“It was…” McDonald thought for a moment, “the book with the train, wasn’t it?”
“A thriller,” said Monica. “The client was in a hurry.”
“A witness saw you in Teddy’s Tumbler,” said Briscoe.
“What witness?” asked McDonald. “It couldn’t have been me.”
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“You know Teddy’s?”
“I’ve been in many places with clients. I couldn’t say I know the place.”
“Have you ever met with Rosserman in a bar?”
“Does Bob say I was there?”
“He was here,” said Monica.
“Either your witness is wrong,” said Avery, “or they’ve confused the day. God knows that’s easy to do.”
“Maybe you’ve confused the day. It would have been about seven?” urged Green. “You had an argument with him.”
“Is that what Bob said?”
“Look,” said Briscoe, “we’re interested in what you have to say. We’re asking you. Were you there?”
McDonald was barely controlling himself. “How many times do you want me to say ‘no’?”
“And what damned difference does it make?” said Monica. “The bitch killed herself.”
“Hey,” said Briscoe, “let’s calm down.”
“I’m having a hard time figuring out what you’re so ticked about,” said Green, moving closer to Avery McDonald.
He looked up at Green with a wide eye. “If you wish to speak to me further,” said McDonald, “you contact my lawyer first!”
“Now, get out,” said Monica.
“Thank you for the hospitality,” said Briscoe.
Nostrils flaring, Green slammed the car door as Briscoe sat next to him. Briscoe was grinning. “Some pit bull she is,” he laughed. “What the hell did we say?”
“She needs a good slap,” said Green. “Both of them.”
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“Now, now, Ed. Maybe the barman mixed up the day, right?” He leaned down to take another look at the house as Green pulled away. “Like the Naval Observatory mixes up the day.”
“They’re lying,” snarled Green. “Why is everybody lying if it’s a suicide? Are the three of them in it together? Is that it?”
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27TH PRECINCT
LINEUP ROOM
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 10:04 A.M.
“Inonetheless protest and I want it on the record,”
said John Ellis. “The bartender was shown a photograph of Mr. Rosserman just a few days ago. That could give him the impression that the detectives want him to identify Bob in this lineup.”
“We didn’t say who he was, counselor,” said Briscoe. “We asked if he recognized either picture. He said Rosserman looked like the man arguing on the night Mrs. Chesko was murdered.”
“Well, first of all,” said Ellis, “you’ve got absolutely nothing that proves Barbara Chesko was murdered.
And this lineup is going to get tossed if you try to introduce it in court.”
“Do you do much criminal law, Mr. Ellis?” Southerlyn said calmly. “There’s nothing improper in the bartender identifying the picture and then later, identifying the man. You don’t even know that the bartender will identify your client.”
“The picture tells him what man to identify! It isn’t like he was given a photo array. He was given a picture of Bob.”
“You know,” said Briscoe, “if he’d just come clean with us, all this might work out for the better.”
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“The detective’s right,” said Southerlyn.
“Bob Rosserman has tried to be cooperative and you try to cook up a murder charge on him. It’s a shame. He’s a good man.”
“We don’t ‘cook up’ things, Mr. Ellis,” said Southerlyn. “And we haven’t charged Mr. Rosserman with anything, yet.”
“Even good men make mistakes,” said Green. “If he’d just tell us what happened…”
“The only mistake here, detective,” said Ellis, “is thinking he’s capable of pushing a woman out of a window.”
“Ready,” said Van Buren, sticking her head in the door.
“Shall we continue?” Southerlyn asked Ellis.
“Just be on notice,” he shrugged.
Green went to get the bartender. The man squinted in the dim light. “How am I supposed to recognize anyone in here?” he said.
“There,” said Van Buren. The light illuminates the other side of the one-way window.
“Step up to the glass,” said Southerlyn. “They can’t see you. Do you recognize anyone as having been in Teddy’s on the night of August twenty-first?”
“Wow,” said the bartender. “It’s like in the movies.”
Lieutenant Van Buren rolled her eyes. “Take your time, sir.”
“Could I have number three step forward?”
Briscoe, who was standing in the back with Green, raised an eyebrow. Green shook his head in dismay.
“Number three, step forward,” Van Buren said through the intercom.
The man complied. His name was Trent MacIl-151
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henny, a fuzzy-haired janitor. All of the five in the lineup had been selected for their Larry Fine-like hair.
“That’s okay,” said the bartender. “He can step back. It is just like the movies.”
“Mr. Carstairs,” snapped Southerlyn, “this isn’t for your entertainment. This is a serious business.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I just—I’m sorry. It’s number two over there. That’s him.”
“You’re sure?” asked Southerlyn.
“Oh, yeah, two. He was arguing with the man with the goat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carstairs,” said Van Buren.
Briscoe escorted him to the door. “Wait out here for just a minute,” he said.
“This identification means nothing,” said Ellis.
“There will be a brief, count on that. I want to consult my client.”
“Now?” asked Southerlyn.
“Yes,” said Ellis. “When did you think?”
“There, there,” said Southerlyn. “Let’s be a gentle-man, eh?”
“I’ll get you a room,” said Van Buren. Ellis thanked the lieutenant and they left.
