“Of course he could. He’s got a few broken bones. He’s a little medicated. You think that would stop Russo?”
“He can’t even feed himself.”
“You’re a small woman. He was scamming you.”
“No, he wasn’t, and after all, he didn’t hurt me. All’s well that ends well.”
“I told you not to go see him and you did.”
You’re not the boss of me, Cate thought but didn’t say, because it would make her sound immature. Then she reconsidered. “You’re not the boss of me.”
Nesbitt rolled his eyes, on the run. “I’m the boss of him. Russo. He’s my prisoner. It’s my case.”
Cate caught a blurry glimpse of an older patient, tossing in his bed. “Shhh. This is a hospital. People are trying to sleep.”
“Russo is in police custody.” Nesbitt lowered his voice to Controlled Fury. “That cop outside the door isn’t there to protect Russo from the world. He’s there to protect the world from Russo. You lied, and that cop happens to be my nephew.”
He’s got a lot to learn.
“I told my sister, the kid can’t cut it, but does she listen to me? No. Does anybody listen to me? No. That kid is gonna get somebody killed someday.”
“Don’t blame him. I wasn’t in danger.”
“You were, too. You’re like my daughter. I tell her, close your purse, but she always leaves it open. You know why I say that? Because I’m a cop. And I know that if she keeps leaving her purse open, sooner or later she’s gonna get her wallet stolen. But does she listen to me?”
“No?”
“No. But this is worse than purses. This is like driving drunk. You’re in danger and you don’t even know it. You think you’re invincible, that it can’t happen to you, when you’re just lucky it didn’t.” Nesbitt spotted the elevator bank and made a beeline for it. “You’re just lucky that Russo didn’t wrap his hands around your throat and strangle the ever-livin’ life out of you. Or snap your neck. It woulda been quiet and deadly. Over in a split second, nobody the wiser. Before my nephew finished the box scores.”
Cate shuddered. “Kind of graphic, Nesbitt.”
“You think it doesn’t happen? You think nice ladies don’t get strangled?” Nesbitt’s voice got louder again. “It happens. I just left a murder scene in Tacony. A young wife and a three-year-old, a little girl, strangled to death by the husband. It happens every goddamn day.”
Cate heard the anguish in his tone, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. Nesbitt punched the DOWN button for the elevator, and they both fell quiet as a woman nurse wearing a loose, patterned uniform passed by, eyeing them curiously. Her shoes squeaked as she walked away, emphasizing the abrupt silence between them. The elevator arrived and the stainless-steel doors slid open, and they stepped into the long rectangular cab without a word. The doors closed, sealing them inside.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Cate hit the scratched-up button for the ground floor. “It’s just that I felt like I was getting close to something.”
“You might’ve messed up my case against him, too,” Nesbitt said, after a minute. He shook his head. “You’re the victim, asking questions of a suspect in custody. What a frigging mess.”
“It shouldn’t affect the case. I didn’t interrogate him. We didn’t talk about what happened in Centralia. We talked about Marz and Simone.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Nesbitt kept shaking his head. “The issue is what he’ll say you asked him. He had no lawyer present. Better yet, you posed as his lawyer. This is so against procedure, there is no procedure. No precedent. I told you, I’m a by-the-book kinda guy. I gotta tell the ADA, and my case against him might be out the window.”
“What happened to me doesn’t really matter. What matters is what happened to Marz and Simone. Because somebody killed them and got away with it.”
Nesbitt’s head snapped up, his brown eyes flared. “No, they didn’t. Marz killed Simone and he’s dead.”
“Don’t be so sure. If you’d let me tell you what I-”
“And what do you mean, it doesn’t matter what happened to you? Russo’s guilty of attempted murder. We have procedures. Laws.” Nesbitt looked stricken, his mouth opening, forming a circle like an open wound. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, a judge.”
“You are, and for once, I’m using my judgment. Russo wasn’t a menace to society, he was a menace only to me, because he thinks I killed his friend. And Russo isn’t the point, Marz is. Simone is. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I know what I’m doing. We have to find out who killed Simone and Marz and bring them in.”
“We know who killed them!” Nesbitt raised his voice again. “That case is cleared because I cleared it. You’re not a detective. I am.”
The elevator doors opened onto a wide-eyed group of people, who’d evidently been able to hear the argument. Cate flushed and Nesbitt gestured her out without another word. They headed through the crowd for the exit doors, feeling a chilly blast that came only partly from the doors being opened and closed. People streamed out, tugging on knit hats, buttoning up winter coats, and wrapping themselves in overlong mufflers before they hit the sidewalk. A couple of teenagers came in, carrying white bags of McDonald’s that trailed the warm scent of fresh French fries.
“Where’re you parked?” Nesbitt asked calmly, when they got outside to the sidewalk. She walked next to him, their shoulders distant, their footsteps hitting the cold concrete on the way to the parking lot. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“No, it isn’t. I want to make sure you leave.”
Or not. Cate’s mouth went dry. “In the lot across the street, at the hotel.”
Nesbitt held a hand up to stop a station wagon and waved Cate across the street.
“If you’d listen, I could tell you what I learned today, from Sarah Marz and George Hartford.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You might be persuaded.”
“I won’t be. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Cate crossed the median slightly behind Nesbitt, feeling hollow inside. The night had fallen a frigid, starless black, the moon hiding. The massive concrete Civic Center sat on her right, an empty edifice looming in the dark, and the University Museum was on her left, with its ornate dome designed by Frank Furness, oddly exotic in this American cityscape. The Penn Hotel lay straight ahead, a tall column of bright yellow windows, and the garage was off to its right.
Cate said, “You know Micah Gilbert, Simone’s assistant? I think she did it.”
Nesbitt kept walking.
“I think she had an affair with Simone, and he ended it when the trial was over. In fact, the moment the trial was over. And she was hurt and angry, and went and shot him. Then she set Marz up for the murder. He would be the perfect candidate, given what had happened in the courtroom, and he was drunk enough that she could overpower him.”
“How would she know where Marz was?”
“She called him on his cell. Marz had a cell phone and he wasn’t found with it on him. Micah had access to Simone’s files, so she would know Marz’s cell number.”
Nesbitt didn’t respond.
“I think she called Marz and said she had to meet him. That she had something important to tell him, maybe inside information that would help in an appeal. Or just good, old-fashioned dirt on Simone.”
“Can you walk a little faster? I want to get back to Russo, Judge.”
Judge. I’ve been demoted. “What do you think of my theory?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I think you’re wrong and I’m right.”