“I know it’s a strange request. Can you humor me on this? I’ll owe you a favor.”
“Okay. I guess I have some time.” Fulco sighed and dropped back into his chair. He gestured for her to take a seat near him. She wheeled a chair away from a vacant desk and sat facing him. “This was October 14,” he said. “A Friday. I got a call at about 9:45 at night.”
“Was your partner with you?”
“I don’t have a partner. Used to. Al Kubacki. He retired, and they haven’t assigned me a new one yet.”
That seemed unusual, but thinking about his nickname again, she supposed people weren’t lining up around the block to volunteer.
“You got a call….”
“You really want every detail? Step by step?”
“If you don’t mind.”
He let out another sigh. “There was a shooting behind Bistro Cannata. That’s spelled two Ns, one T. It’s a fancy restaurant in the Market East neighborhood.”
“I’m familiar with it,” Jessie said.
“Yeah?” Fulco arched an eyebrow. “You ever eaten there?”
“Once.”
“Well. Look at you.”
Jessie ignored his tone. “What did you find at the scene?”
“According to the uniforms who called it in, the vic was Corbin Keeley. I’d never heard of him, but apparently he was a big deal. A city councilman. I don’t know what a councilman does, much less what their names are. I guess they write laws for the city or something.”
“Close enough.” It was a little more complicated than that. They were elected officials who acted as the legislative branch of local government, voting on measures to address the city’s needs—infrastructure, growth, strategic planning. Before his death, Corbin Keeley had been the councilman representing District 2, which covered part of Center City, South and Southwest Philly, the stadium area, the airport, and other neighborhoods. Jessie doubted Fulco was in the mood for a civics lecture, so she kept the information to herself.
“Well, anyway, I get to Bistro Cannata,” Fulco said. “First thing I see is news vans. Typical, right? You can have ten gang members gunned down in West Philly and maybe a few reporters will show up at the Roundhouse later for a canned statement, but one politician gets his brains blown out by a hot blonde at a fancy restaurant near City Hall, you get a circus at the crime scene.”
“You found Brooke Raines attractive?”
Fulco looked startled. “What?”
“You called her ‘hot.’ Were you attracted to her?”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you implying? That I let her looks affect my judgment?”
“No, I didn’t say that.”
“I’m attracted to a lot of women. I’m attracted to you. Doesn’t mean anything, okay?”
“Fine,” she said, embarrassed now and wanting to change the subject. “Do you think the press contaminated the scene?” This was always a concern. Even a minor disturbance of a crime scene by the media or other unauthorized people could lead to the exclusion of evidence at trial.
Fulco shook his head. “The uniforms did a good job corralling the vultures. Not that it matters, right? No trial, so we don’t have to worry about contamination.”
She didn’t want him to jump ahead. “What happened after you arrived at Bistro Cannata?”
“Well, like I said, the scene had already been secured by the first officers—two uniforms, doing their best to keep the reporters and the rubberneckers away from the corpse. The names of the uniforms are in my report, but if you want me to look them up….”
“That’s okay. What happened next?”
“I examined the scene. Body on the ground. Bullet hole in the head, right here.” He pointed to a spot just above his left eyebrow. “Blood on the pavement. The rock—what was left of it—on the ground at the base of the wall. One of the uniforms—”
“Hold on. What rock?”
His back seemed to stiffen. “You didn’t read my report.”
“I haven’t had time. I will.”
He let out another beleaguered sigh. “After he chased her outside, Keeley tried to brain her with a rock. He threw it at her. It hit the wall of the building and broke into pieces. Just missed her head.”
Jessie took this detail in. “How big was the rock?”
Fulco shrugged and made a fist. “About the size of my hand.”
“Were his prints on it?”
“No, but we won’t need prints. No trial, remember?”
“You didn’t know that at the time.”
“I figured it out pretty quick. While I’m standing there over the body, thinking about bullet trajectories and blood spatter and all that, one of the uniforms walks over and introduces me to a woman who admits to being the shooter.”
“Brooke Raines,” Jessie said.
“Right. Young and blonde. Attractive. Half Keeley’s age, if that.”
Jessie picked up on his tone. “You disapprove of Keeley’s relationship with a younger woman?”
“What I know now about the guy? I disapprove of his relationship with any woman.”
The lack of objectivity troubled her, but she let it go for the moment. “What did you do?”
Fulco’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you think? I told the uniforms to get witness statements from the people in the restaurant, and I took Ms. Raines back to the Roundhouse to get her confession ASAP. Someone wants to confess to a shooting, you don’t take them the scenic route.”
“You Mirandized her?”
“Of course.”
“She didn’t want a lawyer?”
“Nope. She just wanted to tell me her side of the story. Which, as it turns out, was pretty compelling. Keeley had been physically abusive with her for months. She had enough, tried to break up with him, and he became enraged. He chased her out of the restaurant and attacked her with the rock and she shot him in self-defense.”
“Why was she carrying a gun?”
“Because she was afraid of him. She knew he’d get angry.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“To the actual shooting in the parking lot? No one came forward.”
