Nugent said, “I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Crawford said. “He left behind the evidence of the courtroom shooting. We’ll be able to match his DNA to what we got off the painter’s overalls and mask.”
“What makes you think he was the courtroom shooter?” Neal asked. “You failed to elaborate when you called Nugent and threatened him to get his butt in gear, or else.”
Crawford used his phone to open the email he’d sent to himself and showed Neal the picture of Pat Connor with Otterman. “This was taken earlier this evening. I instantly recognized Pat as the shooter.”
“He was one of the officers guarding the judge during the press conference.”
“A short while ago, I remembered that.”
“You didn’t have an epiphany then.”
“He wasn’t wearing a hat.”
“And the hat made all the difference to you?”
“You’re scoffing, but actually it did.” To Holly, too. But he couldn’t tell Neal that.
Neal continued. “It was Pat Connor who told me about your meeting in chambers last night with Judge Spencer. He saw you leave, hot under the collar.”
Crawford remembered that a cop had been lurking in the darkened corridor as he’d left Holly’s office. “Was he by any chance my tail taking the pictures?”
“No.”
“Then what was he doing up there at that hour?”
“More to the point, what were you?”
He didn’t answer that. “It should tell you something that, since Monday, Pat Connor had placed himself in our paths, mine and the judge’s, when I hadn’t bumped into him more than a handful of times in the past five years. He was keeping tabs on us. He was the shooter, Neal. Same hair. Body type. Check his left knee. He’s probably still got the bruise.”
“I’ve already told Dr. Anderson to look for that. But even if Connor was our shooter, why’d he do it?”
“Somebody put him up to it.”
“I agree. Who?”
“Best guess?” Crawford tapped the screen of his phone to pull up the picture again. “He was with Otterman. Early this evening. In a club called Tickled Pink.”
“How’d you get the picture?”
“That’s your question? You’re standing three inches from a dead cop who had a covert conversation today with a man who by his own admission left a crime scene, and that’s your question?”
Neal remained unflappable. “True to form, you’re making a coincidence into a crisis, just so you can spring into action and dazzle us all.”
“Fine. You don’t want to soil your hands with something potentially messy like a corrupt cop schmoozing with a bigwig, give it over to me. Because I don’t give a shit who I offend. I want the bastard behind Chet’s death, and I think it’s the same smug bastard who lied about me and Rodriguez. Soon as Otterman gets to headquarters, put me in an interrogation room with him. I’ll wring his thick neck till he—”
“He’s out of town.”
“What?”
“He’s gone fishing for the weekend. His secretary doesn’t know where. She thinks somewhere in Louisiana. He’ll be back on Monday. I asked her to have him call me if he reported in, but she doesn’t expect him to.”
Disbelieving what he was hearing, Crawford looked over at Nugent, who gave an abashed shrug. When Crawford went back to Neal, he regarded him with genuine perplexity. “You’re content to sit back and wait until Monday?”
“Oh, not at all. I’ll be busy turning your life inside out. I did obtain a search warrant, but it’s for your house. Consider it served.” He removed the document from his pocket and shoved it at Crawford.
Looking down at the corpse, he continued. “Connor sent you a video of your daughter. Was that intended as a wake-up call? A subtle threat? I don’t know, but, knowing how you feel about her, it’s definitely a motive. Can you account for your time this evening?”
He could. But not without involving Conrad and Holly. Instead, he tried to reach Neal in a way that Neal would respond to. “You’re making a ruinous career choice here, Neal. Think it over very carefully before you decide to proceed.”
“I’ve already decided.”
“You’re arresting me?”
“Not yet. I’m asking you to come down to headquarters for questioning.”
“This time I’ll have a lawyer with me.”
“Good idea. Turn around.”
Understanding his intention, Crawford turned and raised his hands in the air. Neal pulled his pistol from the holster at the small of his back. “One sniff, you’ll know it hasn’t been recently fired.”
“You wouldn’t be that stupid. I know it’s not the murder weapon.”
“You’re just being careful.”
“That’s right.”
“Can I drive myself to the courthouse?”
“Sure,” Neal said. Then to Nugent, “Go with him. Soon as CSU gets here, I’ll be along.”
Crawford gave the grisly sight on the floor one last glance, then left through the living room, Nugent on his heels. The patrolman at the front door said, “Everything okay?”
Crawford didn’t bother answering.