Visions
Page 47
“Olivia, please.”
I kept my gaze lowered. After we shook hands, I cast a nervous look at two young officers who’d been watching and whispering as we came in. They weren’t the only ones, but they were being the most obvious about it. That’s her. The Larsen girl.
Gabriel moved closer. Protective. I don’t think he realized he was doing it, and when I inched away, he shot me a puzzled look. Fuentes noticed, though—that as well as my general discomfort at being watched and assessed. He gave a sharp look at the whispering young officers, then said, “This way, please,” and led me down the hall.
While we walked, I stayed close to Fuentes. Gabriel shot me a look behind the detective’s back. I returned it, resisting the urge to mouth, “It was your idea, dumbass.” Apparently, when he said to downplay our relationship, he meant verbally—don’t joke with him, whisper with him, act too familiar with him. But it was the body language that counted most, and mine said, “This guy might be my lawyer, but he makes me nervous.”
As Fuentes led us into an office, I cast a furtive glance at Gabriel. “Does Mr. Walsh need to be here? I’m sure he has better things to do, and it’s only an interview. I’m not a suspect. I mean, obviously, I guess I am, but this isn’t that kind of interview, right?”
“As your legal representation, it is best that I’m present for all questioning,” Gabriel said.
“You can dismiss him,” Fuentes told me. Then he added grudgingly, “But he’s right. He should stay.” A sympathetic smile my way. “I’ll keep this as brief as I can.”
I nodded and took a seat.
The interview proceeded without incident. I’d established my role, and I played it well—the poor lost girl, overwhelmed by the twists her life had taken, still shaken by the discovery of Ciara’s body, nervous about this interview, even more nervous about having to associate with Gabriel Walsh, Necessary Evil. Basically, I did a dead-on impersonation of a helpless blond kitten.
Fuentes responded the way any decent person might, keeping the interview simple and nonconfrontational. We seemed to be nearing the end when another detective rapped on the interview room door then stuck her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “It’s about the Conway case.”
“So is this,” Fuentes said, nodding toward me.
“It’ll just be a minute. We have a bit of a . . . situation.”
Fuentes apologized to me. He walked to the door and stepped partway out, keeping it open, as if being chivalrous, not leaving me alone with the big bad wolf. Of course, that open door meant I could eavesdrop, which I did.
“The family won’t make an ID based on the photos,” the other detective said. “They want a DNA comparison.”
“With what? We don’t have a body.”
“The techs took samples at the scene.”
“Do we have an exemplar? I didn’t think there was one in the missing persons file.”
“There isn’t,” she said. “The parents want to be tested for comparison.”
“They want us to do three DNA tests and a familial comparison, when we have perfectly good photographs to make an ID? Did you tell them this isn’t CSI? Those tests take time and money, and they’ll delay the investigation.”
“I know, but someone put the idea in their head that photos aren’t good enough. Now they’re adamant. They won’t believe it’s her without a body or a DNA test.”
“Keep listening,” Gabriel murmured as he rose. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
He brushed past the officers, who were still talking. It seemed Ciara’s parents were here, and the other detective wanted Fuentes to try talking them out of their CSI-inspired madness. Fuentes stepped farther into the hall, letting the door close, as if deeming it safe now that Gabriel was gone.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I glanced at the Conway file. In the movies, this would be where I peeked at that file and saw the status of their investigation. Had Gabriel known Fuentes would close that door if he left, meaning he trusted me to take advantage of the situation? But if Fuentes walked in and caught me out of my chair, reading the file . . .
I reached out and eased the folder my way, my gaze fixed on the door, watching that handle—
The knob turned. I yanked my hands back. Gabriel walked in. Fuentes moved into the opening again, still talking to the other detective.
Gabriel leaned over to me. “Could you please go ask Detective Fuentes if he’d like us to come back later?”
I nodded.
—
“There’s no reason to doubt that body was Ciara Conway, is there?” I said to Gabriel when we were in the parking lot.
“No,” he said. “Despite the mutilations, the photos should be enough. If I was defending her killer, I would call the identification into question to plant doubt. But I suspect the parents are simply in denial.”
“Someone advised them to have it done. Planted the idea.”
“Likely a family member who has watched too much television. The wave of interest in forensic and crime scene analysis has been the bane of prosecutors for years now.”
“And a boon for defense attorneys.”
A faint smile. He opened the driver’s door and climbed in. I followed.
As the car backed up, I said, “I didn’t get a look at the file.”
“Hmm?” He checked his mirrors.
“I know you went to the restroom so Fuentes would leave and I’d read the file. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”
A twitch of his lips. “Now who’s been watching too many crime shows? The risk of being caught is too great, and you wouldn’t have had time to read the file. You need a permanent copy.” As he talked, he flipped through his phone. Then he passed it over. “Like this.”
I enlarged the photo on his phone to see a page from the file.
“How the hell—?” I stopped. “That’s what you were doing in the restroom? You’d scooped the pages and were taking pictures of them? Shit. I didn’t see a thing.”
“That would be the point. I’ll print those, and we’ll have a look at them later.”
SPECIAL INTEREST GROUP
James Morgan checked his cell phone as he walked through the underground parking lot. Looking for something from Olivia. A call, a text, an e-mail . . . It was past seven and Saturday. She’d said she was free today. Yet she hadn’t rung him back.