“All right, then,” said Southerlyn, “where is Leo Herlihy and Avery McDonald?”
“In room four,” said Briscoe. “McDonald is getting cold feet about the lineup. Herlihy was talking him back into it.”
“He doesn’t have to do it,” said Green. “We know he was the man with Rosserman.”
“What I don’t understand is why he denies it,” said Southerlyn.
“He says over and over it wasn’t that Wednesday,”
said Briscoe. “The only reason I see is that he doesn’t 152
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want to be anywhere near the Waterloo and the body of Barbara Chesko. It might hurt his racket to have clients dying.”
“Is there any possibility that the two of them…?”
“I think McDonald might know something, but Rosserman? We’ve caught him in lies. He has a motive. He was in the neighborhood. He invented a suicide note and his attorney has the attitude of a man with his back to the wall,” said Briscoe.
“What you want to bet they’re discussing a deal?”
said Green, offering a palm. Briscoe slapped it.
“Case closed,” said Briscoe. “On to bigger and better.”
“Don’t underestimate Ellis,” said Southerlyn. “It’s true he handles mostly libel, but that’s why he does the bulldog in different voices.”
“Did I hear you say ‘good men make mistakes’ to Ellis?” asked Briscoe. “Since when is murder a mistake?”
“I was trying to bait a plea,” said Green.
“It would be a gift if they make a deal,” said Southerlyn in a near whisper. “A grumpy judge might not even let a jury hear it if
we can’t prove she was pushed. But maybe they think there’s more to our case than there is.”
“Ellis is not very experienced in criminal law, you said,” Briscoe remarked.
“Let’s get the McDonald lineup going,” said Southerlyn.
“We’ve got some guys waiting,” said Briscoe.
They had just stepped through the door into the outer office when Green stopped and raised his vibrat-ing cell phone. “Hey ho,” he said, looking at the caller ID, “it’s the lab.”
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Green turned his back to the noisy end of the corridor and covered his free ear. “Ed Green.”
“Here we go,” said Briscoe. “The DNA!”
“That might shake the truth out of him,” said Southerlyn.
Green glanced at Briscoe and Southerlyn and rolled his eyes. “And that means?” he said into the phone.
“You’re kidding me,” said Green. He looked like he was going to throw the phone across the room. “Yeah.
Okay. Sure.”
He made another throwing motion. “It’s not his.”
“What?” moaned Briscoe.
“The condom wrapper was torn open with the mouth. It did have saliva on it. The saliva is Barbara Chesko’s.”
“She tore the condom open?” asked Briscoe.
“Never mind the wrapper,” said Southerlyn. “What about the semen on the bedspread? It’s not—?”
“It’s somebody other than Rosserman.”
“Are they sure?” asked Southerlyn.
Green looked at her incredulously. “Even if they aren’t sure, does it matter?” said Briscoe. “It isn’t him.”
“Besides the semen stain,” said Green, “they found a hair on the bedspread but no follicle. It seems to be a middle-aged white man’s, gray, but there’s no way to prove it’s absolutely Rosserman’s.”
Briscoe shook his head. “Maybe he pushed her because she was meeting someone else. He’s still acted guilty.”
“He lied,” said Southerlyn. “Even if she is a suicide, I could charge him with impeding the investigation.”
“For what that’s worth,” said Green.
“Then we ought to throw McDonald in as well. I don’t like liars,” said Briscoe.
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“He lied because he didn’t want us to know he was in the neighborhood,” said Green.
Southerlyn smiled. “You must have a direct wire to my brain, Ed. I was just thinking the same thing.”
“You think maybe a little DNA from Mr. McDonald might be illuminating?” said Briscoe.
“Exactly,” said Southerlyn.
“So, what do we do with Rosserman?” said Green.
“Send him home?”
“Maybe he wasn’t in the room,” said Southerlyn.
“Let’s just hope,” said Briscoe, “it wasn’t the maid banging the bellboy before Mrs. Chesko got there.”
“Or after she went out the window,” said Green, thinking.
“How soon do we have to tell him about the DNA tests?” said Briscoe. “He’s not under arrest. I’d like to tell him the DNA identifies him, sweat him until he shrivels.”
“You can’t do that,” said Southerlyn. “We can’t hold him when he’s been exculpated. Does the word
‘lawsuit’ ring a bell?”
“Hey,” said Briscoe, “he’s here voluntarily, right?”
Southerlyn’s expression was firm. “Okay, I know. I was just saying I’d like to sweat him.”
“Tell him we’re considering obstruction charges,”
she said. “Then send him home to simmer for the rest of the year.” She crossed her arms and was sliding her foot in and out of her right gray pump when a uniformed officer approached.
“You with the D.A.’s office? The lawyer’s asking for you.”
“Herlihy?” she said.
“No, he said he was Joseph Ellis.”
“Should we do McDonald first?” said Briscoe.
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“Let’s see what they want,” said Southerlyn.
“Probably an apology,” said Briscoe.
The interrogation room smelled of old sweat and frayed nerves. Ellis waited for them, drumming a Mont Blanc pen on his leather briefcase, and staring at his client, who was holding his head like he was trying to keep it from exploding.
