Guilt

'This is Lieutenant Abe Glitsky, star number 1144,' he began, 'and I'm speaking with-'

Christina reached over and grabbed the recorder, flicking it off. 'Wait a minute, what are you doing?'

Life was a constant surprise, Glitsky was thinking. Never before had anyone – hardened criminal or anti-social cretin – ever taken his tape recorder and turned it off. He was sure this should be instructive, but didn't know what it meant. 'I thought you invited me up here to have a discussion.'

'That's correct.'

'So what's this?'

'The tape is how we do interrogations.'

'You're interrogating me?'

'You got it right the first time, Ms Carrera. We're having a discussion, but it's pursuant to my investigation of Mark Dooher.'

'Well, I'm not going to answer! I represent the man, Lieutenant. He's my client. Anything between me and Mark is privileged and you ought to know that.'

'Actually, not. You only became a lawyer a couple of weeks ago, isn't that true?' He knew it was true; he didn't have to wait for her reply. 'And even if a case could be made that you had an attorney-client relationship before that – not saying it could – that relationship certainly didn't exist before Mr Dooher got charged with his wife's murder, and that's the time I want to talk about.'

It rocked her. She sat back in her chair and took a breath, studying him. 'What for?'

'Can I have the tape recorder back?'

'I'm not going to talk to you. Are you accusing me of something?'

'No, ma'am. If we come close to that and you'd like to have your own lawyer present, we can do this some other time, but one way or another, we're going to do it.'

Her eyes narrowed. 'No, we're not. Not now, not ever if I don't choose to. Nobody ever has to talk to the police, Lieutenant – not me, not my client, not anybody. And you know it.'

Glitsky backpedalled. He didn't want to lose her. 'I thought this would be the most pleasant way. You know what the newspapers are saying. I'm the investigator in this case. When questions come up, it's my job to get an answer for them, even if it happened to be in the middle of the trial.'

'You're trying to get me to become a witness against my client.' She was getting angry herself now. 'This is the most unprofessional thing I've ever heard of, Lieutenant, and I really resent it. I met Mark Dooher on Mardi Gras of last year, say ten months ago. There was absolutely nothing between us until after his wife was dead. Does that answer your question?'

'Yes, it does,' he said.

She looked at him for a long moment. 'Lieutenant Glitsky, do you remember when I came up here to talk about Tania Willows and Levon Copes, and you sat in that chair out there,' she pointed through the open doorway, 'and laughed until tears came to your eyes? Do you remember that?'

'Sure.'

'And there was a moment right after that, after your Lieutenant came out and asked if you were okay, when you and I looked at each other and something went "click" -I don't mean sexually – where we just got something together. You remember?'

Glitsky nodded.

'So were we intimate then?'

'That's not the kind of intimacy we're talking about.'

'Well, then, Mark and I were not intimate. Are not intimate. I care about him a great deal. And while we're speaking so frankly, I don't know why you're persecuting him so horribly.'

'The evidence says he killed his wife, Ms Carrera.'

'I don't think it does. That's what you want to see.'

Glitsky held himself in check, his voice flat. 'Because of my abiding hatred of the Church of Rome and my single-handed campaign to bring it to its knees?' He gestured to the empty walls of the room they were in, the external office with all the glamour of a train wreck. 'Or perhaps it's my ambition to rise to the top of this dung heap? You pick. One of the above.'

He had gotten to her. Lowering his voice, Glitsky leaned in toward her. 'I'm trying to figure out why.'

She put her elbows on the table. Their heads were inches apart. 'Lieutenant, there's no why. He didn't do it. That's why you can't find a reason for it.'

'How about you?'

'I've told you. I don't think he did it.'

Glitsky was shaking his head. 'No. How about if you're the reason, if he killed Sheila so he'd be free to have you?'

Her eyes went dull. She seemed to stare through him. Finally: 'You know, I'm sorry, Lieutenant. You must live in the bleakest world there is. You're telling me you've got Mark killing his wife, risking a murder trial and life in prison, all on the remote chance that he'll be free to have me, who has made no commitment to him? You flatter me, but please.'

'It's not impossible.'

'It is impossible,' she said. 'It's insane. The only way that's even remotely feasible is if I…' She stopped. 'If we did it together.'

Glitsky had his arms crossed. He didn't respond except to reach over and turn the tape back on.

After a few seconds, Christina stood up. Leaning over, she turned it off. 'If you want to pursue this further, Lieutenant, next time I'll bring an attorney.'

He was watching her, her face a shifting kaleidoscope of emotions and reactions. 'I just want to say one last thing.'

He nodded. 'All right.'

'I am so sorry about your wife. I never had a chance to tell you that.'

Then she was gone.

Glitsky remained in his chair, legs stretched out, arms crossed. He had a couple of minutes before the lunch recess was over and he had to be back in court.

Reaching under the table for the second tape recorder that was hidden there, he pulled it out, stopped the tape, and rewound to the last seconds.

'I am so sorry about your wife. I never had a chance to tell you that.'

He played it back again. A third time. It had struck him as genuine when she said it. Now it sounded sincere on the tape.

Paul Thieu poked his head in through the door. 'How'd it go?' he asked.

'She looked rattled. She had to stop at the door and take a few deep breaths, then… what's the matter?'

'Nothing. She didn't have anything to do with it. Dooher did it alone.'

'How do you know?' Thieu asked.

Glitsky sat still another minute. 'I just know,' he said.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

Farrell's plans might have included sleeping all weekend, but the weekend was a long afternoon away.

Jenkins called John Strout, the coroner, as her first witness. The lanky Southern gentleman was at home on the witness stand, and gave a dispassionate and complete account of the medical issues surrounding Sheila's death.

Most, if not all, of these, could have been stipulated by both parties – that is, they could have had the Judge read to the jury the undisputed facts about the details of Sheila's death – but prosecutors always wanted to have the coroner make a murder seem real to the jury, and in this case, Farrell had a small but, he thought, important point to make himself.

'Dr Strout.' Farrell's fatigue had dissipated. He was standing in the center of the courtroom, listing slightly toward the jury. 'In your testimony, you often referred to the drug overdose that was the cause of Sheila Dooher's death. Did you list this on the coroner's report, People's One?'

'I sure did.'

'Could we look at that page of People's One a minute, your honor? Let the jury pass it around?'

Thomasino hated this kind of theatrics. Of course the jury could review People's One, although there was all kinds of information in the coroner's report that had little or nothing to do with anything the jury needed to know. But Farrell wanted to keep them involved. As they were passing it back and forth, he said, 'Paying particular attention to the cause of death, which, you will notice, does list drug overdose along with a significant amount of medical jargon,' he moved over directly in front of Strout.