The 17th Suspect (Women's Murder Club #17)(43)

“I don’t have to agree to that. Do I?” Hill asked incredulously. “I want my lawyer and I want to call him now.”

“In a minute,” said Martinez. “But first show me your hands, palms up.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You can chill in a holding cell with fourteen or fifteen pissed-off prostitutes until we get a court order.”

“Briana,” interjected the motherly Phyllis Chase. “Saying no to a GSR test makes it kind of look like you’ve got something to hide. If you didn’t fire a gun, this will clear you. You want that.”

Yuki knew it wouldn’t clear Briana absolutely. She could have worn and discarded gloves. She could have washed her hands before Chase and Martinez picked her up.

The gun would tell the truth.

Hill said, “Fine. Be my guest.” She held out her hands. Martinez put on latex gloves and applied the test. Then he exited the room, leaving Chase alone with the distraught Briana Hill.

Chase was saying, “You’ll get to make your phone call in a little while, Briana. First we have to process you.”

“I didn’t shoot him!”

“You have a gun, dear, and it was loaded. You violated your bond.”

“Oh, my God, no. Please. Don’t send me back to jail!”

The door to the interview room opened and two cops came in.

Chase said, “Stand up, Briana. Put your hands behind your back.”

Yuki watched the cops cuff the woman, who had not long ago had an extremely promising future. No more.

Hill was crying as she was led out. She turned her head to look at Chase.

“Why is this happening to me? No, let me tell you. He’s setting me up. He set me up again.”

Martinez came into the observation room and said to Yuki, “Ms. Castellano, the GSR test was negative. We’ll send the gun and her clothes to the lab for testing.”

“Thanks, Martinez. What do you think?”

He shrugged. “She’s a sad case. I like her, but I don’t trust her.”

“Check the security tapes in her apartment building and at the gym. See if her alibi holds up.”

Yuki called Brady. It was after midnight. He picked up, sounding disoriented.

Yuki asked, “Are you sleeping?”

“Was,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Do you mind heating up the noodles?”

“Noodles? Oh, shit. I forgot.”

“You’re a bum, Brady. You know that?”

Yuki made a detour to the vending machine on the second floor and spent four bucks on sugar and carbs before going downstairs to her car. She slammed her car into gear, and by the time she got home, she was steaming.





CHAPTER 62


CONKLIN AND I crowded into Brady’s office without invitation the morning after Millie Cushing’s murder.

My sadness and sense of responsibility had no place in this meeting, so I gave my account while keeping personal thoughts to myself. I wrapped up our report by saying, “We’re canvassing homeless shelters today to get as much info as we can on Millie, her friends, enemies, habits. And we’ll be looking into her family and so forth.

“We need help,” I said. “We could use Nardone and Anthony, also Chi and McNeil and any volunteers. I put in a call to Stevens. As you suggested.”

Brady okayed my request for help, then said, “Conklin, I need a moment with Boxer.”

When we were alone, he said, “I got a call from Hon.”

“Oh?” I felt a pang of dread. What now? I gripped the arms of my chair.

“Stevens filed a complaint against you.”

“Against me? What was the complaint, exactly?”

“Interfering with his crime scene. Wrecking the chain of command. You’re going to hear about this in person.”

I said, “How so?”

“Hon is holding a hearing to consider Stevens’s complaint against you and vice versa. After that he and the panel will send their recommendation to the chief.”

“When is this supposed to happen?”

“Thursday morning. IAD offices at nine.”

“You mean tomorrow?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

I’d never even heard of a face-to-face IAD hearing before. I didn’t know what to expect. But this I knew: I’d stood up to Stevens before. I’d do it again.

Brady said, “Jacobi will determine disciplinary action, if any. So dismissal of charges is possible. Desk duty is possible. Suspension is possible. If Stevens is found to be bending the law, that’s something else again. Either way … this’ll get cleared up.”

He shook his head.

I knew what he was thinking: I told you so. I was wishing I had listened to him.

“Levant will be there,” Brady said, referring to Central’s renowned Homicide lieutenant. “I’ll be there, too. You’re entitled to representation, so if you want a lawyer or union rep, git on the phone and make your calls.”

I had estimated a full week of work ahead of me on Millie Cushing’s murder. It would have been basic door-to-door detective work, starting at the beginning. I didn’t even know if my informant’s name was Mildred or Millicent, or if Millie Cushing was a made-up name entirely.