Trick Roller

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  “Thanks,” she said, still holding her ribs. “Sometimes I forget they’re broken.”

  “I’m the one who broke them,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “Please. You saved my life. If you hadn’t given me CPR, I’d be dead. My son would have lost his mother. A couple of cracked ribs is a small price to pay.”

  By the time she finished talking, she was panting for air and her voice was barely audible. It must have been agonizing for her to speak.

  Hovering over her with his bulk while she was injured and immobile felt rude, so Dominic backed away. He spied a cup of water with a straw sitting next to the flowers he’d brought, and handed it over to her before settling into the visitor’s chair. She thanked him with a nod and sipped slowly.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said.

  She gave him a thumbs-up as she drank. He smiled.

  There was another knock on the door, and Levi rounded the curtain a couple of seconds later. He and Dominic had arranged to meet here, so he showed no surprise when he saw them sitting together.

  “How are you feeling, Ms. Kostas?” he asked.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered.

  “Glad to hear it. You should know that Dr. Warner is in police custody now, and it looks like he’ll be taking a plea deal. If he does, you won’t have to testify against him in a public trial.”

  Profound relief flashed across her face. Dominic couldn’t blame her—he and Levi were about to do exactly that, and neither one of them was looking forward to it.

  “Where’s your son?” Levi asked.

  “Staying with a cousin of mine. Someone I can be pretty sure wouldn’t stand by while I was framed for murder.” Her snort turned into a cough, and she took another sip of water. “I should be out of here in a day or so.”

  That brought them to the other reason for Dominic’s visit. Leaning forward in his chair, he said, “The police taped over the broken window Warner used to get inside your house, but it’s still a vulnerable point. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to replace it with reinforced glass, so this kind of thing is less likely to happen again in the future.”

  She blinked at him, obviously taken aback. Levi stood silently at the foot of the bed.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

  “I know, and I won’t if it would make you uncomfortable. You’re going to be laid up for a couple of weeks with those ribs, though, and you won’t be able to do it yourself. A professional company will charge you an arm and a leg. It wouldn’t be any trouble for me.”

  Her hand fluttered over her rib cage, and then she smiled and nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure, I’d really appreciate that. My cousin brought me my house keys; they’re in that cabinet there.”

  Dominic retrieved the keys and put them in his pocket. “I’ll get these back to you tomorrow once it’s finished.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Both of you.”

  Levi inclined his head solemnly, Dominic wished her a speedy recovery, and they left her alone to rest. Out in the bustling hallway, Levi said, “Will fixing her window make you feel better about cracking her ribs?”

  “It’ll do for a start.” Dominic could see that Levi thought he was being ridiculous—but Levi also wasn’t going to argue with him about it, which he appreciated. “Besides, you can’t expect me to believe that you’d be okay with her and her son going back to a house with a busted window right next to their back door.”

  “It’s a stupid fucking place for a window,” said Levi. “If you want my opinion, she should just brick the whole thing over. Now let’s go get this bullshit trial over with so I can go home and get drunk.”

  “What a sweet-talker,” Dominic said, grinning, and followed him to the stairs.

  Drew Barton may have been a sniveling, wife-killing little weasel, but unlike Craig Warner, he was willing to take risks. He’d rejected the plea deal offered by the DA’s office and had entered pleas of “not guilty” for both his wife’s murder and his armed assault on Levi.

  It was a tough sell, but Barton had a good lawyer—George Durham, a partner at the same firm to which Jay Sawyer belonged. Levi soon learned that Durham’s defense strategy was to propose that the LVMPD had unfairly accused Barton after the Seven of Spades killed his wife, then followed, harassed, and intimidated him until he’d tried to talk things out with Levi at his hotel, at which point Levi had attacked him.

  Melinda Wu, the DDA prosecuting the case, called Martine to the stand first. Martine detailed the investigation of Patty Barton’s murder in layman’s terms the jury could easily digest, ending with her account of how she’d called Levi to warn him after she’d learned that Drew Barton had slipped away from the uniformed officers keeping an eye on him. Durham’s cross-examination was short and polite, and Martine stepped down looking a little confused—Durham was usually a bulldog on the cross.

  Levi was next up. He’d testified in countless trials in the past, of course, and he and Wu had already rehearsed what he would say. He kept his voice cool and dispassionate as she led him through his explanation of his own role in the investigation, including his interrogation of Barton and how they’d obtained the evidence that had granted them an arrest warrant.

