“How serious are his injuries?”
“Like I said, the guy’s gut shot, how do you think he’s doing? Right in the belly, my worst nightmare. Main reason I wear the damn vest. Shit. Gut shot. I’d rather be hit in the head. Be quicker.”
Lauren heard what she was hoping to hear. The pending charge was still first-degree assault, or attempted murder, not homicide. Not yet.
“Who is he?”
Pons stared at the fax in his hands, said nothing.
“Is my attorney here? I want to see her right away.”
“Snowing like a son of a bitch out there. Need snowshoes to get down here from the Peak to Peak. Traffic guys in the State Patrol say there’re accidents up and down the canyon. Really snowing, should make the skiers happy.” He provided the weather report with some glee in his voice.
Translation: Don’t hold your breath, bitch.
She was beginning to grow uncomfortable that Pons was remaining in the interview room with her after she had given a clear indication of her desire for an attorney. The man was a jerk, but he wasn’t stupid. She wondered what he was up to. “Either turn the recorder on or stop speaking with me, please, Sergeant. I prefer to wait for my attorney. I have nothing more to say to you until she gets here.”
He walked over to the corner of the room and flicked the tape recorder on. Lauren couldn’t see well enough to know if there was actually a tape in the damn thing.
He read the Miranda warning off a card, stumbling twice over the phrasing, obviously out of practice.
“I’m also going to give you a copy of this to sign. You know, so we have a record.”
“Fine.”
He slid another sheet of paper in front of her. She looked down but she couldn’t read it no matter how obliquely she examined it. The lawyer in her told her not to sign something she hadn’t read. Couldn’t read.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to sign anything. I’ll wait for my attorney.”
He shook his head, rebuking her, with a wide smile plastered on his face. As he turned to leave, he remembered the tape recorder and walked back and switched the machine off. He paused, debating with himself about whether to take a final cheap shot. Hell, why not, she’s earned it.
“You know, there’s some people out there who think we should be extra-special considerate to somebody like yourself, seeing all the good things you’ve done for the city. They say remember this case you did, or that case you did. Maybe you fucked up this time, but who knows, there’s probably an explanation for what happened, right? Got to be an explanation. So maybe we should show you some special consideration, is what some people are arguing. Though it’s hard to explain you wanting a lawyer, that’s been real hard for everybody to understand. The wanting-a-lawyer part.
“But me, I say no. I remember once, years ago, a pup DA told me that good deeds don’t mean shit if you cross the line. The law’s the law, she said. So no, no special consideration tonight. I’m sure you understand, Ms. Crowder. About pup DAs and good deeds not being worth shit. Specially when someone wants a lawyer. Wanting a lawyer, now that’s real hard to explain.”
“Is my husband here?”
If Lauren could have seen clearly, she would have seen Pons take a cautionary glance at the tape recorder, to reassure himself that it was off. But she couldn’t, and she didn’t.
“Oh yeah, yeah. A while now, I think. Detective Malloy is having a little chat with him. Yeah, that’s right. I can tell you that he’s one boy who’s not exercising any rights to remain silent. Mmm mmm, yes, a while now, I think. Well, I’ll be going now, given your desire to wait for your attorney. I’m sure glad you and I are on the same page about special treatment. What goes around comes around, I always say.”
Lauren thought she heard him chuckle as he was leaving the room.
She moved to a chair in the corner and sat in the space behind the door. She pulled her knees to her chest. Pons had said that Alan was close by and she imagined his warmth. She imagined him bringing her a cup of tea and some jelly beans. Emily, the big dog, was curled up at her feet, sighing that one big sigh that meant she was in for some serious slumber. For a precious moment Lauren was opening a book and being distracted by Mozart.
No, girl, you’re in jail.
Casey Sparrow walked into the interview room without pausing to knock. Lauren had retreated into the corner behind the open door, as private a nook as she could find, and was startled at the whoosh of the opening door. She immediately grew concerned that some new indignity she hadn’t anticipated awaited her.
