ADAs have a built-in inferiority complex when it comes to Homicide cops. The fact that Fisher was probably attracted to me kind of sealed the deal.
He would tread lightly. Whatever inconsistency he brought up, I would deny, and he would accept it. What had I been worrying about? I owned this meeting. Who was Fisher? Some nine-to-five schlep lawyer who was afraid to set foot on the dangerous streets of the Bronx? I would walk out of here blameless and free. I could feel it.
But then, out of nowhere, like some horrible apparition, Fisher's boss, Jeff Buslik, appeared. Buslik didn't look tongue-tied. In fact, he seemed extremely calm and collected. Malevolently calm. He didn't even seem impressed with my outfit. He kissed me chastely on the cheek like I was his sister.
"Lauren, how's it going?" he said. "Actually, I called the meeting. Why don't we head into my office?"
Oh, no, I thought.
Oh fucking no!
Chapter 77
I FOLLOWED JEFF. His bureau chief's office was a corner one, facing the stadium. You could see the Yankees right-field seats out the copper-rimmed window.
"Hey, you can spy on the bleacher creatures from here," I said.
"How do you think I clear my fugitives' docket?" Jeff joked. He looked down at his desk pensively, as if searching for the right words.
"Listen, Lauren. I like you. I really do. You're a terrific cop and…"
"I'm married, Jeff," I said with a grin.
"I know that. Okay. I guess I'll just come out and ask. Did you have anything to do with the death of Scott Thayer?"
There it was. The bomb blast I'd been hoping would never come. I felt deaf for a second. I could almost feel my shadow burn into the wall behind me.
As I fought to gain back my breath, I wondered if they could process me right here in the courthouse. Send me out with the other prisoners in the van to Rikers Island.
"Of course," I said after a long beat. I was smiling to let him know I thought he was joking. "I was the Homicide investigator in charge of his case."
"That's not what I meant," Jeff said quietly.
I looked into the prosecutor's eyes. What could I say now? What could I do?
Do something, a voice told me.
Fight. Or die.
"Yeah, well, what the hell do you mean, Jeff? What is this? Scott's case is closed. I remember because the lid almost took my head off when it slammed. Has IAB called you? Is that what this is all about?"
"Three days ago, this office was contacted by the attorney of one Mr. Ignacio Morales," Jeff said. "He was a bouncer at the club Wonderland, where you went to apprehend the Ordonez brothers."
Oh, crap.
"Yeah, I remember Mr. Morales," I said. "Did Mr. Morales happen to mention that he was about to rape me in the club's basement?"
Jeff held up his hand as if to swat away that minor detail.
"He claims that the gun they found on Victor Ordonez's body was removed from your handbag in a routine security search at the nightclub."
I made my eyes bulge to project my outrage. I think Nicole Kidman would have been envious.
"And you believed this?" I said.
"Well, actually no," Jeff said. "I trust that drug-pushing vermin about as far as I could bench-press him."
Jeff reached into his drawer and took out a piece of paper.
"But then I saw this."
It was Scott's LUDs. Had my partner sent them to him? Even in my panic, I didn't believe that. Ever-efficient, never-miss-a-thing genius Jeff must have asked for his own copy.
I'd been somewhat expecting this to come up. So I came out the only way I had left to me – swinging.
"So what?" I said. "So I knew Scott. We talked on the phone. Our relationship was nobody's business, so I never mentioned it. There a crime in protecting my privacy?"
Instead of answering, Jeff took out another sheet of paper and pushed it across his desk.
It was a photocopy of a parking ticket for a motorcycle. It was really nice of him to allow me the time to thoroughly read the highlighted date and the address.
The Yonkers address half a block from my house.
A cathedral's worth of panic bells went off inside me.
I hadn't been expecting this one.
"That Yonkers PD ticket was scratched on Scott's illegally parked vehicle a couple of hours before the coroner's time of death," Jeff said calmly. "I looked up the location on a map.
"It's half a block from your house, Lauren. Talk to me here. Make all this make some sense. Because I have grand jury justification right now. A witness that saw you plant the gun. And evidence that puts Scott down the block from your house just before the ME's time of death. I've won cases with far less, Lauren. But you're a friend. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt before any formal proceedings. This is your first and last chance to tell me what happened, and to let me help you."
Chapter 78
IT WAS TEMPTING. I'd held back so much for so long. Had lied to my friends and colleagues.
The desire to justify myself, to relieve myself of my burden, was almost unbearable. I wanted to explain how, at first, I was just afraid, and how everything had happened so fast. How I'd only wanted to protect my husband, Paul. How I did it all for him.
Now I knew how so many of the suspects I'd put away over the years felt right before they folded, purged themselves, gave it up. Confession was the last step to forgiveness, wasn't that the con?
But then I remembered.
I didn't need forgiveness.
I had a pretty good Plan B.
I did something then that I suspected Jeff Buslik didn't see too often in his high-powered corner office. I leaned back in the hot seat across from him, folded my hands on my tight skirt-clad lap, and smiled.
Then I swung for the fences!
"I see you have a lot of paper evidence here, Jeff," I said. "But I'm wondering, do you have any video evidence?"
"What?" the chief deputy DA said. There was a look on his face that I'd never witnessed before. Complete befuddlement.
"Lauren, please. Now isn't the time for nonsense, okay? I have a job to do here, and if you don't want to try to informally take a step in the right direction, I guess we'll have to -"
"Video evidence, Jeff," I continued. "Video evidence is incontrovertible, isn't it? The only reason I keep harping on it is that, in the course of my investigation, I came across a… well…"
I took my laptop out of my bag, turned it on, and hit "play."
"Maybe you ought to see this for yourself," I said. "You really should, Jeff."
Chapter 79
I LET HIM WATCH from the beginning of the surveillance to the end, uninterrupted. I sat staring out his window at the stands in the stadium. My dad had taken me to my first game there when I was eight. I didn't catch a home run, but I did taste my first beer when a drunk behind us dropped one on my head.
I wondered what my dad would think of all this, of me. Would he be ashamed? Or proud that I was capable of getting bare-knuckle down and dirty to fight for my survival? I listened for some sign from my father as I waited. But all I heard was the number 4 train rattling by.
When he was finished watching the DVD, Jeff Buslik snapped the laptop closed and took a good long look out the window himself.
We listened to the heavy silence together for a while.
The video was of Jeff's boss, John Meade, but in a way, that was even better than if it had been of Jeff. Jeff was going to run for the DA's office next November when Meade stepped down, and word was, he was a shoo-in to win. And that wasn't the only office he would be seeking, it was rumored. Diamond-bright, black, and with real star presence, he was already being called the Barack Obama of the Bronx by the press.
But the political fact of life was, Jeff needed his boss's blessing. John Meade was a Bronx institution, and Jeff was his right-hand man. Until Election Day, at least, they were inextricably connected.