In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(28)

“Sounds like a hobby to me,” he said. “You want to use some of your personal days, go ahead. Otherwise, we got enough here to keep us all busy.”




What Nolasco failed to consider was all the overtime Tracy had accumulated working the Cowboy investigation. She’d built up a boatload of personal days that she’d lose if she didn’t use them by the end of the year. With Dan in Los Angeles and Kins on a path to becoming a full-blown member of the idiot club, Tracy was happy to use those personal days to get out of the office.

She grabbed her coat and purse and started from her cubicle, intending to call Jenny on the drive home, but stopped when her desk phone rang. The small window on the console indicated an inside line. She hoped it wasn’t Nolasco calling to rescind his backhanded consent, just screwing with her, which used to be his full-time hobby.

“Detective Crosswhite,” the duty officer at the desk in the building lobby said. “I got somebody here says he needs to speak to you or Detective Rowe.”

“I don’t have anybody scheduled to meet with me. I’m not sure about Kins. He’s gone for the day.”

“He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says it’s urgent.”

“Who is it? What’s his name?”

“Connor Collins.”





CHAPTER 10


The officer behind the bulletproof partition nodded in the direction of Connor Collins. The young man stood in the lobby looking very much like a high school kid on his way home from school, a ball cap propped backward on his head, backpack dangling from his shoulder, skateboard tucked under his arm.

“I have something to tell you,” he said as Tracy approached.

Tracy raised a hand, stopping him. “I can’t speak to you. You’re represented by an attorney.”

She’d contemplated not even coming down the elevator, telling the officer to send Connor away. She’d tried calling Cerrabone, but he wasn’t picking up his office phone, and his cell phone went straight to voice mail. The receptionist said he’d left for the day. She’d also tried Kins, but he also didn’t answer. She immediately wondered if he was with Santos.

Connor shifted on the balls of his feet. “I don’t have an attorney. I never did. My grandfather just said that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re seventeen.”

“I turned eighteen yesterday.” He reached for his back pocket. “You can check my driver’s license. So I’m an adult, right? I can decide for myself. I wanted to talk to you about what happened that night, when my dad came to the house.”

Connor was holding out his license like an underage kid with a fake ID hoping to buy beer. He wore blue jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt with a gothic design—wings of some sort. Tracy studied his pupils and the whites of his eyes. He didn’t appear to be under the influence of any drug. She didn’t smell pot, just the faint scent of teenage body odor.

“Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want you to say anything to me until I say you can speak. Understood?”

Connor nodded.

They rode the elevator in silence to the seventh floor. Tracy deposited Connor in one of the hard interrogation rooms, then went into the adjacent room and turned on the video recorder. She returned to her cubicle and tried Cerrabone and Kins again, without success. She walked to the back of the floor, where the administrative staff sat, and found Ron Mayweather, the A Team’s “fifth wheel,” still at his desk. The fifth wheel was a detective assigned to assist one of the Violent Crimes Section’s four units.

“You have time to sit in on an interview with me?” she asked. “Something unexpected in the Collins case.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mayweather said, rising from his chair.

When they entered the interrogation room, Connor sat up straight. He’d propped his skateboard against the wall and put his backpack on the floor beside it. He didn’t stand when Tracy introduced Mayweather, nor did he offer his hand. He just gave a nearly imperceptible nod and a soft “Hey.”

Tracy and Mayweather took the two seats across the small metal table. “I’m videotaping and recording everything being said,” Tracy said. “You understand that?”

Connor nodded.

“You have to answer out loud,” Tracy said.

“Oh. Yes,” he said.

“You can sit back. Relax.”

Connor sat back. After getting him to state his name, address, and date of birth, Tracy introduced herself and Ron Mayweather, gave the date and time, and briefly summarized the situation. Then she said, “Let’s back up and start over, Connor. You came to the police department this afternoon, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get here?”

“I took the bus and rode my skateboard.”

“No one came with you?”

“No.”

“You said you do not have an attorney representing you?”

“No. I mean, right. I said that. I don’t.”

“Your grandfather, Atticus Berkshire, is not your attorney?”

“No. He’s not my attorney. He’s my mom’s attorney.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No.”