Page 78 of The Writer

Cordova quickly keys Lucero’s name into Google, and his computer screen fills with stories about the convict’s death. More speculation than fact. An inside job? Did someone open his cell, or did they get to him through the bars? Where were the guards? New evidence suggests he might have been innocent; was this some sort of retaliation?

On the television, the text at the bottom of the screen shifts again, replaced with a scrolling message:

STATEMENT JUST RELEASED BY DENISE MORROW: I WOULD PERSONALLY LIKE TO THANK THOSE WHO WORKED TIRELESSLY TO CLEAR MY NAME. THIS HAS BEEN A TRYING TIME FOR ALL INVOLVED AND I’M GLAD IT IS BEHIND US SO I CAN FINALLY MOURN THE LOSS OF MY HUSBAND, MY PARTNER IN LIFE, MY GREATEST LOVE, DAVID. I HAVE NOTHING BUT THE DEEPEST RESPECT FOR THOSE IN LAW ENFORCEMENT AND ALL THEY DO, THE CHALLENGES THEY FACE, AND THE HURDLES THEY OVERCOME IN THE PURSUIT OF TRUTH. I HOLD NO ILL WILL AGAINST THOSE WHO INITIALLY THOUGHT ME GUILTY; I TAKE SOLACE IN KNOWING THAT THE MAN RESPONSIBLE CAN NO LONGER HARM OTHERS. I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO EXTEND MY HEARTFELT SYMPATHY TO THE FAMILY OF RUBEN LUCERO. HE WAS A HORRIBLY MISUNDERSTOOD MAN, AND WHILE HE WAS DEEPLY FLAWED, I BELIEVE THE WORLD WILL SOON LEARN HE WAS NOT THE MAN HE WAS PAINTED TO BE.

By the time Cordova finishes reading the message, the live shot of ADA Saffi is over and has been replaced with a still image of Lucero in a suit and tie being led into the courthouse. Cordovaremembers that day well, the start of Lucero’s trial. When the broadcast returns to the studio, Denise Morrow’s photo is once more in the top corner of the screen, and the anchor begins reading Denise Morrow’s statement, her face filled with sympathy.

Cordova’s vision goes red. He sees nothing but Declan lying dead on the floor, that damn shirt inches away from his swollen hand.

The anchor drones on; he can’t hear her anymore.

It’s bullshit. Every bit of it. Well-orchestrated bullshit.

He turns off the TV and throws the remote across the room. It cracks against the far wall and showers the floor with pieces.

The single word starts in Cordova’s chest and barrels up his throat. It escapes with a violent shout that burns his vocal cords:“Fuck!”

It’s the first time he’s cursed aloud in maybe a decade, and it feels damn good. He clambers to his feet, comes around his desk, and knocks over both whiteboards, and that feels even better.

Several people in the bullpen glance over at him, then go back to whatever they were doing. Just another day. Nobody says a word when he rakes everything off his desk with one arm, then does the same with the mess on Declan’s. Papers, pens, binders, books, computer, crusty coffee mugs—it all crashes to the floor. He doesn’t stop until it’s all on the ground, then he drops down with it, breathing heavily.

“Better?” a cop across the room asks.

Exhausted, Cordova waves a hand at him dismissively.

He sits there for maybe five minutes before his eyes fall on a page from Denise Morrow’s book; Declan must have printed itout from the file he pilfered from evidence. It’s a transcript from their initial interview with Lucero.

Because it was introduced as evidence, it’s currently in the public record, accessible by anyone. Authors regularly use transcripts when writing about crimes. That isn’t the part that jumps out at him. Cordova is staring at the bottom of the page, trying to make sense of what he’s found:

[End of recording.]

/MG/GTS

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Transcript: Dateline interview with Denise Morrow

Present: Daphne Brown

Denise Morrow

[Daphne Brown] I truly appreciate you taking the time to sit down with us tonight on such short notice. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to talk about all this so soon. I’m so, so sorry about your husband.

[Denise Morrow] Thank you for that. And thank you for having me. These last few weeks have been difficult, to say the least.

[Brown] There is so much speculation floating around out there…

[Morrow] We live in a time where the desire for ratings will sometimes trump the truth. People will say anything.

[Brown] Your husband wasn’t just murdered. You were blackmailed.

[Morrow] [Nods.]

[Brown] By your own attorney, a man named Geller Hoffman. Someone you considered a family friend.

[Morrow] I did.

[Brown] This man—Geller Hoffman—killed your husband, killed an… associate, and—

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