Poker Articles

Poisonous Poker: A Poker Cop Mystery
By Robert Arabella
Part 4- Confession

There have been three poisoning deaths at the Las Vegas Majestic's Poker Room. The Chief of Poker Room Security, Talbot, The Poker Cop, continues the investigation.

"Mrs. Tallifiero, I'm Detective Rook of the LVPD Strip Division. I have evidence, irrefutable evidence, that you have tonight poisoned three people. You are a mass murderer. Don't even bother to deny it. We know it, and we can prove in court. You're as guilty as sin. If you confess, in full, right now, I will do everything in my power to save you from the death penalty. Otherwise you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law and the law shows no mercy to those who won't confess."

Mary looks at Rook in puzzled silence. "I don't understand . . . I . . ." The words "poison," "murder," and "death penalty" sink in slowly. Mary now looks at Rook as if he is insane. "I . . . what? . . . WHAT!" She shakes from side to side. She squeezes her eyes closed and then opens them quickly - and seems surprised that she has not woken up from this nightmare. She looks around frantically for someone who is sane. First at Red Penny, who refuses to make eye contact, and then at me. "Talby," she asks, "What's going on? Tell him this is some kind of mistake. You know me. I never . . . I couldn't . . . Talby, I swear to you . . ."

"Swearing you're innocent doesn't alter the facts of your guilt," says Rook, pointing towards the television screen. The picture is frozen on Mary picking up the Sinners Games' drinks. "Watch."

Georgette hits Start. We see Mary pick up the drink tray and walk towards the Sinners' Table. Rook says to her, "There is nothing in those drinks except what the players ordered." Mary now disappears behind the pillar. The upper-right hand counter ticks off 25 seconds. Mary reappears. "Those drinks are now poisoned. Poisoned by you." Mary walks to the table and starts to hand out the drinks. Eddie grabs her. She fights him off. Finishes handing out the drinks and walks away. Georgette hits Stop.

"Why did you stop, Mary?" I ask. "What were you doing?"

Mary, pulls her eyes off the screen, says to me, "I was switching hands, that's all, I swear, I've got arthritis in my wrists, I . . ."

Rook yells, "Why did you poison all three, Mary? We know Mr. Sherry was sexually harassing you and you reacted by assaulting him. Tonight, we saw his rude behavior and your second assault. Why did you poison the others? Were they all touching you? Were you tired of fighting them off?"

Mary starts to rise up. The Stripper behind her chair pushes her back down.

"I . . . I didn't . . ."

"Didn't what? Mean to kill all three?"

"I didn't poison anyone's drinks . . . I would nev . . ."

"No? The drinks were not poisoned at the bar. They were not poisoned at the table. They did not poison themselves. You, and only you, could have poisoned them. You are guilty of three murders and the only thing I'm sorry about is that the State can only execute you once!"

Mary slumps down in her seat, making herself smaller.

Rook moves in for the quick kill, "Your friends don't believe you, Mary. They've seen the proof of your guilt. If your own friends don't believe you, no judge will believe you, no jury will believe you. Mary, listen to me, it's over, you've been found out. Just say, 'I did it.' That's all you have to say."

Mary looks like she's going to scream out loud. The scream does not come out - she opens her mouth and only a whimper escapes.

"You must trust me, I can help you, but first you must admit the truth. You were being sexually harassed by these men, you tried to fight back, but when that didn't work, you poisoned them, didn't you?"

Mary is breathing heavily. The way you would in a nightmare when you're chased by rabid dogs. She says nothing. Rook's cellphone rings.

"Yes . . . yes . . . wait." He turns to Mary. "Mrs. Tallifiero, how old is your son?" Mary is startled. "Jims is just eighteen. Why? What's wrong? What's happened to my boy?" Rook ignores her question and is back on the phone. "He's an adult. Read him his rights and take him downtown." Rook hangs up. "Mrs. Tallifiero, the LVPD has just conducted a search of your home. They've found a stash of illegal drugs, amphetamines, including Pink Panthers, barbiturates, including Purple Hearts, and rave drugs, including Ket, GBH and Roofies. I've ordered your son arrested on multiple counts of felony drug possession. The minimum penalty for conviction on just one count is fifteen years."