“Did you look for any?”
Fulco’s expression shifted. His eyes narrowed and he sounded more guarded as he said, “There wasn’t a need.”
“No one canvassed the neighborhood for other witnesses?”
“Why are you asking that?”
“I just want to make sure I have the whole story.”
“Uh-huh. Well, we have plenty of witnesses inside the restaurant. They didn’t see the shooting, but they saw Keeley and Raines arguing and they saw Keeley chase Raines out the door. Does that give you the whole story?”
“What about video cameras? Anything pointed at the parking lot?”
“Yeah, there was one. A jewelry store next to the parking lot had a camera aimed at the street outside its door. Real out-of-date piece of crap, but still functional. The footage is grainy, but the real problem is the camera wasn’t pointed in the right direction. You can kind of see some of the parking lot, and maybe glimpse Raines and Keeley pass through its field of view for a second, but that’s it. The action went down out of the camera’s view.”
“Does it clearly show Raines life was in danger?”
“I just told you. It doesn’t show anything.”
“I’d like to watch it.”
“Great. I’ll have a copy sent to your office.”
“Did Raines’s medical records back up her claims of abuse?”
“Medical records? No. What, now you’re doubting she was really abused?”
“I don’t know. Did you arrange for a medical examination?”
Fulco shook his head. “For what? To prove Keeley beat her? We weren’t looking for evidence against Keeley. He was already dead.”
“But how do you know Raines was telling you the truth?”
“Because I know a domestic abuse victim when I see one, okay? Also, I put in a call to Keeley’s ex. You want to know the
dirt on someone, always go to the ex. After she got past the shock of hearing about his death, she admitted that he’d hit her during their marriage.”
“But basically, you just took Brooke Raines’s story at face value. Your conclusion that the shooting was justifiable is based almost entirely on her statement.”
“No, it isn’t.” Fulco dug through a drawer of his desk and came back with a folder. He pulled two sheets of paper from it and slapped them down on the desk in front of Jessie. The first was a photograph of a rock, taken on the ground of what she assumed to be the crime scene. It was a big rock, probably bigger than Fulco’s hand. Not a gun or a knife, but definitely a weapon if used by an enraged man intent on inflicting harm. The second piece of paper was the infamous photograph of Nina Long’s battered face.
“That’s Nina Long, not Brooke Raines.” Jessie caught herself looking away. She forced her gaze back to the disturbing photo.
“A man who beat his wife like that, you know he beats other women, too,” Fulco said.
“But that’s not evidence. Not for purposes of the law.”
“And like I keep saying—there’s no trial, so who cares?”
“I care.”
He looked at her and in that moment, something changed. A line was drawn. She sensed that he’d decided she was an enemy. “I don’t think I like the tone of this conversation. If you want to say something, come out and say it. You don’t think I was thorough? You don’t think I did my job?”
“That’s not what I think. I’m sure you did your job. But you said yourself, the media has taken an interest in this one. We need to make absolutely sure the shooting was really self-defense.”
“The media is fully on board with self-defense. They love the idea of this wife-beating prick finally getting what he deserved. The news lives for stories like this. It’s good versus evil. You know who else is on board? The department. And the DA. You really want to take this little blonde woman who’s a victim of violence and try to say she’s the criminal because she killed her abuser?”
She saw the incredulous look on his face. “All I want is the truth.”
“The truth is Brooke Raines shot Corbin Keeley in self-defense.”
He looked certain. She wished she could feel the same way.
4
Through the large, plate glass windows of the Acacia building’s lobby, Mark Leary spotted Jessie approaching from the parking lot. He walked outside to meet her. The sky was gray and overcast, making the parking lot look even more dreary than usual, but the sight of her brought a smile to his face. They’d been dating for a few years now, but just looking at her could still lift his spirits. They embraced with a quick hug and kiss. The touch of her lips against his, and the warm press of her body, stirred a strong impulse to hold her tighter, kiss her more passionately, but he restrained himself. They were at his place of business, after all.
She pulled away from him, smiling, and her gaze seemed to take him in. “You must be freezing.”
It was the first week of November, and he’d come outside without his coat. The wind sliced past his sport jacket. He gritted his teeth against the cold, feeling it now that she’d pointed it out. “I’m okay. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Great. Let’s go inside. I’ve got an hour and a half before my next meeting.”
He guided her to the corporate cafeteria, introducing her to a few colleagues along the way. They bought food at the counter and found a table for two. It was Jessie’s first time seeing the expansive cafeteria that Acacia provided for its employees, and she looked impressed.
“The food’s pretty good,” he said as they settled into their chairs. “And the coffee beats the hell out of the machines at the Roundhouse.”
Jessie’s smile faltered, and he silently cursed himself for mentioning police headquarters. It seemed he couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about his old job—his old life—as a homicide detective. He knew that Jessie knew that he missed being a cop, and that part of the reason he’d lost that job was because he’d disregarded orders while taking action to save her life. He didn’t want her to feel bad about that. He certainly didn’t.