  It was more difficult to remain detached when they reached the part of the story where Levi had emerged from the bathroom of his hotel room to be confronted and threatened at gunpoint. Barton had tried to make his wife’s murder look like the Seven of Spades’s work, and when Levi had seen right through that, his last-gasp desperate plan had been to do the same thing to Levi. He might even have succeeded if the electricity in the hotel hadn’t gone out at an opportune moment, allowing Levi to evade him for a few critical seconds. They’d tussled for the gun until Dominic had arrived on the scene and taken Barton down.

  When she was finished, Wu stepped back and gave Levi a smile and a small nod. He knew better than to let his guard down, though, because Durham was already rising from his seat.

  This wasn’t the first time Levi had been cross-examined by Durham, an older white man with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair and sharp, assessing blue eyes. Still, he didn’t know what to expect.

  “Detective Abrams,” Durham said pleasantly, “could I ask how you sustained that injury to your mouth?”

  “I was involved in a physical altercation with a suspect last week,” Levi said warily. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but he was sure he didn’t like it.

  “Would this suspect be Kyle Gilmore?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “The same Kyle Gilmore who was treated the following day for a broken nose, two lost teeth, multiple lacerations to the arms and hands, and testicular contusion?”

  Sitting the row behind Wu, Dominic winced. The men in the jury shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

  Levi clasped his hands together in his lap where nobody could see the evidence of his tension. “Mr. Gilmore assaulted me with a knife while I was performing a legal, warranted search of his apartment. I disarmed him and used non-lethal force to subdue him. Given that he was extremely intoxicated at the time, it required more force that might have been otherwise necessary.”

  “Mmm.” Durham walked back and forth in front of the witness stand with slow, confident steps. “What about the ‘physical altercation’ you were involved in on April twelfth of this year?”

  Levi couldn’t place the date right away, but when Dominic stiffened, he knew.

  “I’m referring, of course, to the three men you beat so badly they were all admitted to the hospital with head injuries,” said Durham.

  Wu stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. Relevance?”

  Judge Sanchez raised an inquiring eyebrow at Durham.

  “Speaks to Detective Abrams’s temperament and behavioral patterns,” he said, unfazed. “It’s vital to my defense.”

  Sanchez weighed this for a moment, then nodded. “Proceed, counselor. Circumspectly.” />
  Wu sank back into her seat, shooting Levi an apologetic look.

  “You’re presenting the situation out of context,” Levi said, struggling to retain his composure. “I had caught those men in the middle of an active burglary. I was outnumbered, they were all armed, and I couldn’t reach my own weapon. My partner had been critically injured. The only way for me to survive was to render those men unconscious, and yes, that unfortunately meant they sustained minor head injuries. They were all fine within a couple of days. No lasting damage whatsoever.”

  Durham stopped right in front of him. “Indeed. Can the same be said for Dale Slater?”

  Levi’s body went cold. Out in the courtroom, Dominic rose halfway out of his seat before Martine pulled him back down.

  “For those who aren’t aware,” Durham said, turning to the jury, “Dale Slater is the man that Detective Abrams shot dead on March seventeenth.”

  “That was a hostage situation!” Levi said, over the low murmur running through the audience. He was dangerously close to losing his temper, but he couldn’t just keep his mouth shut. “He was using a little boy as a human shield, I had no choice but to shoot him—”

  Wu spread her hands wide. “Your Honor—”

  “Mr. Durham, either make your point quickly or abandon this line of questioning,” said Sanchez.

  “Of course, Your Honor.” Durham smoothed out his jacket. “Detective, Dale Slater’s death was ruled justifiable homicide due to the circumstances. However, you were mandated to receive six sessions of counseling after that incident, correct?”

  “That’s required of any officer who uses lethal force in the line of duty,” Levi said stiffly.

  “As it should be. But you’re no stranger to the use of force, are you, Detective? On or off duty.”

  Levi narrowed his eyes.

  “You’re a highly trained, accomplished practitioner of Krav Maga, the fighting system used by the Israeli armed forces,” Durham said.

  “Yes, I am.” Levi risked a glance at the jury, where he saw several intrigued expressions.

  “And during this alleged assault where you claim my client attacked you, you kicked him with so much concentrated force that you shattered his right kneecap. His leg hasn’t been the same since. You, on the other hand, walked away from this confrontation completely unscathed.”

  More whispers rippled through the courtroom. Dominic and Martine were both watching Levi with concern, waiting for the inevitable moment when he would snap. They knew he didn’t handle provocation well.

