Innocence

by David Hosp

  The look in his eyes as he watched her body made her melt. He reached up and ran his hands over her legs, up her body, and over her breasts. His hands were thick and strong but gentle, and her body moved involuntarily against his touch.

  Suddenly, he stopped. His face went serious. “I want you to know, I didn’t expect this,” he said. “When I asked you out, I wasn’t expecting this. I’m not sure I’d even thought to hope for it.”

  She smiled again as she lowered herself onto him. Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear, “This was exactly what I had hoped for.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  By nine thirty Finn was annoyed as he sat alone in his office. He was anxious to get moving on the Salazar case, but he needed Kozlowski to reach out to Madeline Steele and set up a meeting for that morning. He needed Lissa to coordinate with Dobson’s office and get the files transferred so they could begin their substantive analysis. Neither of them had arrived.

  He supposed he had no technical right to take umbrage with Kozlowski; notwithstanding appearances, Koz wasn’t his employee. True, most of the work he did was for Finn, but he was still an independent contractor, free to take on whatever jobs came his way. And the reality was that he was a good enough private detective that he’d be able to keep busy with or without Finn. Still, they had such a well-established routine that Finn felt let down, particularly because Kozlowski knew the time pressure they were under with the Salazar case.

  As for Lissa, he had every right to be perturbed with her. She was an employee; an intern from law school, to be sure, but she still had to take orders and show up on time. With her brain and skill, she’d be able to get a job after graduation at lots of firms that would pay more than he could, but she still needed him to review her work to graduate. More than that, he’d come to depend on her, and she knew it.

  He’d used the morning as efficiently as he could, contacting Billy Smith, a fingerprint expert in the D.C. area whom he’d worked with on another case involving an unfortunate paternity dispute. Smith was former FBI, and recognized as one of the leading experts in fingerprint work, so he had the added bonus of being unimpeachable. If Billy gave them a good report, they’d be home free. Finn had other experts he could go to if they needed to fudge the analysis, but he wanted at least to start with the best.

  He was turning the case over in his head, trying to figure out what else he could accomplish on his own, when the door banged open and Lissa hurried in. “Fuck,” she said as her momentum carried her to the coat rack and she hung up her winter gear.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Finn grumbled, looking at his watch. “Yep, still morning. Barely.”

  “I know. I said ‘fuck.’”

  “Is that some sort of euphemism for ‘I’m sorry’?”

  She thought about it. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  The door slammed open again, and Kozlowski walked in. “Morning.” He nodded at Finn.

  “Don’t you mean ‘fuck’?”

  “What?” Kozlowski looked confused. He looked back and forth between Finn and Lissa. “Problem?”

  Lissa shrugged.

  “Are you two serious? We’ve got a dead lawyer and an innocent client rotting in jail with a week for us to figure out how we’re going to get him out, and you want to know if there’s a problem with both of you showing up at nine thirty?”

  “He’s innocent now?” Lissa asked.

  “He’s a client now. That makes him innocent,” Finn said.

  “He was a client last week, too,” Kozlowski pointed out.

  “He was only technically a client last week. Dobson was representing him then. Now he’s all ours, and he’s innocent. Get used to it.”

  Kozlowski held his hands up. “No argument here. So what do you want us to do about it?”

  “You and I need to talk to Madeline Steele,” Finn replied. “I want to see how sure she is about her ID of Salazar fifteen years later. I figure you know her, so she’ll be more willing to talk to me if you’re there.”

  Kozlowski leaned against the wall where Charlie O’Malley had punched through the plaster. He looked at his feet. “It’s possible,” he said. “But remember, I haven’t talked to her in years. I don’t know that I’ll get you much more mileage.”

  “Yeah, but you were friends, right?”

  “‘Were’ being the operative word. Like I said, it’s been years.”

  “And you were just friends, right?” Finn pushed.

  “Right,” Kozlowski replied without hesitation. Finn saw Lissa flinch, but he thought nothing of it.

  “So at least you know her. And you were a cop. That gives you a hell of a lot more credibility than I have. If she gets a call from Salazar’s lawyer out of the blue, I won’t get through the door. You can at least set up the meeting, maybe smooth things over when we’re there. Don’t even tell her what it’s about; just tell her you need to talk to her.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Kozlowski said.

  Finn challenged him. “Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got. If you have something better, by all means, I’m listening.”

  Kozlowski was silent.

  “Okay, then. Set it up for this morning.”

  “What can I do?” Lissa asked.

  “Call Dobson’s secretary again and get copies of all his files sent over today. Immediately. It may take a little finessing; she’s probably pretty freaked out. But you’ve got to make her understand that we’re on the clock with this, so we need whatever she’s got as quickly as possible.”

  “I’ll try,” Lissa replied. “You’re probably right—she’s probably pretty fucked up—so it may not be that easy. Shit, how often is a lawyer murdered at a place like Howery, Black?”

  “More often than you might think,” Kozlowski deadpanned.

  She looked at him, then turned back to Finn. “That’s right, a woman was killed a couple years ago, right? I’d forgotten. That must’ve been when you were there.”

  Finn nodded.

