Joel Goldman - Stone Cold

“Tell me what I’m looking for,” she said to Rossi, who was watching over her shoulder.

“Clothes that Dwayne Reed was wearing.”

“Isn’t he the guy who walked on the Wilfred Donaire murder?”

“That’s him.”

“You still working that case?”

“It’s still open, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t found anyone I like for it better than Dwayne.”

“Why are you interested in his clothes?”

“Because I’m hoping you’ll find blood from one of the five people he killed last night.”

“That family over on Garfield? I was hoping to get called out on that one. Got stuck with this instead.”

“Yeah, Jameer Henderson, his wife, and two kids.”

“That’s four. Who’s the fifth?”

“Drug dealer named Kyrie Chapman who was shot to death last night. Don’t know yet if he was before or after the family.”

“Reed the guy who caught his leg on the fence?

“That’s him.”

“And you think he’s the killer?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Did he confess?”

“Not yet.”

“You can prove he did it?”

Rossi knelt next to her. “Not yet, but if you find what’s left of his clothes in the fireplace and there’s DNA from any of the victims on it, that would make my day. How about it?”

Lena put a final piece of fabric in the can and turned toward him, their faces inches apart, Rossi giving her his I-know-you-want-me eyes.

“You feel that heat?” he said. “Is that you or the fire?”

She winced. “It isn’t you. That’s for sure,” she said as they both stood. “Here’s the deal. I won’t find anything in the ashes, but it’s possible I might find something on these fabric remnants if they didn’t burn too much. The more ashes that were piled on top of them, the better the chances.”

“Why?”

“Because the ashes insulate the fabric from the heat. I won’t know for certain until I run some tests.”

“How long will that take?”

She shrugged. “We’re pretty backed up. Couple of weeks.”

“I’ve got five victims. Make it faster.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He gave her a broad smile. “That’s my girl!”

“I’ll do it for them, not for you, and I’m not your girl.”

“Yet.”

“Ever.”

“No chance?”

“You don’t give up, do you, Detective?”

“Part of my charm.”

“More like the beginning and end of your charm.”

They stood like that for a moment, neither one talking, until Tommy Bradshaw strode into the room, interrupting their standoff.

“What do you have for me?” he asked.

Rossi pointed to the can Lena was holding. “If Dwayne did the Hendersons, his clothes had to have gotten bloody. He may have burned them in the fireplace. Lena found some fabric in the ashes.”

“I’ll check it for DNA from the victims,” Lena added.

“And check for Dwayne’s DNA. We still have to prove the fabric came from his clothes. Coordinate with the CSI teams from the Henderson and Chapman crime scenes,” Bradshaw said. “Let’s find out if they’re connected.”

“Hell,” Rossi said. “You know they’re connected. Dwayne Reed was getting his payback from the trial.”

“Bring me the evidence and I’ll burn him down. Do you have anything to hold him on for now?”

“He ran the second he saw me.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Bradshaw said. “I’ll need more than that. Where is he?”

“At Truman Medical Center getting sewn up. Couple of uniforms will bring him downtown soon as the docs let him go.”

Bradshaw nodded. “By the numbers, Detective. I don’t want this bastard walking out of another courtroom unless he’s on his way to death row.”

As soon as Alex finished giving her statement, she left, hoping to find Dwayne before Rossi did, though she wasn’t certain whether she was doing that to protect his rights or to lay into him. She imagined how the conversation might go when she found him, her emotions wild and raw.

“ Did you kill the Hendersons? No, that’s not right! Did you slaughter them? No, not that! Did you torture and slaughter them, you foul, sick fuck?”

“Why you talk to me like that? You my lawyer. Ain’t s’posed to matter what I done. If you ain’t on my side, who gonna be on my side? You gotta represent me and get me off like you did with Wilfred.”

“Why? So I can spend the rest of my life seeing that family in my dreams? Tell me why I should do that, Dwayne, you murdering, vile monster!”

“’Cause it’s your job. It’s what you do. Said so yourself.”

She had said that to Dwayne. She’d believed it then and was struggling to still believe it. If she lost her belief, what would she do? Walk away? Quit? Become an ambulance-chasing lawyer advertising on late-night television? Or would she take Judge West’s advice and do her job a different way and make sure Dwayne never saw the streets again? She knew what the questions were, but that didn’t get her any closer to the answers.

Odyessy Shelburne had offered to testify that Dwayne had been home with her, mother and son popping popcorn and watching a movie, when Wilfred Donaire was killed. Alex had pushed her on the alibi, turned her down when Odyessy kept changing her story, finally asking Alex to just tell her what to say.

Odyessy’s willingness to lie to save her son didn’t mean that Dwayne had killed Wilfred Donaire, but it had made it harder for Alex to believe he was innocent. Knowing that Dwayne was guilty and that Odyessy had lied to her stoked her rage and sorrow over what had happened to the Henderson family and made Odyessy’s house the first place she went to look for Dwayne.

She pulled up in front of the house just as Tommy Bradshaw crossed the threshold, her eyes red and puffy, her face splotchy from crying, her gut still quivering. She waited until Bradshaw was inside before following him, stopping in the front hall and listening to him, Rossi, and Kirk, staying out of sight.

Hearing Bradshaw say that he wanted the death penalty for Dwayne before Rossi had even questioned him was enough to stifle her emotions and jar her back to her duty. She stepped out of the shadows and into the room.

“Tommy, you’re going to need a lot more than a burnt offering to get the death penalty. And, Detective Rossi, nobody talks to my client unless I’m present, and I’d advise you not to waste your breath, because he’s not talking.”

They turned toward her in unison, wide eyes and open mouths registering their surprise.

“This is a crime scene, Alex,” Bradshaw said. “Who let you in?”

“Really? What crime was committed here?”

Bradshaw didn’t answer, fuming and turning red instead.

“That’s what I thought,” Alex said. “I hope you’ve got a warrant that covers the ashes in the fireplace. Why is my client getting sewn up?”

“He tore his leg on the backyard fence trying to elude arrest,” Rossi said.

“I assume you identified yourself as a police officer and told him he was under arrest. Or did he just see you, remember how you’d rousted him on a bogus murder charge, and decide to run so you wouldn’t harass him again?”

Bradshaw held up his hand. “Okay, Alex. I get it. But we’re not in court, Rossi isn’t under oath, and you haven’t been appointed to represent Dwayne Reed.”

“I’m still his lawyer in the Donaire case. That’s good enough for now. Tell me what happened here, Tommy.”

Bradshaw hesitated.

“Like you said, by the numbers,” Rossi whispered to him, Bradshaw nodding, Rossi speaking up. “I came here to question Dwayne about the murders. When he saw me, he ran. I chased him into the backyard and he got hung up on the fence. That’s when Odyessy pulled a gun on me. I took it away from her. There was a fire in the fireplace, which I thought was unusual on a summer day, so I asked CSI to check it out. And that’s it.”