James Patterson - The 9th Judgment

“Oh. Cross your heart?”

“Just so you know, the DA goes home at five. That’s in fifteen minutes. Your window to make a deal is closing fast.”

Dowling snorted derisively, and Conklin laughed.

He went out of the room and came back with three containers of coffee, making a big show of adding milk and sugar to his cup, all the while humming the theme song from Night Watch. It was a catchy little ditty that had made the charts even when Dowling and Cushing’s shoot-’em-up movie had bombed.

I saw something come over Dowling’s face as Richie hummed. The nonchalance evaporated. The chair legs came down. Seemed to me that hearing that tune had focused Dowling as nothing else had.

DOWLING’S CELL PHONE rang. He looked at the caller ID, opened the phone, and said, “Peyser? Where are you? What are you doing? Walking here?”

Dowling paused for his lawyer’s response, then said, “You’re useless. Useless.” He snapped the phone shut and looked at his watch. It was five on the nose.

“Call the DA. I’m talking to you of my own free will,” Dowling said. “I have nothing to hide. Do I need something in writing from you or the DA?”

“Nope,” I said. I pointed to the camera in the corner over my head. “You’re on the record.”

Dowling nodded. He was on camera. A place he liked to be.

“I lied to protect Casey’s reputation,” he said. “Casey found out that I had a girlfriend. She pulled the gun on me. I wrestled it out of her hands, and the gun went off.”

“Before or after the burglar went out the window?” I asked him.

“The burglar left. That’s what gave her the idea. Casey saw an opportunity to shoot me. She grabbed the gun from the night table and started screaming at me. I tried to take it away from her, and it went off. That’s the truth.”

“Mr. Dowling, are you sure you want to tell it that way? Your wife took two bullets, remember? One to her chest. The other to her neck. She was naked and unarmed. There was no gunpowder stippling on her skin. That means you were standing at least five feet away. The angle of those shots is going to bear that out.”

“That’s not how it happened-”

“It’s exactly how it happened, Mr. Dowling,” I said. “Your Ruger is a single-action revolver. You had to pull the hammer each time before you fired.”

I made a gun of my hand. I pulled back the “hammer” I made with my thumb. I said, “Bang.” Then I repeated the action and said, “Bang,” again. “You want to try to convince a jury that was self-defense?”

“It was. It happened just like I said,” Dowling insisted. He was sputtering now, a lisp coming into his speech, but he clung to his story. “She tried to kill me. I got the gun away from her and it went off. Maybe I panicked and fired it twice. I don’t remember. I was frightened,” he said, tears coming now. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I loved her. Ask anyone. I should never have cheated on her. It’s hard, don’t you see? Women come on to me all the time. Casey didn’t understand that.”

The door opened again, this time no knock, and Tony Peyser, Dowling’s confident, thousand-bucks-an-hour attorney, came through the door.

“Don’t say anything, Marc. What’s the charge?” the lawyer asked me.

I was filled with a heady blend of fury and elation. Dowling’s statement was on tape, and the prosecution would use it to tear him apart.

I didn’t even look at the lawyer. I said, “Stand up, Mr. Dowling. You’re under arrest for the murder of Casey Dowling. You have the right to remain silent…”

Conklin cuffed Dowling as I finished reading him his rights. Dowling was still protesting, “It was self-defense!”

“Who knows? Maybe the jury will believe you,” I said, looking into a face that had struck love into the hearts of untold thousands of women. “But you know what I think? You’re a bad actor. You really stink.”

I DON’T KNOW when I’ve needed a drink more. Cindy met me downstairs at half past six, and I drove us to Susie’s in my Explorer. I was glad to have some time alone with Cindy, and I had a pretty juicy exclusive for her.

The rain was starting to come down pretty hard, the customary evening gale. As my wipers squeegeed the water off the glass, I told Cindy how the “bomb” dropped off at the Hall turned out to be four million in jewels.

“I think Kitty returned the jewelry because she didn’t want that ‘murder during the commission of a robbery’ charge hanging over her head.”

“What did her letter say exactly?” Cindy asked.

“Cindy, you can have the part about Kitty, but we’re charging Dowling with murder in the second. That’s off the record, okay?”

“Fine,” Cindy said. “I’ll get another source on Dowling in the morning. Meanwhile, this is incredible. Hello Kitty returned the goods.”

I grinned at Cindy as I quoted Hello Kitty’s letter, then I parked as close as I could to Susie’s. We both got out of the car and, squealing like little girls, ran a block through the sharp blowing rain.

Walking into Susie’s is pretty much a peak experience every time. We’ve been coming here for years, so the place is packed with memories. The aroma of Susie’s special spicy fish stew was in the air. The band was tuning up, and there was a mob of singles at the bar.

I saw Yuki sitting on a stool, and Cindy and I edged through the crowd until I could tap Yuki’s shoulder. She turned and gave both me and Cindy hugs. Then she introduced us to the bartender. She shouted over the noise.

“Lindsay, Cindy, meet Miles La Liberte. Miles, these are my friends Lindsay Boxer and Cindy Thomas.”

I shook hands with Miles, and as we said our good-byes, Yuki leaned across the bar and kissed him on the lips.

She kissed him!

“I’ve been out of the loop for too long,” I said to Yuki as we passed the kitchen on the way to the back room. “What was that I just saw?”

“Cute, isn’t he?”

Yuki laughed and took menus from Lorraine, and the three of us slid into the booth. I held open the seat next to me for Claire.

“Darned cute,” I said. “And how long has this been going on?”

“A few weeks.”

“So is this… serious? ”

“Yeah,” she said, blushing and grinning at the same time.

“Wow,” Cindy said. “You kept that a secret? ”

“Good for you, Yuki. A new case and a new boyfriend. A pitcher of brew, please,” I said to Lorraine. “Four glasses.”

“I have an announcement, too,” Cindy said, clasping her hands, leaning across the table, practically falling into my lap. “Rich and I are living together.”

“Whoa. That’s fan tastic, ” I said-and I felt it. A hundred percent. “He didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to be the one to tell you,” she said.

The beer came along with a bowl of plantain chips, and Cindy talked about closet space and how the bed was too soft for Rich, and I thought about how long it had been-if ever-since all of us were happy at the same time. I wished that Claire was here to enjoy this.

I turned, looked over my shoulder, and saw her barreling down the narrow passageway toward our booth.

The look on her face could be described only as an eclipse of the sun. A thunderstorm was coming in.

CLAIRE DIDN’T EVEN say hello.

She slid into the booth, poured a glass of beer, and said, “Sorry I’m late. I was on the medical examiner database, still trying to break the logjam in this Lipstick Psycho disaster. Edmund says I should take the pictures of those dead babies down from the board in my office, but I want to keep them up until that devil is in custody.”