“Hey honey, how are you doing?” Casey said in the softest voice she could assemble. She held out her arms and tried to look Lauren in the eyes without appearing to be looking at her eyes.
Lauren stood slowly, unfolding herself from her cocoon on the awkward chair. “Casey? Is that you? I thought you’d never get here.” To Lauren, the indistinct red halo of hair around Casey’s head looked much brighter from one eye than it did from the other.
“Yeah, it’s me. I bet you could use a hug.”
The women embraced, not one of those butt-out, bent-at-the-waist affairs that precede cheek pecks, but a soulful, bosom-crushing hug that temporarily filled Lauren with some much needed solace. Casey held on until she was certain she felt Lauren begin to pull back.
“I take it you’re not having a very good day?”
Lauren managed a half-smile. “As my sister used to say, so far it’s ‘not just fine.’ Seeing you here, like this—this is humiliating.”
Casey considered saying something about there being no need to be embarrassed but she realized how insincere it would sound. Were the roles reversed, she knew she would be mortified to be in Lauren’s position. Lawyers, especially prosecutors, aren’t supposed to screw up this badly.
Instead, Casey said, “Sit.”
Lauren backed up, retreating to her chair in the corner. She reached down with one hand to find the cushion. “You too,” she said. “It’s been a while, Casey, how have you been?”
Casey had already decided to let Lauren take control of the conversation, at least initially. She wasn’t surprised that Lauren preferred to spend a few moments ignoring the present circumstances and getting reacquainted.
“I’m doing okay. Jenny moved out a few months ago. I’m still getting over that. Otherwise, everything’s been all right with me.”
“I don’t think I ever knew Jenny, did I?”
“No, I don’t think so. We met in Golden. She’s a manager in quality control at Coors. For her sake, we kept a pretty low profile as a couple. Coors has come a long way, but Jenny was never convinced that they were really ready for prime-time lesbians. Against my better judgment, I went along.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, thanks, I appreciate it, but lately I’ve been thinking that maybe the whole thing was doomed from the start.” Casey smiled a tiny smile that Lauren couldn’t see. “You know about lesbians and their dogs?”
Lauren shrugged.
“Well, I’m a devout dog lesbian and Jenny is a converted cat lesbian and I’m not at all sure that the two groups are romantically compatible. For now, let’s just give thanks that I’m better at law than I am at romance.” Casey forced a bigger smile. “You and Alan doing all right? That man better be nice to you forever after the way I saved his ass.” Casey and her dog had once rescued Alan from an avalanche.
Lauren smiled. “Better than I ever hoped, Casey. It’s been a dream, the marriage,” she said, her voice trailing off. “I only hope we can weather this.”
“They treating you fair?”
As casually as she could, Casey shifted Lauren’s attention back to the current reality. She reached into her briefcase and fumbled around for a felt-tip pen and a green legal pad. She also pulled out a portable tape recorder and placed it prominently on the floor between them. It took her fifteen seconds to find the right button. One of her first tasks was to make some quick assessment of
Lauren’s state of mind, and she wanted to preserve a record of what she heard in case it became tactically useful.
“Here? They don’t know what the hell to do with me, Case. But mostly it’s all just crazy. Some of the people are sweet, some are businesslike.” She grabbed the material of her sweatshirt. “They took my clothes, even my underwear; they’re going to have some warrantless search problems. The woman cop who’s keeping an eye on me is a first-class bitch. The whole gamut, so far.” Lauren was staring at the vague shape of Casey’s tape recorder. “What’s that?” she asked.
Casey saw her looking at the recorder. “In case you say anything I can use for mens rea. You been keeping your mouth shut?”
“I’ve been good.”
“Good or great? I’m looking for great, Lauren.”
“Just good. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I said some things to the patrolman on the scene before I made a clear Edward’s.”