When they stepped in, Ellis rose slightly from his seat and tried to find the right words.
“Well?” asked Southerlyn.
“My client has something to tell you,” he finally said. Rosserman mumbled to the tabletop. “I was there.”
“Excuse me?” said Briscoe.
“I was there. I was there in the room.”
Briscoe looked at Southerlyn. Rosserman must have thought the DNA would match his. Had Barbara Chesko entertained two men that evening? Southerlyn stared poker-faced at Ellis, who twisted his pen sheepishly. Briscoe could almost hear the gears of her mind grinding out a new set of tactics.
“Speak up,” said Green, putting his face inches from Rosserman’s ear.
“I was there,” said Rosserman. “In the room with Barbara.”
“You fought?” asked Briscoe.
“You pushed her?” asked Green.
“No!” said Rosserman. “And we didn’t fight!” He glared into Green’s eyes, then slowly pulled his head back, and lowered his eyes. “Not really. Not a fight.
She was upset when I got there. She shouted some.
She was shattered. She cried and shook and threw herself on the bed. But she was calm by the time I left.”
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“Dead people generally are,” said Briscoe.
“She wasn’t dead,” said Rosserman. “She was standing by the window, sniffing. I had no idea she was going to kill herself. I thought she’d get over it.
She seemed to be getting better. She was talking about finding an agent. I promised to help her find an agent.
I’d always made excuses not to do it.”
“She was optimistic?” asked Southerlyn.
“No, I guess not really, but she seemed to be talking herself there.”
“And you encouraged her,” said Green.
“Again,” added Southerlyn.
Rosserman cast about for something to say. “She was very upset. What was I supposed to do? Tell her there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d get published?”
“Maybe you wouldn’t be here if you’d told her that a year ago,” said Southerlyn.
“You seem to have no trouble lying to us. What made her special?” said Green.
Rosserman held his head. For a moment Briscoe thought the man might break down and cry. Ellis patted Rosserman’s upper arm twice, as if he felt obligated to do so.
“And you went over there because of the note?”
asked Green.
“I told you,” said Rosserman, “I didn’t get that until later.”
“With all due respect,” said Green, “you told us a lot.”
“And lo and behold,” said Briscoe, “a lot wasn’t true.”
“Has Mr. Ellis explained the concept of obstruction of justice?” said Southerlyn. “You’ve cost the taxpayers a lot of money with your fabrications.”
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Rosserman looked for help from Ellis. Ellis sat back and twisted his pen as if to say: you made this your party, not mine. “I didn’t think you’d want to prove this was murder. She killed herself. It’s obvious.
You’ve got no reason to think otherwise.”
“Oh, we have reasons,” said Green. “How about physical evidence she was pushed? How about your job?”
“How about you fabricated the suicide note?” asked Briscoe.
“I didn’t fabricate the note!”
Green moved close to his ear again. “Oh?”
“It was in my mailbox!”
Ellis finally interrupted. “Look,” he s
aid, “Can’t we start with a clean slate? Bob decided, of his own free will, to completely and honestly reveal all he knows.
There is no reason to treat him as a criminal.”
“Unless maybe, just possibly, he is,” said Briscoe.
“This is nuts!” said Rosserman. “She was a disturbed woman. She killed herself.”
Southerlyn took a seat opposite him. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Rosserman. You tell me the whole story, from the beginning. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. We can’t do anything for you unless you help us.”
“And you haven’t been very helpful,” said Briscoe.
Ellis said, “Take your time, Bob. If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to fear, right?”
“If?” thought Southerlyn. Rosserman’s own attorney didn’t know whether to believe him.
Just because Rosserman hadn’t left a matchable sample didn’t mean he hadn’t had sex with her, thought Briscoe. He launched a shot from three-point 158
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range. “What if we told you the DNA on the bed matches yours?”
Rosserman shook his head. “That’s crazy! I was there. I didn’t have sex. The situation was bad enough. That’s all I needed, to make her think I wanted to continue the relationship!” He tapped the table with four bunched fingers. “I did not have sex with her.”
The shot had not only missed the rim, but the backboard as well. Then who did have sex with her?
thought Briscoe. He glanced at Green and they both seemed to know what the other was thinking.
The bartender will identify Avery McDonald and the DNA will confirm it.
159
JACK MCCOY’S OFFICE
ONE HOGAN PLACE
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 3:00 P.M.
Southerlyn silently watched McCoy work his tech-nique again. She had seen a dozen variations of this one, when McCoy tried to look like he knew more than he did. If you could get the person you were questioning to believe that, they’d often simply tell you what you wanted. He looked at Herlihy, Avery McDonald’s attorney, who was smiling a bit smugly, then at Monica McDonald, who divided her infuriated glare between McCoy and Southerlyn. Avery McDonald had crossed his arms. His bored expression said “Do your worst, I’m not impressed,” but there was a slight twitch in his left eyebrow. McDonald looked down, copping a glance at Southerlyn’s crossed legs. It made her skin crawl.
“You’re going to offer a deal?” said Herlihy. “Forget about it. You have no case.”
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