Page 67 of The Writer

“He had a key,” Cordova repeats. No doubt thinking about the faked forced entry the night David was killed. A key made perfect sense; the bogus lock jimmying did not.

“That night, when I found him there in my office, I was sure he meant to kill me. I panicked. I swore I wouldn’t say anything. I told him we went too far back, I’d never do that to him. I told him anything I could to get him to trust me. I—” Her voice breaks. “I told him Lucero was obviously some kind of pedophile and prison was the best place for him. That he’d say anything to get out of there and I wasn’t about to stir things up based on the word of some convict. Geller had my book right there, I knew he’d read it. I think that’s why he spared me. It didn’t contain a word about him. The only damning evidence was against your partner.”

“Evidence you got from Harrison?”

“And Lieutenant Daniels. They all know what Declan did—they just can’t prove it.”

“Did Hoffman believe you?”

“I thought he did. He didn’t say another word for weeks. Then he came to the bookstore in Tribeca with… with that bag. He told me… he said he’d killed David’s lover and that he had someone in my apartment ready to kill David too, unless I did exactly what he said. If I didn’t, he’d make it look like I killed them both in a jealous rage. He forced me to put on his bloody clothes and wear them home under my coat. He said if I did that, we’d both have blood on our hands and he’d know he could trust me.” Her voice rises, pleading. “You’ve got to understand. I knew he was akiller, so he had nothing to lose. On top of Maggie Marshall and God knows how many others, he confessed to killing that woman, Mia Gomez. He didn’t seem rattled by it at all. I had no doubt he’d kill David and hurt me and maybe others unless I did exactly what he told me. So I did.What choice did I have?If I wanted to stay alive, I had to do what he asked.” She starts to sob but reins it in. “When I got home, I found David’s body. Geller had him killed anyway. When Geller got there, he told me his partner did it, and they would pin it on me in a heartbeat if I crossed him. He switched the knives, and who knows what other evidence he manipulated. I knew he was the only one who could keep me out of jail.”

“The bloody clothes,” Saffi says, “they were identical to yours. How did Hoffman know what you would wear to the bookstore?”

Denise gives her the perfect answer. “I have no idea.”

Let them prove her wrong.

Silence falls over the three. Cordova finally breaks it. “How do you know Mia Gomez?”

Denise goes quiet for a moment. When she replies, she sounds confused. “Me? I didn’t. I only learned her name through Geller.”

“Page Six had a photo of her standing near you at the Academy of Art Tribeca Ball.”

“At the…” Again, Denise goes quiet. Then she says, “There were a lot of people at that event. Maybe I met her, but I certainly didn’t know her. I didn’t even know her full name until I saw her on the news when her body was found,afterwhat Geller told me at the bookstore, and I connected the dots. By then it was too late for me to do anything. I kept quiet, I hadto, to… to stay alive.” She sucks in a breath. “Was she at the ball to see David? My God, was shewithDavid? How long was the affair going on? I wonder if Geller knew. Maybe he knew the whole time and was just waiting for the right moment to use it. He collected dirt on everyone. How do you think he settled half his cases?”

Saffi says in a low tone, “You should have taken all this to the police.”

“You still don’t get it,” Denise says flatly. “How could I go to the police? Geller’s partner was the police.”

“Who?”

It comes out on a breath. “Who do you think?”

“Declan Shaw?”

“Your partner didn’t frame Lucero to guarantee a conviction. Geller paid him to do it.”

Still pressed against the wall in the main bedroom, Declan listens to all of this. It hurts to hear it, but he doesn’t move. She’s telling the story exactly like they discussed.

Three-card monte.

If the evidence isn’t clear, no way you win at trial, and this case is a muddy mess. The evidence is so convoluted, there’s zero chance of prosecution. There’s something else, something he’s sure Cordova or Saffi will realize in the car on the way back to the precinct. They didn’t Mirandize her. Not for one second of that.

In the hands of the right attorney—and he has no doubt Hoffman’s successor will be the best available—none of what Denise said will be admissible.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Excerpt fromThe Taking of Maggie Marshallby Denise Morrow

THE EVIDENCE LOCKUP for the NYPD’s Twentieth Precinct is located in the basement of 120 West Eighty-Second Street. It’s accessible by a single elevator and emergency stairs. It’s a quiet dungeon in the bowels of the castle. As a civilian, I normally wouldn’t be permitted to visit the place, and I’m not going to lie to you—I had to grease a few palms to get down there. Considering the part police corruption played in Maggie’s story, I suppose it was wrong of me to capitalize on it. But this wasn’t a “When in Rome” scenario. I didn’t take it lightly. I had to get down there if I wanted tolearn the truth, and sometimes the commission of a minor infraction is necessary for the greater good.

The evidence cage is manned by a single officer. He or she is stationed behind a cinder-block wall next to a wire-mesh window with a pass-through. The space can be entered only via a magnetically sealed steel door that wouldn’t look out of place in a nuclear bunker. The evidence locker screamssecure—until you get a little closer. I didn’t see a single camera inside or out (and yes, I did get inside). You would think that when an officer needs to see evidence, the person in the cage would retrieve it and maybe bring it to a secure space where the officer could view it under the constant watch of a camera. At least, that’s how I would set things up. Nobody asked me, though, and whoever was asked came up with a process more appropriate for managing toys at a day care than handling life-changing evidence at a police facility. This is how it works:

A police officer who wishes to review evidence is given a clipboard on which to provide the case number, his or her badge number, his or her signature, and the date. The attending officer locates the box housing the evidence in the inventory database and enters that information on the clipboard next to the requesting officer’s information; the location is usually something likebox 16, shelf 2, row 4.But rather than that officer fetching the box, the requesting officer is granted access to the room and permitted to locate and review the box on his or her own. With zero supervision. On any given day, a dozen officers may visit that room. Once they sign that clipboard and enter the “secure” space, there is no way to know what they actually do.

Declan Shaw’s signature and badge number appeared on a clipboard sixteen times from the date Lucero was arrested through the conclusion of his trial. The box (number 6 with that case number) containing Maggie Marshall’s backpack sits two shelves down from the box containing the books found in Lucero’s apartment (number 2 with the same case number). An object could be moved from one to the other in seconds and nobody would be the wiser. Declan Shaw could have done that, but he didn’t. The book appears in photographs of Lucero’s apartment. That means it was retrieved from the box and brought to Lucero’s place before the CSU techs arrived to document the scene.

Here’s where things become problematic.

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