“How about the prison authorities just play it for us from Arizona or wherever he is?” I asked. “We’ve got three Spanish interpreters on staff.”
“So far, I’m not having much luck finding anyone in the business who speaks the Mayan dialect they used in the call, Alex. Our Spanish interpreters can’t understand a word Blanca said when they talked to each other.”
“Do you have all the surveillance tapes from the hotel?” I asked Pat McKinney. “The hallways, the front desk, the entrance?”
“All? What do you mean all? I’ve got what we need for today.” He looked to Ellen for confirmation, but she’d been deflated by Battaglia and her eyes stared blankly ahead.
“You’d hardly know that unless you had every tape from the time period in question. I would have asked for them from every camera that might have caught any of the players-including the security team-and MGD’s girlfriend.”
“I’m satisfied with what we’ve got,” McKinney said. “If Blanca changes her mind again, we’ll go back for more. Besides, before you got here I was filling the Boss in about Blanca’s argument that she wouldn’t ever be sexually involved with a black man. It’s hard to get around that one. It’s horribly racist, but it makes her position clear.”
“Did you have that conversation before I came in the room by plan?” Mercer said. He didn’t volunteer much in meetings with Battaglia, but when he spoke, he got everyone’s attention.
“Well-no, I-uh-well, it was just a new fact the Boss didn’t know.”
“Do you have something to say to that, Mercer?” the district attorney asked, getting up to ground out the tip of his cigar.
“Bullshit,” Mercer said, in a firm but quiet voice. “Most respectfully, sir, bullshit.”
Pat McKinney threw back his head and pursed his lips. Whatever he’d been trying to sell to Battaglia before we walked in had just been compromised.
“You think she’s lying about that?” Battaglia asked.
“Her prejudice? I just think it’s ugly. And personally, I think she threw that line in out of the blue yesterday, as though Mr. Peaser put it in her head as one more reason to find in her favor.”
“You know what her boyfriend looks like?” The DA turned to Pat McKinney.
“The jailbird? No idea.”
Mercer stood up, took some photographs from his jacket pocket, and passed them to Battaglia. “They’re called mug shots, Pat. You could have had them pulled up in a flash, like I did.”
“This is Blanca’s convicted felon?” Battaglia said, squinting at the picture.
“Yeah. He’s from the same town she is. Got those Mayan features, but I’d say there’s been some chocolate sprinkled into his family tree over the last few generations.”
McKinney still had fire. “The other thing I was telling the Boss just now is that last night Byron Peaser gave me another factoid in Blanca’s favor. She’s been HIV-positive for eight years and on a battery of medications. No way in hell she’d volunteer to have sex with a stranger.”
“Welcome to my world, Pat. Just when you think you have all the answers,” I said, “you enter the dark realm of special victims work. You know how many women who are already HIV-positive think that giving blow jobs doesn’t put them at risk? You know how many others just figure they’re already infected with the worst thing a man can pass along to them, so why not have sex? If that’s your ace in the hole, so to speak, Pat, it’s a losing argument.”
“Two people alone together in a hotel room for twenty minutes. Everything in the world’s at stake for both of them. One is shielded in all the privileges our Constitution allows,” Mercer said, “and that leaves only the other one to tell a story-out of both sides of her mouth, in this case.”
“So what do I do?” Battaglia asked, standing and pacing in the middle of the long room.
“We put her in,” I said. “We get an indictment today and file it tomorrow.”
“But you want more time, Alexandra.”
“Yes, Paul. My head’s in the same place as Ryan’s. And like Mercer, I don’t believe Blanca’s bullshit and prejudice. But Lem won’t budge. No hint of a story from MGD that would flat out contradict his accuser. Won’t agree to an ankle bracelet to monitor his guy. So like Pat and Ellen, I think we’ve got to get her under oath-she’s never wavered on the story about what happened in the room with Gil-Darsin. If you can take the heat that goes with riding this whole thing on Blanca’s back, then we go in today, and continue to work around the clock to sort out every detail that’s dangled before us.”
Pat looked at me, seemingly shocked that I had agreed with him.
“Glad you’re being sensible, Alex,” he said.
“I’d rather take our time like Ryan says, but it’s not the sensible choice, with all of MGD’s resources and the fact that Lem Howell hasn’t proferred any plausible scenario on his client’s behalf. But I’m not the one who’s going to be hit with the RUSH TO JUDGMENT? headlines. That’s all on the Boss’s head.”
“I’ll put my armor on,” Battaglia said. “You think you can get this done today? We can do the filing and press conference by tomorrow or Friday?”
“Absolutely,” McKinney said.
Battaglia dismissed us as quickly as he was able. We all gathered our notepads and started toward the door. I took an extra minute to shuffle my papers in hopes I could have a private word with the district attorney.
“Ryan Blackmer,” the DA said to me. “I like that kid. He’s not afraid to say what’s on his mind. I hope he’s wrong this time.”
“Ryan always says what’s on his mind. It should be refreshing,” I said, “after all the ass-kissing you get.”
I didn’t need to drop McKinney’s name in that sentence. Battaglia had already picked up the phone to ask Rose to get his mole at WEB headquarters on the phone.
“Listen, Paul, I think you ought to know some other stuff that’s going on.”
“‘Stuff’?” he asked me. “Is that a term of art?”
“Sorry. You’re right. There was a woman murdered in Mougins this weekend.”
“I take it you have an alibi.” The side of Battaglia’s mouth drew back in a grin. It wasn’t even ten o’clock, and the second cigar was already lighted and filling the space between us with smoke.
“And then a man’s body was found by Night Watch in the Gowanus Canal.”
“Saw it in the tabs. Had his throat slit. So?”
“Well, he was a waiter. It’s complicated but, uh-” I searched for the right words as I fiddled with the buttons of my gray-striped suit and tugged at the collar of the silk blouse. “There may be a connection to Luc Rouget in all this.”
Battaglia covered the mouthpiece with his hand while he continued to hold for the person he had called. “What does that mean exactly?”
“I don’t know, Paul.”
“Well, what does Luc say? What kind of connection?”
“I-I haven’t been able to speak to him in a day or so. I’ll let you know as soon as I do. The woman who was killed in Mougins used to work in Luc’s restaurant, several years ago. I’m sure it’s total coincidence, but I just thought you should know.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence, Alexandra. You’re well aware of that.”
“Then you should know that the Gil-Darsins live in Grasse, Paul. It’s the neighboring village of Mougins,” I said, struggling to keep my eyes steadied on the DA’s face. “They’ve been customers of Luc’s restaurant-for years, Boss, for many, many years.”
I thought the look from Paul Battaglia’s eyes was going to burn through the lenses of his glasses. “Go on.”
I didn’t know where to go. “There may be no significance in all this. I wouldn’t say they were close. But Luc’s father, Andre, was a good friend of Papa Mo’s.”
Battaglia grunted. “The great dictator. The thief who took the ivory out of the Ivory Coast. Lives like a king in France but left his people penniless. Go on.”