Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“So big deal. All it means is Jared’s squeaky clean and six feet tall.”

“That’s not just it, though. No matter how smart you are, or sneaky you are, or aggressive you are, Jared will always have an uncanny knack for making things work to his own advantage. That’s how he put himself through law school, and that’s why, despite the fact that he’s having trouble bringing in clients, he’s still close to making partner. It’s hard to explain, but he’s one of those guys who, even though he has to work hard at it, makes everything look easy.”

“I hate those guys,” Guff said.

“And I married one of those guys. Which means we’ll have to work even harder to win,” Sara said. “Anyway, back to business. I still want to get Doniger’s neighbor on the phone…”

“Patty Harrison,” Guff said.

“…get her on the phone so we can do an initial interview. She’s by far the best witness we have for the grand jury – she’s the only one who actually saw Kozlow leave the house. Third, I want to speak to Doniger again. We should make sure she’s fully prepped before we walk into the grand jury. And fourth… what was fourth?”

“You want to interview Officer McCabe again. He’s waiting out in the hallway.”

“What? He’s out there now?”

“As we speak,” Guff said. “You were busy running around yesterday, so I called him up and asked him when he could come in. He works late on Friday and through the weekend, so he asked if he could do it today.”

“Great,” Sara said. “Let him in.”

A minute later, Officer Michael McCabe walked into Sara’s office. He had sharp eyes and a tired, almost droopy mouth, and he was thinner than Sara had remembered from their encounter on the videophone. Removing his police cap to reveal a head of thick black hair, McCabe took a seat in front of Sara’s desk. “So how’s the office treating you?” he asked in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

“Everyone’s been terrific,” Sara said as she flipped to a page of questions on her legal pad. “Now let’s go over your testimony for the grand jury. Tell me again what happened that night.”

“It was actually pretty simple. I cover the East Side, from Eightieth Street to Ninetieth, and from Lexington to Madison. So at about three-thirty in the morning, I get a call on my radio that someone just reported a burglary at 201 East Eighty-second. They describe the defendant, so I take off for Eighty-second Street.”

“You ran there?”

“Of course I ran there. I walk beat, remember?”

“Of course,” Sara said, trying her best to sound knowledgeable. “You walk beat.”

“Anyway, about two blocks from the crime scene, I spot someone who meets the defendant’s description, so I pick him up.”

“And what was that description?”

“Black jeans, long black leather jacket, goatee. He fit the description.”

“Was he doing anything else suspicious? Was he running? Did he resist arrest? Anything at all that made him look guilty?”

“At three-thirty in the morning, on an empty street, two blocks from the crime scene, he matched the physical description of the burglar perfectly,” McCabe said dryly. “What else do you want?”

“So you searched him right there?”

“Yeah. Found the watch, the golf ball, and the money.”

“Let’s do that again,” Sara said. “When I have you in the grand jury, they’re going to want more information than that.” Handing McCabe a copy of the complaint report, Sara started over. “Okay, Officer McCabe, now tell us what you found on the defendant.”

Reading from the sheet, McCabe answered, “A platinum Ebel watch, a sterling silver golf ball, and four hundred and seventeen dollars.”

“Perfect,” Sara said. “Just like that. Now, when you brought Kozlow back to 201 East Eighty-second Street, you woke up Ms. Doniger.”

“Yep. She didn’t even know she was robbed.”

“But she identified the items as her own?”

“Oh, yeah. She paused a second, but then she did. Her mother’s name was on the watch and her own name was on the golf ball.”

“Was anything else taken besides that and the money?”

“That’s all I could find, and that’s all Doniger said was missing. The way I figure it, Kozlow was grabbing stuff, and then for whatever reason, he got scared and ran.”

“And did you talk to Doniger’s neighbor, Ms. Harrison?”

“No,” McCabe said. “I didn’t know she was the one who called in the tip.”

“Wait a minute,” Sara said, looking up. “You never got a positive ID on the night of the crime?”

“I didn’t know the neighbor called it in.”

“Okay. That’s okay,” Sara said. “But you did get Doniger’s place fingerprinted?”

McCabe shook his head no. “I already had the suspect – I didn’t think I needed his prints.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sara asked. “Of course you need his prints. That’s probably the best way to prove he was in the house.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me. I’m not a detective. I just round ’em up and bring ’ em in. Besides, we’re on a budget. We don’t fingerprint every place there’s a crime. Unless there’s a body, or it’s a big case, Crime Scene stays at home and we follow up as best we can.”

“Well, that’s real helpful,” Sara said. “Remind me to thank the budget cutters when I lose the case.” Scanning her notes, she added, “Okay, just a few more questions. How long have you been friends with Victor Stockwell?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“An important one,” Sara insisted.

“I know who he is, but we’ve never met.”

Confused, Sara asked, “Then why’d you request him on the case?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“When I first picked up this case from ECAB, the booking sheet was marked for Victor. If you barely knew him, why’d you request him?”

“I didn’t request anyone,” McCabe said. “Victor asked me if he could have the case.”

Sara paused. “Really? Victor approached you?”

“Yeah, he called me a few hours after the arrest – while I was doing the paperwork. He said he wanted the Kozlow case and asked me to put his name on the file. I figured he had some personal interest in it, so I wrote him in.” When he saw the puzzled look on Sara’s face, he asked, “Is something wrong with that?”

“I don’t know,” Sara said. “That’s what I’ll have to find out.”

When McCabe left Sara’s office, she shut the door behind him and returned to her desk. There had to be an explanation for why one of the office’s best prosecutors wanted such a low-profile assignment. Struggling to come up with a list of possible reasons, she picked up a nearby paper clip, unbent it, and started wrapping it around her index finger. Maybe Victor thought the case was interesting. Maybe he wanted to lighten his workload. Maybe he knew one of the parties involved. Maybe he knew Claire Doniger, and he was doing her a favor. Or maybe he knew Kozlow. As she continued to twist the paper clip, she thought about all the reasons why she should keep her suspicions to herself. But as her finger turned a light purple, she realized she had no idea what her next step was. The office was still uncharted territory, and without question, she needed help.

Pulling off the paper clip, she looked for the intercom button on her phone. There wasn’t one – and this wasn’t her old firm. Leaning forward on her desk, she shouted, “Guff, can you come in here a second?”

When Guff arrived, Sara asked him to close the door.

“Uh-oh, what happened now?” he asked.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Let me guess: You want to see my secret list.”

“Your what?”