, however. Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but Susanna Wilson’s tastes were... ah... rather simple. She found it at an antique store, so I suppose it was ‘vintage.’ I didn’t ask the proprietor about it, as his price was roughly what I’d expect to pay for such a thing. He accepted two-fifty.”