I kept my gaze lowered. After we shook hands, I cast a nervous look at two young officers who’d been watching and whispering as we came in. They weren’t the only ones, but they were being the most obvious about it. That’s her. The Larsen girl.
Gabriel moved closer. Protective. I don’t think he realized he was doing it, and when I inched away, he shot me a puzzled look. Fuentes noticed, though—that as well as my general discomfort at being watched and assessed. He gave a sharp look at the whispering young officers, then said, “This way, please,” and led me down the hall.
While we walked, I stayed close to Fuentes. Gabriel shot me a look behind the detective’s back. I returned it, resisting the urge to mouth, “It was your idea, dumbass.” Apparently, when he said to downplay our relationship, he meant verbally—don’t joke with him, whisper with him, act too familiar with him. But it was the body language that counted most, and mine said, “This guy might be my lawyer, but he makes me nervous.”
As Fuentes led us into an office, I cast a furtive glance at Gabriel. “Does Mr. Walsh need to be here? I’m sure he has better things to do, and it’s only an interview. I’m not a suspect. I mean, obviously, I guess I am, but this isn’t that kind of interview, right?”
“As your legal representation, it is best that I’m present for all questioning,” Gabriel said.
“You can dismiss him,” Fuentes told me. Then he added grudgingly, “But he’s right. He should stay.” A sympathetic smile my way. “I’ll keep this as brief as I can.”
I nodded and took a seat.
The interview proceeded without incident. I’d established my role, and I played it well—the poor lost girl, overwhelmed by the twists her life had taken, still shaken by the discovery of Ciara’s body, nervous about this interview, even more nervous about having to associate with Gabriel Walsh, Necessary Evil. Basically, I did a dead-on impersonation of a helpless blond kitten.
Fuentes responded the way any decent person might, keeping the interview simple and nonconfrontational. We seemed to be nearing the end when another detective rapped on the interview room door then stuck her head in.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “It’s about the Conway case.”
“So is this,” Fuentes said, nodding toward me.
“It’ll just be a minute. We have a bit of a . . . situation.”
Fuentes apologized to me. He walked to the door and stepped partway out, keeping it open, as if being chivalrous, not leaving me alone with the big bad wolf. Of course, that open door meant I could eavesdrop, which I did.
“The family won’t make an ID based on the photos,” the other detective said. “They want a DNA comparison.”
“With what? We don’t have a body.”
“The techs took samples at the scene.”
“Do we have an exemplar? I didn’t think there was one in the missing persons file.”
“There isn’t,” she said. “The parents want to be tested for comparison.”
“They want us to do three DNA tests and a familial comparison, when we have perfectly good photographs to make an ID? Did you tell them this isn’t CSI? Those tests take time and money, and they’ll delay the investigation.”
“I know, but someone put the idea in their head that photos aren’t good enough. Now they’re adamant. They won’t believe it’s her without a body or a DNA test.”
“Keep listening,” Gabriel murmured as he rose. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
He brushed past the officers, who were still talking. It seemed Ciara’s parents were here, and the other detective wanted Fuentes to try talking them out of their CSI-inspired madness. Fuentes stepped farther into the hall, letting the door close, as if deeming it safe now that Gabriel was gone.
As soon as the door clicked shut, I glanced at the Conway file. In the movies, this would be where I peeked at that file and saw the status of their investigation. Had Gabriel known Fuentes would close that door if he left, meaning he trusted me to take advantage of the situation? But if Fuentes walked in and caught me out of my chair, reading the file . . .
I reached out and eased the folder my way, my gaze fixed on the door, watching that handle—
The knob turned. I yanked my hands back. Gabriel walked in. Fuentes moved into the opening again, still talking to the other detective.
Gabriel leaned over to me. “Could you please go ask Detective Fuentes if he’d like us to come back later?”
I nodded.
—
“There’s no reason to doubt that body was Ciara Conway, is there?” I said to Gabriel when we were in the parking lot.
“No,” he said. “Despite the mutilations, the photos should be enough. If I was defending her killer, I would call the identification into question to plant doubt. But I suspect the parents are simply in denial.”
“Someone advised them to have it done. Planted the idea.”
“Likely a family member who has watched too much television. The wave of interest in forensic and crime scene analysis has been the bane of prosecutors for years now.”
“And a boon for defense attorneys.”
A faint smile. He opened the driver’s door and climbed in. I followed.
As the car backed up, I said, “I didn’t get a look at the file.”
“Hmm?” He checked his mirrors.
“I know you went to the restroom so Fuentes would leave and I’d read the file. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”
A twitch of his lips. “Now who’s been watching too many crime shows? The risk of being caught is too great, and you wouldn’t have had time to read the file. You need a permanent copy.” As he talked, he flipped through his phone. Then he passed it over. “Like this.”
I enlarged the photo on his phone to see a page from the file.
“How the hell—?” I stopped. “That’s what you were doing in the restroom? You’d scooped the pages and were taking pictures of them? Shit. I didn’t see a thing.”
“That would be the point. I’ll print those, and we’ll have a look at them later.”
SPECIAL INTEREST GROUP
James Morgan checked his cell phone as he walked through the underground parking lot. Looking for something from Olivia. A call, a text, an e-mail . . . It was past seven and Saturday. She’d said she was free today. Yet she hadn’t rung him back.
