Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

“It’s got nothing to do with strength. The longer it goes, the uglier it gets. And honey, you’re going to see a whole lot more of ugly.”

“Darnell,” Sara said, leaning against the back of the elevator, “you give a real shitty pep talk.”

“Then how’s this?” he asked as the elevator approached the seventh floor. Doing his best Ethel Merman impression, he sang, “You’ll be swell, you’ll be great – gonna have the whole world on your plate. Starting here, starting now…”

“Everything’s coming up roses…” they both sang as Sara plodded out of the elevator. “Thanks, Darnell,” she added through the closing elevator doors.

Heading up the hallway, Sara saw Officer McCabe leaning on the corner of Guff’s desk, waiting for her to arrive. She glanced over her shoulder at the attendance board. The small magnet next to Victor’s name was in the “Out” column. He hadn’t arrived yet. Relieved, Sara rushed toward McCabe and pulled him into her office.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “I just had a quick question that I was hoping you could help me with.”

“Ask away,” McCabe said.

“After an arrest, do you follow up on all your cases?”

“That depends on the case. If it was one where my partner got shot, or a buddy or relative was hurt, I’d definitely follow up on it. But if it’s something small, there’s no time to follow it up – especially since most cases get plea-bargained.”

“Is this case considered a small one?”

“An unarmed burglary? It might as well be jaywalking. I have a few of those every week. I don’t have the time to check up on all of them.”

“So if I – or someone else who got the case – had sat on it forever, you would’ve never known about it.”

“I’d know if I followed up on it, but the odds say I probably wouldn’t bother. I just have to get Kozlow off the street – you guys take care of the rest.”

“I guess we do,” Sara said. “Especially when we think no one’s looking.”

Leaving Sara’s office, McCabe noticed two fellow officers from his precinct in the hallway. After a quick discussion of their cases and a recap of office news, McCabe headed for the elevators. When he turned the corner at the security guard’s table, someone was blocking his exit through the turnstile. It was Victor.

“Are you Michael McCabe?” Victor asked with a cold stare.

“That depends,” McCabe said. “Are you going to serve me with a subpoena?”

Forcing a strained smile, Victor said, “Nothing like that. I just wanted to introduce myself.” He extended his hand. “I’m Victor Stockwell.”

“So you’re the famous Victor,” McCabe said, shaking his hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Victor said, putting a hand on McCabe’s shoulder, “I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“Will it take long? Because I have to get back-”

“Don’t worry,” Victor said. “It’ll only take a second.”

A half hour later, Sara called Patty Harrison. There was no answer. She hung up and dialed Claire Doniger’s number.

“Hello,” Doniger answered.

“Hi, Ms. Doniger. This is Sara Tate calling. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to-”

“What is it?” Doniger asked.

Trying to keep her voice soothing, Sara said, “I wonder if you could set aside some time for us to come up to see your house. As we put together the case, it’d be helpful if we could get the exact layout of your home so that the jury can see-”

“I’m sorry, but as I told you last week, I’ve been quite busy lately. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I must get going. Good-bye, Miss Tate.” The line went dead.

Sara stormed over to Conrad’s office. “Can you help me get a detective?”

“Why do you want a detective?” Conrad asked.

“Because if I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on with Claire Doniger, I’m going to need some professional help. I’m not Miss Marple – I can’t do this alone.”

“Calm down,” Conrad said. “Now start over. What’d Doniger do?”

“She hasn’t done anything. She’s just completely unhelpful. She doesn’t want to talk about the case, she doesn’t want to testify, she doesn’t want to let us into her house. You’d think we’re the enemy.”

“Don’t let her do that to you,” Conrad said, pointing at Sara. “I told you before: You’re the one who’s in control and it’s your job to make her cooperate. If she doesn’t want to make time for you to come over, tell her she has a choice: She can let you take a half-hour tour of the house, or you can show up with an order to examine the scene and six of your closest police pals, a photographer, and a reporter, all of whom would love to take the new and improved eight-hour tour of her house while tearing through her stuff. Who knows what you’ll turn up. And if she doesn’t respond to that, you grab her by the shoulders and shake her until you knock some sense into her brain.” To illustrate, Conrad shook an imaginary person in front of his desk. “Screw her if she doesn’t want to toe the company line.”

Smiling at Conrad’s solution, Sara said, “Y’know, you’re pretty cute when you’re angry.”

“Thank you,” he replied, straightening his tie. “It’s the shaking back and forth part that got you excited, isn’t it?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sara laughed, surprised by Conrad’s reaction. “Who said I was excited?”

“Not me. I didn’t say a word.”

“Good, because I wasn’t even close to excited. At best, I was mildly amused.”

“That’s fine. Back away from it all you want. I don’t want to put words in your mouth. Now is there anything else?”

“I told you,” Sara said, regaining control of the conversation. “I need a detective who’ll help me investigate.”

Twenty minutes later, Guff walked into Conrad’s office. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Sara held her hand up and whispered, “Conrad’s trying to get us a detective.”

“No, I understand,” Conrad said. “I appreciate the help.” He put down the phone and turned to Sara. “Forget it. You’re on your own.”

“He said no, too?” Sara asked.

“I can’t believe it,” Conrad said. “Between the precinct and the squad, no one would assign a detective. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Why’re they being so tightfisted?”

“First and foremost, they’re understaffed. Besides that, it’s the budget cuts. Everyone’s so worried about their jobs, they’re not willing to take a minor case.”

“Or maybe there’s more to it than that,” Sara said. “For all we know, Victor might’ve-”

“Sara, you have to stop,” Conrad interrupted. “Even Victor doesn’t know every detective we’re calling.”

“But he may know all the precinct sergeants who’re in charge of assigning those detectives,” Sara pointed out.

“Big deal,” Guff said from the sofa. “I say we go down there tomorrow and have a look around ourselves. We don’t need some overrated detective to do the work for us.”

“I don’t know,” Conrad said. “I know this may sound strange coming from me, but maybe you should just plead out the case and be done with it. Considering what Monaghan said, it’s far more important that you don’t lose your first case at trial. And based on your witness list, it doesn’t sound like you have much to work with.”

Biting her lip, Sara couldn’t help but agree. But ever since Pop’s accident, she knew it wasn’t about her job. The stakes had been raised. The fight was for Jared. “No,” she insisted. “I can’t plead out.”

“But if you get rid of this, you can take your other cases and-”