Casey was encouraged that Lauren’s thinking had enough clarity to describe the events so well, and simultaneously disappointed that her state of mind, her mens rea, was so lucid. Lauren being clearheaded wasn’t going to help Casey make many useful points. And she didn’t like the fact that Lauren had spoken to the patrolman before asking for counsel.
“We’ll have to do some work on your act, then. Anything I can do to help right away, tonight?”
“You mean other than getting me out?” Lauren looked away. “I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but there is something you can help me with. I need to pee. And I don’t want anyone to watch me do it.”
“Right now?”
“No, but soon.” She rolled her eyes.
“I understand. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe they’ll cut you some slack. You’re catching some breaks already, you know that?”
Lauren nodded, fingered the collar of her jail sweats. “New togs. My size. No lice.”
“That’s not your color, though, baby.”
Lauren chuckled, mostly to please Casey.
“I didn’t figure I’d get to see you until they moved me over to the jail. That’s a break, too. I never really understood how alone people feel these first few hours in custody.”
“The truth is that I’ve already been here for a half an hour. Just hanging around with Detective Malloy. He was giving me the royal runaround before I threw a tantrum and they decided to let me in here to see you. I think—”
“Scott Malloy is okay, Casey. I’ve worked with him, he’s a decent cop.”
“Boulder cops are generally a cut above, I’ll grant you that. But you’re going to have to stop thinking about the police as friends. I was about to say that I think that the only reason I’m being allowed to see you so soon is that they’re hoping I can get you to tell them something that will make this whole thing go away.”
“That’s a question, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“It’s not going to happen. I’m a guest of the county for now unless they’re inclined toward personal recognizance or dropping charges. I’m amenable to either of those, nothing else. They haven’t decided on charges yet, have they?”
“That would be too easy. What’s your guess as to what they’ll come up with?”
“They won’t charge. They’ll want us to agree to file later. But what are they thinking? First-degree assault, I guess. Homicide if the guy dies.” This made Lauren remember the ephemeral scene during the storm. She looked at the floor, back up toward Casey. “Is he dead, the man who was shot?”
Casey was pleased at the careful language, the passive voice. “No, Malloy says he’s still in surgery. They’ve got a detective at the hospital, hovering, hoping for a statement or some word from the doctors that will help with forensics. I don’t think they even know who he is.”
Lauren thought about it. “Whatever; they don’t need to decide now. They’ll ask us to waive immediate filing at the two o’clocks tomorrow.” Lauren suddenly felt too much like a lawyer jawing with a colleague. It was a seductive role for someone wearing jail clothes and cloth booties, but it didn’t feel right.
“What are the two o’clocks?”
“In Boulder, appearances at the jail court are every afternoon at two. Everybody calls them two o’clocks. How’s Alan? Have they cornered him yet?”
The Alan question could wait. “So your first appearance is tomorrow at two?”
Lauren smiled. “Actually no, on Saturday the two o’clocks are at four o’clock. A weekend thing. But I think they’ll have me appear early or late in order to avoid the press.”
“Alan’s holding up okay. He’s real worried about you. But I think, okay. And, no, he hasn’t talked with the cops yet. I got Cozier Maitlin down here just in time. Cozy waylaid him and took him somewhere.”
“Shit,” Lauren said, “that means that jerk lied to me already.”
“What? Which jerk? Cozy?”
“No. The detective sergeant—he told me they’d already interviewed Alan.”
“He just now told you this? Like after your Edward’s?” Casey was scribbling like mad.
“Yes.”
“That’s one mistake that this Detective Pons will wish he didn’t make. I promise. Anybody else been in here walking over your constitutional rights?”
“Scott came back in and blotted my hands and face for gunshot residue.”
“Just GSR? No Trace Metal Detection Test?”
“Only GSR.”
“But he didn’t ask any more questions?”
