Chapter 114
JUSTINE LEANED BACK against the wall of “the box” and watched Nora Cronin doing her fearless, practiced interrogation.
Across the table from Nora sat Rudolph Crocker. He had sutures in a couple of places on his face, but otherwise he looked almost happy, as if he were enjoying the hell out of being the center of attention.
When he looked at Justine, he grinned as if to say, “You’re in trouble, lady. Look who I got on my side: Beri Hunt, criminal-defense attorney to the stars.”
Beri Hunt looked the way she looked on TV: early forties, short dark hair, and porcelain white skin. Her suit was of fine summer-weight gray wool, and she wore a strand of gray Pacific island pearls at her throat.
Hunt had already told Nora and her superiors up the line that yes, they could get away with holding Crocker for interfering with the police. But as soon as Crocker was arraigned on this little misdemeanor, bail would be posted and her client would be out. At the same time, she’d be preparing lawsuits that would bring everyone involved in the arrest down. She’d smiled nicely as she said this.
Nora said, “Mr. Crocker, I apologize again for the injuries you sustained, but you understand, we thought you had a gun in the front seat.”
“Right. But I didn’t have a gun, and we’re going to sue you for unlawfully assaulting me, right, Beri? We’re going for millions.”
“Rudy, let the lieutenant talk. We’re just listening to what she has to say.”
“It’s Rude,” said Crocker. “My nickname.”
“You also understand, don’t you, Mr. Crocker,” Nora continued as if Rude hadn’t spoken, “that once we were inside that van, we saw some very disturbing decor.”
“Nothing in that van is admissible,” said the attorney. “My client was not armed. And you had no cause to search the vehicle. What else have you got?”
“Let’s talk about the van, okay, Ms. Hunt? It was lined with construction-grade black plastic, and the toolbox we found inside there was full of electrodes and clamps. So we’ve gotta ask what those tools were for.
“Any reasonable person, especially one who has seen the bodies of thirteen dead girls and has seen how they were killed, might think that the van was lined with plastic so as not to get any bodily fluids on the interior when your client tortured and killed another young girl.”
“I just like to keep the van in mint condition for resale,” Crocker said, but his smile was gone, at least temporarily.
“Don’t say anything,” Hunt said. “This detective is firing blanks in the dark.”
“Well, I have some live ammo now,” said Nora. “And it’s getting nice and bright in here.”
She opened the folder in front of her and turned the top sheet around so that Hunt and Crocker could see the report from Private’s lab.
Hunt put on her glasses. “This is a DNA analysis,” she said.
“That’s correct,” said Nora Cronin. “You don’t have to answer any questions, Mr. Crocker, because I’m not asking a question. I’m letting your attorney know what we have so she can defend you from the charges we will be making against you.
“This report positively matches your DNA to the DNA found on Wendy Borman’s shirt.”
“I’m sorry,” said Hunt. “Who is Wendy Borman?”
“Tell her, Mr. Crocker. Never mind. I’ll do it. In 2006, a seventeen-year-old girl named Wendy Borman was Tasered on the street. After that, Mr. Crocker held her under the arms and his friend Mr. Fitzhugh took her by the ankles, and they swung her into a van.
“A day later, Wendy Borman turned up dead. Her clothing was properly stored, and the DNA left behind on her socks and her shirt was matched conclusively to Mr. Fitzhugh and to your dirtbag client.
“The kidnapping of Wendy Borman was witnessed,” Nora continued. “The witness can positively identify your client, and she will testify.”
The lawyer said, “Do you have any proof that my client had anything to do with her death, Lieutenant? Touching and killing are two different things entirely.”
Nora turned to Justine and said, “Dr. Smith. Want to clue Ms. Hunt in?”