Under Suspicion Page #7

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everything falls into place.

There's no need

to even ask my side of the story.

I'm Jack the Ripper,

Jekyll and Hyde, big, bad wolf.

I'll remind you, Henry.

I've heard your story all night,

and you've been lying.

- Detective.

- You got a problem? Huh?

- All right.

- Let's go.

Sit down, Henry.

Going man to man now,

are we?

Shall I roll up my sleeves?

Christmas. Two years ago.

You and Camille.

- Let me see.

- I don't get it.

It was nothing,

absolutely nothing.

Camille dragged me into her room to show

off a Christmas gift from her mother.

- Even a knucklehead should be able to-

- She was high on a sugar rush...

from pumpkin pie.

This would look good on you.

Couldn't keep still.

Smile.

So Chantal overreacted?

Chantal never let you

touch her after that?

You know, there are many things

that separate couples:

Infidelity...

money, long illness.

I'm separated from my wife

by a hallway, a 60-foot hallway.

In fact, it's a desert,

that hallway.

And at the very end,

there's a door.

And when it's locked,

you can knock all you want...

but that door wont open.

Why do you hold on?

Why not just get a divorce?

Just trade one nightmare

for another. Let's add it up:

Half my money, the house.

I'd end up living

over somebody's reconverted garage.

Oh, yeah, and then there's half

my share of the law firm.

That's bullshit, Henry.

It's vanity, pure and simple.

Being with her

puts you on everybody's A-list.

You're Puerto Rico's glamour couple.

"Ah! Henry and Chantal Hearst!

They're so in love!"

- Just full of compliments, aren't we?

- That's why you stay married.

At our age, finding another woman

like that's not so easy.

Not so easy

if you're taking them back...

to your third-floor walk-up piece

of sh*t $500-a-month studio apartment.

- Is that what you mean, Victor?

- Well, we can't all afford...

to wine and dine classy, sophisticated

ladies we meet in La Perla, can we?

Just who'd your wife find you with

before she relocated in such a hurry?

F*** you, Henry.

Whoops.

Tell me.

Sue Ellen Huddy.

Did you know her well

or just in passing?

Not well. Not at all.

Its impossible for a man my age

to know a 12-year-old really well.

To know a 12-year-old really well.

Bags. Throw me the bags.

Thanks.

The darkroom.

There was no dog in there.

There was only you.

We don't have any evidence

of a struggle...

so it had to be somebody

very good with children...

or someone she knew.

Did you kick the ball around

with her, Henry?

Did you laugh and play

with her first?

Or did you just take her?

Was it as exciting

as Paulina Valera?

- Tell me, Henry!

- Go to hell.

You dressed her again.

You posed her.

We'll find the brush, Henry.

We'll find the brush you used.

We'll find the brush you used

to get her hair just right.

And then what you came for:

Your trophy.

You met Chantal when she was 11.

You molded a pleasure model.

Is that what you think

children are for? To pleasure you?

You peel my onion

down to the nub.

Are you trying to tell me

that you don't like them young?

You're twice divorced,

single with a vengeance.

Who do you talk to

in a martini bar?

The best-looking girl

you can get away with, that's who.

And she's not 50.

Probably mid-30s.

Of course, in their 20s- Hey.

Now we're talking.

And how about teenage girls?

We loved them then.

Why should anything change now?

What does he possibly see

in a girl that young?

What in the world

do they talk about?

If I want to discuss the S&P 500,

I'll call my broker.

Young girls don't talk.

They laugh.

They live.

They're in the moment.

And every night is the night.

And their bodies

are hard and tight...

and smooth...

the way skin is supposed to be.

And saying so...

doesn't make me a pervert.

Men can't say sh*t anymore.

We're all browbeaten by youth-obsessed

old b*tches fresh from chemical peels.

Still want us to open their doors,

pay their way.

Yes, Victor,

I love young women.

At least I'm honest enough

to say so.

One-hundred

f***ing percent guilty.

Owens. We found them, sir.

- She come back with you?

- Yeah.

Put her in there.

All right.

All right, but only if you promise

to keep your mouth shut until I'm ready.

You're welcome.

You can sit right here.

Check the recorder.

There should be enough tape...

though I don't think

we'll need much more.

Have a seat, Henry.

She's in there watching?

What's he saying?

You're good

at hiding behind things.

Sit down, Henry...

and tell us one more time about your

relationship with these cond victim...

Sue Ellen Huddy.

Your relationship with

the murder victim, Sue Ellen Huddy-

the little girl you claim

you found by the jogging path.

She thinks that I did this.

Lll ask the question one more time.

What was your relationship

to the murdered girl, Sue Ellen Huddy?

There was none.

None?

No. None.

I saw her by the house

on occasion.

She lived in the neighborhood.

I might have spoke to her

once or twice...

if ever.

A greeting, per-

perhaps.

Here's what I believe,

Henry.

You're bored.

You're unhappy.

You have a history

with very young girls.

You've been placed at the scene

of the first murder.

Your attempt at an alibi

was to kill a second young girl.

You're in love with someone

who doesn't love you...

just who you were.

You're very, very lonely.

I'll tell you what I believe...

what I know...

what I have proof of.

Can you tell me who that is?

Sue Ellen.

A portrait like that

takes time, Henry.

And this little girl?

Chantal was nice enough

to bring these out of your darkroom.

You make lovely photographs,

Henry.

I can't believe that

she would go these lengths...

to make this kind of point.

It's almost farcical.

You killed Sue Ellen Huddy.

Yes.

And Paulina Valera?

Yes.

Both of them?

Yes, both of them.

Raped and murdered them.

Lm the one.

Are you prepared

to make a statement?

What else am I doing?

Well, let's-

Let's begin with the first victim,

little Paulina.

Take your time.

I...

saw her on the doorstep.

Go on, Henry.

I'll be right back.

You saw her on the doorstep.

I saw her

on the doorstep, and...

she was all alone.

- And she went off with you?

- All right. What is it?

- These were in his car.

- You had sex with her?

Yes. I raped her.

- And then?

- And then strangled her.

There in the dump?

- No. No, in the-

- Who is this?

- In an alley.

- We were too late.

- Which alley, exactly?

- But we got him, sir.

Park Central stakeout

caught him in the act.

- I don't know.

- He's downstairs.

They are processing him now.

So, afterwards...

you carried the body

to the dump?

Sir, it's over.

Yeah, I dragged it.

Her clothes.

You'd already put them back on?

I redressed her.

And you posed her?

Yes, I po-

Yes, I brushed her hair.

I took her-

I took her hands

and cupped them...

under her cheek.

I opened her eyes and-

and then...

I took her picture.

What are you doing?

You can go home, Henry.

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