“No. Everything by the rules with Scott. And I don’t think they’ll find anything on the GSR. I was wearing gloves when I fired the gun and the gloves got soaked out there. So did my face. The GSR will be negative.”
“But Malloy didn’t try to question you further?”
“No, strictly by the book. But I’d already talked to Scott, a little anyway, before I was taken into custody.”
“Do you remember what you said? I’m going to need every detail.”
Lauren ran her fingers through her black hair, scratching her scalp with her nails. “Let me think about it for a minute, try to replay it in my head. You chose Cozy to help? I’m surprised.” Lauren assumed that Casey would bring another lawyer on board quickly, though maybe not this quickly.
Casey said, “You chose me. I’m surprised.”
“You’re good.”
“Uh huh. So’s Maitlin. That’s too easy. Though I am good, I’ve done exactly zero major crimes in Boulder County. Zero. Cozier Maitlin has done at least three murder cases that I know about. I figure at least a couple I don’t know about. In Boulder County, with private homicide defense, he’s it and you know it. The question isn’t why did I choose Cozy. The man is good and he knows the ropes with capital crimes. The question is why didn’t you call Cozy yourself? You and Cozy have a history I should know about? Is this going to be a problem?”
“I wanted a woman.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No. No problem with Cozy. I beat him sometimes in court. He may have trouble with me.”
“Doesn’t seem to, in fact he seemed quite eager to help. So why do you want a woman? Moral support? Sisterhood?” Casey had crafted a careful edge to her voice. Sharp enough to irritate, but not quite sharp enough to cut.
“I like women.”
“So do I. It’s public record. Don’t dance with me on this, Lauren. The stakes are too high.”
“This is complicated, Casey.”
“Don’t let all this red hair fool you, I’m not ditzy, I do just fine with ‘complicated.’ And if I’m going to be your attorney, I need to know exactly what’s going on. And the first thing I need to know is why you hired me. I’m an outsider, is that it? Somebody you don’t work against every day.”
“Partially.”
Casey sighed, wished she hadn’t offered Lauren the facile explanation. “They’re not going to let me stay in here with you all night, Lauren.”
“How long do we have?”
“Malloy said thirty minutes, max. They want to move you over to the jail. I won’t see you again until tomorrow morning. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
Lauren lolled her head back and stretched the muscles taut on the front of her neck, then did the same thing forward left, and forward right. When she was done, she rubbed her eyes with her fingers.
“Do you remember that you once told me…about the time…when you were raped.”
Casey’s heart bounced.
“You were raped? Oh God.” But she was thinking, If this is true, I’ll have you out of here in an hour.
“No, Casey, I wasn’t raped. I was preventing a rape, or trying to. That’s why I had the gun with me.”
“And that’s why you fired it?”
“Sort of.”
Casey slumped in her chair and exhaled deeply. “You weren’t raped, right? Please tell me you weren’t raped.”
“I wasn’t raped, Casey. I promise.”
“But you stopped a rape?”
“I hope so. I really don’t know.”
“What do you mean you hope so? Isn’t the potential rapist in surgery right now?”
“I not only don’t know who the rapist is, I also don’t have any idea who the man was that they found in the road with the bullet in him. But I can tell you that I wasn’t the intended victim of the rape.”
“Then why did you shoot this guy?”
“I’m not at all sure I did.”
To Casey, this was beginning to sound as convoluted as Lauren said it would sound. “Then who was this man going to rape?”
“You promise to believe me?”
“Hell yes. You’re in the business, Lauren. You know if a criminal defense attorney can’t trust a client that they’ve just driven through a blizzard to see on a weekend, then the pope can’t trust his priests, right?”
Lauren’s laugh was genuine this time. She tried to look at the spot where she thought Casey’s eyes would be and said, “What I was doing tonight, I was doing for Emma Spire.”
Casey smiled and said, “Yeah, right.” Then immediately, keeping her eyes on Lauren’s, she continued, “Holy shit. You’re not kidding, are you?”
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