  “Did you know her?”

  Finn nodded again.

  “Well aren’t you the fuckin’ lucky charm?”

  “Thanks, that’s helpful.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I also need you to coordinate with our fingerprint expert,” Finn continued.

  “Right. Koz and I talked about that a little last night. I’ve got a list of candidates we could use.”

  Finn shook his head. “No need. That’s what I was doing during my solitude this morning. I’ve got Billy Smith from D.C. lined up.”

  “He’s good,” Kozlowski commented. “On the top of my list.”

  “Glad you approve,” Finn said. He turned back to Lissa. “As soon as we get the files, make sure the fingerprint records get down to him.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  “Good.”

  “Everything else all right?” Kozlowski asked.

  “Fine. We’ve got a week to prove this guy’s innocent and figure out who killed Mark Dobson. What could possibly be wrong?”

  z

  Kozlowski sat in his back office, staring at the phone. He’d dreaded this moment, and now it was here.

  He picked up the receiver and dialed the number in front of him. She answered on the second ring.

  “Victims’ Services. Can I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak to Madeline Steele,” he said. He knew it was her on the line already, but he wanted to make sure. Or maybe he was just

  stalling.

  “This is Sergeant Steele.”

  “Maddy, it’s Koz.” He could feel the phone line ice over. “How are you?”

  “Koz,” she said. She sounded stunned.

  “How are you?” he repeated.

  “Compared to what? Compared to when? Compared to yesterday? Compared to last year? Compared to fifteen years ago, the last time you bothered to ask?”

  “I’m sorry, Maddy.”

  “Bullshit.” She went quiet, and Kozlowski had no idea what to say. “W
hat do you want?” she asked at last.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “So talk.”

  “In person.”

  “About what?”

  “I’d rather not do this over the phone,” he said. “Do you have any time this morning? We could come in.”

  “We?”

  “A guy I work with. A lawyer.”

  “That’s right, you’re in private practice now. Private dick.” Kozlowski could tell that the pun was intentional. “Injured in the line of duty, right?”

  “Shot in the knee. I’m fine.”

  “Must be. At least you’re still walking. Count your blessings.” He didn’t take the bait. “What does this lawyer want to talk about?”

  “Like I said, I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Can we come in this morning?”

  “Just like that, huh? A decade and a half without a word. A decade and a half of the silent treatment, and you just call up and want to walk into my office to chat?”

  “It’s important, Maddy.”

  “I needed you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s important.”

  He waited as she thought about it. “Eleven thirty,” she said after a moment. Then she hung up.

  Kozlowski held the receiver out from his face, looking at it. Then he set it down on the cradle and took a deep breath. The call had actually gone better than he’d expected. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d hung up at the beginning of the conversation. It was, he supposed, a good sign. It would get worse, though. In person, it would get much worse when the shock wore off. And when she learned what they wanted to discuss . . . “worse” didn’t begin to describe how it would get.

  z

  Finn had one call to make before they went to talk to Madeline Steele. Tony Horowitz was the head technician at Identech, the DNA testing lab where Dobson had sent the scrapings from under Steele’s fingernails. Finn had worked with Horowitz on other cases and figured it was worth checking in. He had to go through two secretaries and wait on hold for several minutes before he got the man on the line.

  “Tony, it’s Scott Finn here.”

  “Finn. Good to hear from you. How’s business?”

  “Pretty good these days, actually.”

  “That’s good to hear. Things busy enough that you have some more stuff for us to do here? You know we can always use the work, and we’d be happy to lend a hand on anything you’ve got.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. You’re already working on one of my cases— you just may not know it.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “It’s a criminal matter for a client named Salazar. The lawyer who gave it to you was named Mark Dobson. Fifteen-year-old DNA samples. Sounding familiar?”

  Finn could hear the man suck in air. “Shit, you’re working on that now? I had no idea. Shit.”

  “Problem?” Finn asked.

  “Just that we took that case out of the queue yesterday. I was having the samples bagged back up.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear? Dobson was killed this weekend. Without him around, I had no idea how we were going to get paid. We don’t work for free here, y’know.”

  “I understand,” Finn said. “But do me a favor and put it back online, okay? I’ll take care of the payment.”

  “If you say so, but we’ve lost some time, and now I’ve got some projects that have taken priority. I’ll see what I can do, though.”

  “Tony, do more than that, okay? This guy’s innocent. I know it, and I’ve got a hearing in a week, so I need the results by the end of next weekend.”

  “That’s not going to be easy, Finn.”

  “I know it. But I’m asking you to do it. When I tell you this guy is innocent, I mean he is innocent. I really need your help on this.”

  Finn heard the sigh on the other end of the line. “I’ll have to work it up myself,” Horowitz said. “It’s gonna involve working next weekend, and that’s gonna run into overtime. Are you prepared for that?”

  “As long as I get the results by Sunday,” Finn said.