Mary is now mother-frantic. "Arrest Jims? Drugs? No! No! No! This is all some kind of a mistake. He's a good boy. He's . . . "

"If you would only confess," Rook tells her, "I could . . . get the charges against him dropped. The drugs are yours, aren't they? You mixed them up into some sort of deadly cocktail, didn't you? I can tell the DA your son Jim is innocent. If, on the other hand, the drugs are his . . . if his drugs were used in the commission of your crime, the law will judge him as guilty as you and," Rook shakes his head sadly, "he could be put to death."
Mary's face is a mask of abject terror. Tears run down her face. She does not wipe them away.

"I will keep my word to you. I'll get the drug charges dropped. Look, I know I'm a stranger to you so why you don't you ask your friend Tal. He knows me. He'll tell you I always keep my word to people who tell me the truth. Go ahead, ask him."

Mary turns her tear-streaked face to me. "Talby? Is it true. Will he protect Jims?"

Now I know why I am here. Rook has trapped me into helping him force a confession out of Mary. If Mary confesses to multiple murder she will die on Death Row. She has asked me for the truth. I owe her the truth. "Yes. Detective Rook's word is good."

"I did it," she says quietly, "I'm guilty. I killed them I . . . poisoned them. Jims had nothing, nothing to do with it. It was me . . . alone . . . not Jims . . . the drugs are mine . . . just leave my boy alone . . . It was me . . . it was . . .me." Mary puts her hands over her face and bows her head like a beaten dog.

Rook stands. "Mary Tallifiero, having freely confessed your guilt before witnesses, I'm placing you under arrest for three charges of first-degree premeditated murder. You have the right to remain silent. If you chose to give up that right, any statements you make may be used as evidence against you. You have the right to be represented by an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand your rights?"

"I, I, yes, but . . . Jims." Rook nods to one of the Strippers, who grabs Mary's wrists and forces her to stand as he cuffs her hands behind her back.

"Take her away," orders Rook. The Stripper leads Mary towards the door. On the way out Mary twists backwards and, dragging along the Stripper holding her arm, confronts me. "Make him keep his promise, Talby, make him leave Jims alone." I say nothing. The Stripper drags Mary from the room. Rook begins to follow. I say angrily "You shouldn't have dragged me into that interrogation."

Rook shakes his head, "Who was it, ex-Detective Talbot, that once told me, 'Get the confession first and make it fit the crime afterwards'? Let me think . . . O, wait, I remember now, it was you." He turns away and says "Good night, Ms. Fallon." And he is gone.
Red Penny breaks her silence, "Rook's right, Tallifiero deserves to die three times for what's she's done."

"Her only crime was trying to protect her son."

" . . . her son? What about the murders?"

"Penelope. Mary has just confessed to a crime she did not commit to save her only child.
She's not guilty."

"Not guilty!" says Red Penny, "Who do think you're fooling? Detective Rook has a tape of the crime and a confession by the criminal. You say she's not guilty. She says she is and the evidence proves it. She's your her friend. You can't see the truth the way Rook and I do."

"No, Penelope, it's you who can't see the truth. She's not guilty. I know it."

I receive Red Penny's sarcasm, "'Talby,' that's what she called you right? 'Talby,' what is it exactly you know that I don't?"

"I know Mary Tallifiero. I was her friend when you were still a bad-tempered, freckled-faced, orange-headed, playground brat. And before that . . . I, Penelope, was her lover."

Red Penny looks shocked. She probably doesn't believe her parents ever had sex either. I don't give her any explanation for what I've said. I'll give you one but it will be short and sweet: It was twenty-five, maybe more, years ago. I was a 'shoot-to-kill' cop. She was a showgirl. It was sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll. We started out as lovers and, when it finally burned out, we remained friends.

I say to Red Penny, "Have you ever had a lover that turned into a friend, Penelope? No, I don't think so. You're not the type. If you had, you'd understand that a good friendship is far more intimate than sex. A lover knows your body. A friend knows your soul. I know Mary Tallifiero's soul. She is no more capable of murder than you are of compassion."
Red Penny's glare is hateful. I simply don't care. I stare dispassionately back.

Joey's phone breaks the strained silence. "Go answer it," she says to me, "I'm through with this. I'm going up to my room and going to sleep. You're letting your feeling for your ex-girlfriend blind you to the truth about her." She starts to go, stops, turns back. "Talbot, maybe Donny was right, "Sometimes, no matter what you believe, you have to believe your own eyes." She doesn't wait for my reply. That's OK. I don't have one.

I pick up Joey's phone. Dialtone. The ringing continues. I find Rook's cell phone buried beneath a pile of papers on Joey's desk. I answer it.

"I need to talk to Detective Rook," says the M.E.

