Chapter 114
JUSTINE LEANED BACK against the wall of “the box” and watched Nora Cronin doing her fearless, practiced interrogation.
Across the table from Nora sat Rudolph Crocker. He had sutures in a couple of places on his face, but otherwise he looked almost happy, as if he were enjoying the hell out of being the center of attention.
When he looked at Justine, he grinned as if to say, “You’re in trouble, lady. Look who I got on my side: Beri Hunt, criminal-defense attorney to the stars.”
Beri Hunt looked the way she looked on TV: early forties, short dark hair, and porcelain white skin. Her suit was of fine summer-weight gray wool, and she wore a strand of gray Pacific island pearls at her throat.
Hunt had already told Nora and her superiors up the line that yes, they could get away with holding Crocker for interfering with the police. But as soon as Crocker was arraigned on this little misdemeanor, bail would be posted and her client would be out. At the same time, she’d be preparing lawsuits that would bring everyone involved in the arrest down. She’d smiled nicely as she said this.
Nora said, “Mr. Crocker, I apologize again for the injuries you sustained, but you understand, we thought you had a gun in the front seat.”
“Right. But I didn’t have a gun, and we’re going to sue you for unlawfully assaulting me, right, Beri? We’re going for millions.”
“Rudy, let the lieutenant talk. We’re just listening to what she has to say.”
“It’s Rude,” said Crocker. “My nickname.”
“You also understand, don’t you, Mr. Crocker,” Nora continued as if Rude hadn’t spoken, “that once we were inside that van, we saw some very disturbing decor.”
“Nothing in that van is admissible,” said the attorney. “My client was not armed. And you had no cause to search the vehicle. What else have you got?”
“Let’s talk about the van, okay, Ms. Hunt? It was lined with construction-grade black plastic, and the toolbox we found inside there was full of electrodes and clamps. So we’ve gotta ask what those tools were for.
“Any reasonable person, especially one who has seen the bodies of thirteen dead girls and has seen how they were killed, might think that the van was lined with plastic so as not to get any bodily fluids on the interior when your client tortured and killed another young girl.”
“I just like to keep the van in mint condition for resale,” Crocker said, but his smile was gone, at least temporarily.
“Don’t say anything,” Hunt said. “This detective is firing blanks in the dark.”
“Well, I have some live ammo now,” said Nora. “And it’s getting nice and bright in here.”
She opened the folder in front of her and turned the top sheet around so that Hunt and Crocker could see the report from Private’s lab.
Hunt put on her glasses. “This is a DNA analysis,” she said.
“That’s correct,” said Nora Cronin. “You don’t have to answer any questions, Mr. Crocker, because I’m not asking a question. I’m letting your attorney know what we have so she can defend you from the charges we will be making against you.
“This report positively matches your DNA to the DNA found on Wendy Borman’s shirt.”
“I’m sorry,” said Hunt. “Who is Wendy Borman?”
“Tell her, Mr. Crocker. Never mind. I’ll do it. In 2006, a seventeen-year-old girl named Wendy Borman was Tasered on the street. After that, Mr. Crocker held her under the arms and his friend Mr. Fitzhugh took her by the ankles, and they swung her into a van.
“A day later, Wendy Borman turned up dead. Her clothing was properly stored, and the DNA left behind on her socks and her shirt was matched conclusively to Mr. Fitzhugh and to your dirtbag client.
“The kidnapping of Wendy Borman was witnessed,” Nora continued. “The witness can positively identify your client, and she will testify.”
The lawyer said, “Do you have any proof that my client had anything to do with her death, Lieutenant? Touching and killing are two different things entirely.”
Nora turned to Justine and said, “Dr. Smith. Want to clue Ms. Hunt in?”
Chapter 115
JUSTINE SAT DOWN at the table next to Nora, across from Crocker and his famous attorney. It felt like her pulse was beating in the low hundreds, but she thought she had her game face under control. She’d been looking forward to this.
She opened the folder and took out the wonderful photo of Wendy Borman standing between her two parents, taller than both of them, arms around their shoulders.
Wendy had been more than just beautiful. She’d looked like she was all set to win at life.
The pendant hanging from Wendy’s necklace was circled with a marker pen, and Justine produced a close-up of that pendant.
It was an unusual gold star, almost like a starfish, with the points waving at the ends. It looked custom-made, one of a kind, and it was. The jeweler in Santa Monica was still in business and could identify the piece.
The lawyer stared at the picture, then looked up with a question on her face.
Justine reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small glassine bag with Wendy Borman’s necklace inside.
“Your client was using this as a light pull, Ms. Hunt,” she said. “Mr. Crocker’s fingerprints are on it — and so is Ms. Borman’s blood. It’s engraved on the back: ‘To Wendy with Love, M and D.’
“I photographed this charm hanging in Mr. Crocker’s closet. Lieutenant Cronin witnessed it. We’ve got more than enough to hold your client on suspicion of murder while we negotiate with Mr. Fitzhugh.”
“I want to speak with my client in private,” Hunt said.
“Great. Do that,” said Nora. “A couple of things you should know. We obtained a warrant for Mr. Crocker’s office computer and it’s being strip-searched right now. We’ve already found incriminating e-mails between Mr. Crocker and Mr. Fitzhugh saying where and when each of the thirteen girls was killed.”
Justine watched Crocker go from Cool Dude Rude to a kid who was about to shit his shorts.
“Something else you should both know,” Nora went on. “Mr. Fitzhugh is in the hospital under police protection. He hasn’t seen a lawyer, but we’ve explained to him what we’ve just explained to Mr. Crocker. Ms. Hunt, you know the drill.
“You can take a chance with a jury. Or. You have a very small window of time to get ahead of this before Mr. Fitzhugh flips on your client and makes his own deal.”
“I saw Mr. Fitzhugh this morning at the hospital,” Justine said. “He understands that picking up a fifteen-year-old girl with intent to kill isn’t going to play well with a jury.
“Professionally speaking, I don’t think Mr. Fitzhugh has the stomach to wait on death row for the needle. He’s a sensitive and very logical person. And logically, that’s too much stress for him. Frankly, he’s on the verge of cracking wide open. If he hasn’t already.”
Justine felt a little giddiness lifting her voice, but it didn’t matter, so she went on. “The district attorney wants to try both of you,” Justine said to Crocker. “But Michael Fescoe, my good friend and chief of police, wants to keep things simple. The first confession wins.
“So you decide,” Justine said, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “Who gets life? Who gets death? Right now, it’s up to you, Rude.”
Chapter 116
JUSTINE FELT WIRED and almost high as she left her office for the meeting at city hall. She touched up her lipstick, took the elevator down to the street, and got into the backseat of the fleet car.