  “Fine,” Horowitz replied. “But you’re gonna owe me for this.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Finn and Kozlowski arrived for their meeting with Madeline Steele at Police Headquarters fifteen minutes early and were asked to wait in the lobby. Finn felt as though every cop who passed him could read his suspicions. It was his imagination; it had to be. No one knew why he was there, and Finn hadn’t shared his thoughts about possible police misconduct even with Kozlowski. After all, Koz was a cop, too. As much as he bitched about the way the department had treated him, Finn had heard him say dozens of times, “Once a cop, always a cop.”

  Finn was wrestling with whether to tell Koz about his theories when he heard a woman’s voice behind him.

  “Koz. It’s been a long time.” Finn detected a hint of anger. He turned and looked at Madeline Steele and was surprised at what he saw. He was expecting a beaten shadow of a woman. Instead, he beheld a formidable woman with eyes that matched her last name. She sat tall in a short-backed wheelchair, the wheels of which were angled in at the top to provide a wider base and greater stability. It was the kind of wheelchair Finn associated with serious para-athletes, and it fit her appearance perfectly. She was in her mid-thirties, with a long, thin torso and broad-cut shoulders. She wore a sheer silk blouse that clung to her arms, showing off taut, sculpted muscles. Her long brown hair was neatly combed but

  not styled, and she wore no makeup at all that Finn could tell.

  “Maddy. It’s good to see you,” Kozlowski said. “You look good.”

  “Thanks. You look old.”

  “I guess looks don’t lie.”

  She didn’t reply.

  “This is Scott Finn.” Kozlowski waved his hand at Finn. “He’s the lawyer I work with. The one I told you about.”

  Finn stepped forward and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

  She looked at his hand suspiciously. “Likewise.” She reached out and shook his hand, squeezing hard enough to make Finn wince. She looked back at Kozlowski. “Fifteen years. This must be pretty important. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Is there someplace we could talk privately?” Kozlowski asked.

  “Sure.” She spun her chair and was off at a sprinter’s pace across the lobby and toward a long hallway on the first floor. The two men had to move into a near-jog just to keep up.

  “You’re pretty fast in that thing,” Finn said, trying to break the ice. As it came out, he knew it sounded wrong.

  She looked back over her shoulder at him, then said to Kozlowski, “Where’d you get this guy?”

  Kozlowski didn’t answer.

  She slid around a corner, almost steamrolling a young officer who scurried out of the way without a word, as though it was a common occurrence. After another fifteen yards, Steele skidded to a stop in front of a door marked victims’ services coordinator. To the side of the door was a silver nameplate. sergeant madeline steele. “This is it,” she said, pushing open the door and heading in.

  Finn was impressed. Municipal offices were not generally noted for their size or their decor, but entering Steele’s office from the hallway felt like slipping into the inner sanctum of a trusted family doctor. A large Oriental rug covered the floor, and a midsize polished wood desk stood in the center of the room. Two comfortable chairs stood in front of the desk, and a couch was pushed against the far wall. There was no chair behind the desk, which confused Finn until she wheeled herself around to the other side and he realized that she didn’t need one.

  “Nice office,” Kozlowski commented.

  “Yeah. Thanks. What do you want?”

  “I mean it,” Kozlowski said. “It’s very nice.”

  She leaned forward on the desk. “Fine. You want to talk about the office? It was specially designed for me. It’s so big because I need the space to move around. They had to knock down a wall between two
offices to create a space this big. Hell, for that matter, they created this entire position for me. Victims’ Services used to be farmed out to private companies. But they needed a place to put me when I wouldn’t go away. It was kind of a big thank-you for getting myself shot. Don’t get me wrong, I make the most of it for myself and the department. I understand a little about what most victims are going through, and I can talk to them. I can get them to talk to me. We’ve made dozens of busts based on what I’ve gotten people to confide in me about—busts that never would have been made without me. So, yeah, it’s a nice big office, but I earn my keep. We done with the bullshit now?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting—” Koz started.

  “I know you weren’t. What do you want?”

  Kozlowski turned to Finn. “It’s your show.”

  Finn sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Kozlowski remained standing, looking ready to move quickly out the door. “This may be a little awkward,” Finn began. He cleared his throat. “I represent Vincente Salazar.”

  A look of total shock and revulsion spread over Steele’s face, and Finn could tell the meeting was not going to go well. But she seemed too stunned to interrupt him, so he figured he might as well push his way through it.

  “We think he might not be responsible for what happened to you. DNA tests are being run now, and we believe those tests are going to prove Mr. Salazar was not the man who attacked you.” He let that sink in.

  The appalled look still hung on her face, but Finn had to give her credit for keeping her composure. She was impressive. “And?” she asked.

  “And because of how old the DNA samples are, and because they could have degraded or been contaminated, even if the tests come back and show it wasn’t Mr. Salazar, the judge still may not let him go free unless we can offer some explanation for the other evidence in the case. Like your testimony. So I wanted to ask you how sure you were about your identification of Mr. Salazar.”

  “My ID?”

  “Yes. Can you tell me exactly what you remember?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” She looked at Kozlowski. “He’s kidding, right?”

  Finn shifted in his seat. “I’m not. An innocent man may be rotting in jail. I’d like you to think back as clearly as you can. Are you positive Vincente Salazar was the man who attacked you? Is there any chance you could have been mistaken?”