"Doc, this is Tal, Rook has . . . ," I hesitate, although not for long, ". . . stepped out for a minute. If you've got something significant, tell me and I'll pass it along. Do you know what poison was used?"

The M.E. does not hesitate: "We couldn't find any known toxin. We didn't figure out what it was that killed your poker players until we gave up on the tox-screen and started a full blood analysis. It was Flunitrazepam, the generic name for . . ."

"Roofies?"

"Yes, Tal, Roofies."

Let's stop. You already know what Roofies are, you just don't know that you know. Roofies are the street name for the illegal prescription tranquilizer Rohypnol, you know them as the Date-Rape Drug. Roofies, which sell on the street for $5 a pill, are the drug of choice for Saturday night rave-rapists because they produce a sedative effect, relaxing the victim, and an amnesiac effect, confusing the victim.

"Doc, when I worked the LVPD Sex Crimes unit, I handled Roofie-rapes all the time. I didn't know it was a poison."

"Neither did I, until tonight. Our experience with Roofies is all based on young women, not old men. Our theory is that the Roofies acted to triple their heart beats while depressing their respiration. A wildly beating heart plus grossly constricted lungs raised their blood pressures, which were already age-related high, to catastrophic levels that, for lack of a better term, blew their hearts apart.

I am silent. I do not tell the M.E. that Roofies were found in Mary's home. Instead I do the murder math: Mary's Drinks + Mary's Roofies = First Degree Murder x 3.

"You'll tell Rook all this?" asks the M.E.

"Yes, Doc," I promise, "Yes, I will." I just don't tell him when.

I am helping myself to Joey's Jack Daniels. It is almost five in the morning. Jack and I have been sitting at the Sinners Table for hours, going over every detail of the poisonous poker deaths. I look at the empty 5 seat and I see Mary serving Mississippi a toxic Scotch. I move my eyes to the empty 7 seat and there is Mary serving Cheap Eddie a deadly Screwdriver. My eyes move to seat 8 where Mary is serving Gentleman Jimmy a fatal Whiskey. Three dead men. One waitress. A triple murder. A full confession. The State will demand, and get, the death penalty.

I shake my head. Something is wrong. Something I'm not seeing. I pour myself another shot of Jack and begin again.

Murder has three elements, MOM: Motive, Opportunity, Means.

Motive? Mary might have had a motive. Mary 0. Murder 1.

Opportunity? Mary might have had the opportunity. Mary 0. Murder 2.

Means? Mary might have had the means. Mary 0. Murder 3.

I drain my glass and pour another. I know it's not Mary. But, if it's not Mary, then who is it? Who else had motive? Who else had opportunity? Who else had means? Who else touched the drinks?

Florin, the bartender. No motive. No means. No opportunity.

Mary, the waitress Motive, Means, Opportunity.

There is only one person who could have committed these murders. Mary. I close my eyes.

Ladies and gentleman of the jury, have you reached a verdict?

We have, your Honor.

And what is your verdict?

We, the jury, find the defendant guilty on three counts of murder in the first degree.

I open my eyes. Shake my head. Maybe Red Penny and Donny the Dealer are right: "Sometimes, no matter what you believe, you have to believe your own eyes."

I drain the Jack shot and pour out another. I hold it up to the light. "And maybe," I say to the empty chairs, "I'm wrong about Mary." One last shot of good straight Tennessee sipping whiskey and I'll call it quits.

I raise the shotglass to my mouth, begin to taste the good warm liquid, tilt my head back and . . . and . . . put down the glass. I sit very still. My eyes go the three empty seats.

Left to right, Mississippi. Eddie. Jimmy. Scotch. Vodka. Whiskey.

Right to left. Whiskey. Vodka. Scotch. Jimmy. Eddie. Mississippi.

Question: What do they have in common?

Answer. Sometimes you can't believe even your own eyes.

I am up on my feet and running out of the poker room for the nearest elevator. For the first time tonight I am smiling.

Red Penny lives in a Mini-Suite on the 29th Floor. When I reach her door I begin to bang on it flathanded: Wham! Wham! "Penelope!" I yell. Wham! Wham! "Wake up! Penelope, It's Tal." Wham!, Wham ! "I'm not going away. Open the door!" Wham! Wh . . .

The door opens. Red Penny's .45 asks what I want.

"Penelope, Mary is not our poisoner . . . "

Red Penny pulls the .45's hammer back.

" . . . And I know who the real poisoner is. I can solve this case. Can you?"