“Looks like some coke, taped to the inside of the toilet tank.”
Dunn rolled his eyes. “Great. Perfect.”
Again, I was washed with anger. “Look, James, if the consent form is such a live grenade, then why do we have it? It was one of your people who told us, and I quote, ‘it is one of the weapons in our arsenal.’ I admit they said it wasn’t a first-choice thing, but that we could use it. What the hell’s going on? Seems to me you’d be better off telling your own people to do their jobs before you start on mine.”
We stared at each other like two bloody-nosed kids, breathing hard. Finally, Dunn lowered his head and took a deep breath. “All right. Consents aren’t totally worthless, but they cause intense judicial scrutiny. It usually hinges on what they call ‘the truly voluntary nature’ of the consent. If the defense can raise a single hint of coercion during the process, then it’s dead. It boils down to your word against theirs, and they have an attorney telling them just what to say. Maybe we’ll get lucky; maybe Woll’s lawyer’ll be brain dead.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off toward the apartment. It hadn’t been an apology, but I sensed the edge was off his anger. Furthermore, I couldn’t blame him. In my own anger, I had forced him to justify the validity of consent forms, but I’d known what a feeble tool they were. Part of my irritation stemmed from my own sloppiness. It was a thought that gave me pause-it wasn’t the first time I felt the pressures in this case were having an undermining effect on my judgment.
As I followed Dunn up the stairs, he turned to me and said, “You realize the Wolls are mine, right now, this second, right? And everything having to do with them.” He jerked his thumb toward the apartment.
“Right,” I said tersely, and followed him inside to inform the troops.
“We have a problem,” Brandt said later, as I entered his office.
“I know. Dunn’s already told me: hands off the Wolls.”
Brandt shook his head. “I was expecting that; I’ve already talked to his office. This concerns Mark Cappelli.”
“Oh, Christ. He didn’t die on us, did he?”
“Figuratively. He woke up a couple of hours ago, but he won’t say word one to us. He’s instructed his lawyer to sue the department for reckless endangerment, among other things.”
“You’re kidding. He shot at us, for Christ’s sake.”
“In self-defense. He claims you never identified yourselves and that he thought you were hoods about to jump him. He saw Klesczewski’s gun and, as his lawyer put it, moved to protect his own life.”
I sat on the edge of the low filing cabinet near the door and thought back. “I don’t think we did ID ourselves; he opened fire on us before we got close enough. But those were obviously police cars chasing him down I-91, and he sure as hell didn’t have permission to steal that truck. Nor was he protecting himself when he shot that other guy, getting out of the building.”
Brandt shrugged. “Doesn’t matter; that’s all food for the legal beagles. Chances are, before it’s all done, he’ll end up in the can. What counts for us right now is that he’s dead as a witness. We won’t find out why he was on Milly Crawford’s list until after we’ve done a long, protracted dance with his nit-picker attorney. That could take weeks. We also lost out on a warrant to search his apartment. Harrowsmith said we were fishing.”
I ran my fingers through my sweat-dampened hair. “So we are. By the way, Tyler found what looks like cocaine at Woll’s apartment.”
Brandt made a face.
“Think Dunn’ll issue an arrest?”
Brandt shook his head. “Too early. He’d sooner put up with the political heat than lock John up and then try to cobble together a case before the judicial clock runs out. I’m afraid John’s going to be hung out to dry for a while.”
I didn’t point out the irony of the phrase. “You going to hold the news conference to steal Katz’s thunder?”
“Yeah, Dunn called from the Wolls’ to arrange a time. We’ve missed the TV news hour, but we’ll hit the radio guys and the papers.”
I pushed myself to my feet, feeling drained. “Well, I think I’ll check in with the troops.”
Brandt stopped me at the door. “You look a little flattened.”
I shrugged. “Just the heat.”
The double dose of losing both Woll and Cappelli, combined with the storm I knew would break when Woll’s involvement became common knowledge, was hardly grounds for enthusiasm. Furthermore, it heightened my sense that I was losing control of this investigation. It had been three days since we had found Charlie Jardine in the dirt, and I was plagued by the thought that while some play was indeed being acted out, we were all crowded into the wrong theater.
It was therefore with mixed emotions that I saw Gail sitting in my office as I entered the detective bureau. Usually, the sight of her lifted my spirits, brightening me like the proverbial breath of fresh air. This time, however, I would have had to be sleepwalking not to know the reason for her visit. Indeed, in my present state of mind, her being here was as inevitable as the pain following a twenty-foot fall from a ladder.
“Hi.” I bent to kiss her and was met with a cold look. I settled for positioning myself warily behind my desk. “What’s up?”
She stared at me darkly. “I’m not sure what to call it. Breach of trust comes close.”
“On whose part?” I was groping, badly, for appropriate lines.
“Why didn’t you tell me the police department was shielding one of its own during a murder investigation?”
“We weren’t.” It never ceased to amaze me how fast and inaccurately information was passed around in this town.
“You’re denying there was evidence against John Woll from the moment you found Jardine’s body?”
“I’m not denying there was some-a lot of it pretty skimpy until about an hour ago.”
“I’ve been told Jardine was having an affair with Woll’s wife, that the two men had fought over her since high school, that Woll was seen at the grave site just before Jardine was found, and that he was possibly burying the man at the time.”
“He claims he was investigating a road flare someone had thrown over the embankment.”
“A road flare no one has found.”
I placed both my hands behind my neck and looked at her for a moment in silence. “You’re well informed.”
“Not by you.”
Despite my earlier misgivings, her almost officious rage made me toe the party line. “Gail, you sound like I’m to blame for not keeping you up to date on the latest police business.”
“I don’t expect you to tell me everything you’re up to. But I thought you were sensitive enough to warn me of the time bomb you were sitting on before Jackson, Nadeau, McDonald, Katz, and everybody else in the world opened fire. You asked me yesterday if things ever got tough because of our relationship. Well, today I felt like an idiot, because you let me be blind-sided.”
The inevitability of this conversation pained me worse than I’d imagined. I got up and circled my desk, reaching for her shoulder.
“I apologize for not warning you about John Woll’s involvement. I’ve been carrying this around inside me like heartburn from the start. I should have told you; I almost did last night, but I guess I kept hoping it would go away. You know, even with the shit hitting the fan, we still don’t know if John had anything to do with Jardine’s death. He and his wife might just be patsies. Brandt and I only kept quiet because there was so little to go on; we knew John would be grilled regardless of the evidence. We wanted to make sure of what we had before he was fed to the lions.”
“You could have warned me.” The refrain was the same, but the tone of voice had softened.
“What did Jackson say?”
“It got very personal. I don’t want to repeat it, Joe, but it hurt. I guess I thought it would have hurt less if you’d told me what you were up to.”
I put my arm around her and held her, glad to have her accept the gesture. “I am sorry. I had no idea you’d get flattened like that.”