“I like the jacket,” she said.
“Thanks.” He smiled. The dress code at Acacia was business casual, but after years wearing a suit, he’d struggled with the khakis and collared shirt most of his colleagues wore. The sport jacket—no tie—seemed like a good compromise.
“Look at you. An executive. Director of Loss Prevention.”
Was she sincere, or just trying to make him feel better? He didn’t know. And he wished he didn’t wonder. When had he become so goddamn introspective? Too much time at a desk had given his mind too much freedom to turn inward.
“So what prompted you to meet me for lunch today?” he said. “Did one of your court appearances get canceled?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something. When you were still working homicide, did you know a detective named Kyle Fulco?” Her gaze suddenly lowered to her food. Leary studied her face, trying to read her expression. Was that a look of guilt?
“Jessie, it’s okay to talk about my old job. I’m a big boy.”
“Okay.” She met his gaze again.
“I knew Fulco.” He felt a smile come to his face. “We used to call him Full-of-shit Fulco.”
“People are still calling him that.”
“I guess he must still be full of shit.”
Jessie’s frown, utterly serious, wiped the grin off his face.
“Is he a good detective?” she said.
“Not really. He’s lazy. Not very smart. Does the bare minimum to keep his job.”
“Great.” Her frown depended.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just curious about him.”
“There’s more to it than that. Tell me what’s going on.”
She was clearly reluctant to do that. “You know the Corbin Keely shooting?”
“Of course. The wife-beater.” Leary took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “His girlfriend killed him. Self-defense, right?. He attacked her?”
“That’s what the girlfriend told the police.”
“The police think differently?”
“No. But if Fulco’s as lazy as you say he is…. I don’t know. I feel like maybe someone needs to take another look. Maybe I need to.”
“Hold on.” Leary felt his chest constrict. He lowered his voice, hoping no one in the cafeteria had overheard them. “Keeley’s already a huge embarrassment to the city. If the decision’s been made not to prosecute Raines, then you don’t want to question that. You don’t want to go against the PPD and the DA’s office. That’s what I did, and look what happened to me.”
“I know.” Jessie let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair. “But Keeley’s daughter approached me the other day. Her name is Carrie. She doesn’t believe her father was hurting Brooke Raines. She thinks the whole self-defense claim is a lie, and that Keeley was murdered.”
“Why would she approach you?”
“Because no one else would listen.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I promised her and her mother that I would check over the police file, make sure the self-defense claim was supported by a thorough investigation.”
“Why would you promise that?”
Jessie offered a weak smile. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just the way I am.”
He nodded grimly. He couldn’t argue with that, and he wouldn’t want her to change. “It sounds like the girl is in serious denial. I mean, come on. She thinks the girlfriend lied about the abuse just so she could kill Keeley? That puts us squarely in the conspiracy theory zone.”
“I know.”
Leary sighed. “It’s not ideal, but if you made the promise…. Just let her down easy. Tell her you talked to Fulco and read the file and everything checks out.”
Jessie moved her fork around her plate. “That’s the
problem. I’m not sure everything does check out.” Her gaze rose to meet his, and he could see from the turmoil in her beautiful green eyes that she was struggling with this. “I’m not saying I agree with Carrie. Her father beat her mother brutally. I mean, he was a monster. The idea that a few years later, he could have changed completely and become a new man incapable of that kind of violence? I understand why Carrie would want to believe that, and his ex-wife, to a lesser extent. They loved him. But I don’t believe it.”
“It’s much more likely that Keeley didn’t change,” he agreed.
“Right. But….” Her voice trailed off, and she looked at her plate again.
“Something tells me I’m not going to like what you’re about to say.”
“The law on self-defense in Pennsylvania is clear. It’s established. Use of deadly force is only justifiable when the person believes it’s necessary to protect herself against the imminent use of unlawful force by the other person. And it must be proportional. If somebody threatens to punch you, you can’t pull a knife to defend yourself. I’m not sure the facts here—at least the ones Fulco told me—really support self-defense. Raines broke up with Keeley, and he got mad. He chased her out of a restaurant and threw a rock at her. She responded by shooting him in the head.”
Leary felt his eyebrows arch. He saw her point. “Was it a really big rock?”
“It was a decent-sized rock. The point is, I probably shouldn’t have agreed to look into this case in the first place, but now that I have, as an assistant district attorney, I think it’s my obligation to make sure that Brooke Raines isn’t walking away after engaging in criminal behavior.”
The feeling of unease returned to Leary’s stomach. “Maybe it’s not a textbook example of self-defense, Jessie, but you need to think about the big picture. Corbin Keeley is hated by a lot of people as a violent, abusive man who got away with terrorizing his wife because of his political connections. People are happy that he finally got what was coming to him. If the police or the DA’s office go after Raines, people are going to ask why they didn’t go after Keeley years ago. Do you see where I’m going with this? Prosecuting Raines is politically dangerous.”
Jessie frowned. “I hate politics.”
Jessie Black Box Set 2 Page 3