  But he had to. Durham was painting a picture of him as aggressive and unstable, trying to destroy his credibility and the case along with it. The only way for Levi to counteract that was to present a calm, composed front.

  “Mr. Barton broke into my hotel room while I was in the shower,” he said, each word measured and deliberate. “He lay in wait and then ambushed me, threatening me at gunpoint. He told me he was going to tie me to a chair and kill me.”

  Despite his best intentions, Levi’s breath quickened as he remembered that night—the horror of what should have been a safe space being invaded, the fear of facing a gun at a distance too far to disarm, the knowledge that Barton was desperate and couldn’t be reasoned with. He had never given up, but he had known there was a good chance he would die. Just like Patty Barton, who’d been stabbed half a dozen times in her living room by her own husband.

  “Barton killed his wife and then came after me. He made his intentions very clear.” Levi glowered at Barton, who smirked back at him from the defendant’s seat. “Considering everything he’d done, he’s lucky that his knee is the only thing I broke.”

  Durham smiled. Wu leaned back in her seat, rubbing her temples, and Martine looked at Levi with pure exasperation. Dominic just seemed like he was trying not to laugh.

  Levi pressed his lips together and strove to shove the anger back down.

  “I suppose he is,” Durham said. “Let’s talk about luck, since you brought it up. We haven’t heard Dominic Russo’s testimony yet, but earlier you alluded to the part he played in all this. You said that he was alerted to your alleged predicament by text messages from someone claiming to be the serial killer known as the Seven of Spades.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And by the Seven of Spades, of course, you mean Keith Chapman.”

  Levi’s breath stilled in his lungs. His eyes darted toward Dominic, who no longer looked the slightest bit amused.

  Even if Levi was willing to lie about this, he couldn’t. Durham’s self-satisfied expression made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing. It would be easy to catch Levi in a lie—all he had to do was bring up the reason behind Levi’s recent suspension. If Levi perjured himself, his testimony could be thrown out altogether.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  “No?” Durham raised his eyebrows in exaggerated confusion. “You’ll have to forgive me, Detective Abrams. It’s my understanding that the LVMPD closed the Seven of Spades case with all five murders attributed to the deceased Officer Chapman.”

  Levi’s stomach rolled. He felt like he was poised on the edge of a cliff, and any step he took, any decision he made, would result in a total free-fall. There was no good choice here.

  He looked at Dominic one more time—steady, rock-solid Dominic, who had never doubted him for a second and didn’t doubt him now. Dominic gave him an encouraging nod.

  “Keith Chapman wasn’t the Seven of Spades,” Levi said.

  The courtroom exploded with noise. Sanchez banged her gavel several times, calling for order, while Durham happily waited out the chaos he’d created.

  “Can you explain what you mean by that, Detective?” he asked once the furor had died down.

  Levi was in it now, so he might as well commit. “Keith Chapman was framed by the real Seven of Spades. He’d been poisoned and manipulated into believing he might be the killer, but he wasn’t. The true killer is still at large.”

  This time, the crowd’s shocked reaction took even longer to get under control. Levi sat still, his fingernails digging into his palms, glaring directly into Durham’s eyes the entire time.

  Durham wasn’t so easily intimidated. “That seems like an enormous secret for the LVMPD to keep from the public. But then, that’s not the LVMPD’s official stance, is it? It’s just your own. In fact, you were suspended this past Friday when your sergeant discovered you’d been conducting your own independent side investigation into the Seven of Spades against his direct orders.”

  “That suspension was lifted less than forty-eight hours later—”

  “You’ve been claiming the Seven of Spades is still alive for months, with no evidence to show for it,” Durham said. He moved closer and closer to Levi as he spoke. “Last week, you insisted that the Seven of Spades helped you with a case. But nobody believes you—not your own sergeant, not your fellow homicide detectives—”

  “Objection!” Wu snapped. “This is all hearsay.”

  “Sustained,” said Sanchez.

  Durham nodded and placed his hands on the edge of the witness stand. “My apologies, Detective. I can see that you’re angry. So angry, indeed, that you’re shaking.”

  Levi clenched his jaw.

  “But I don’t think that’s unusual for you.” Durham’s eyes bored into Levi’s. “You’re angry and violent and unpredictable, and you’re obsessed with a dead serial killer to the point of self-delusion. Who knows what a man like that is capable of?” Pushing off the stand, he said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “You may step down, Detective,” Sanchez said. There was a note of sympathy in her voice.

  Still reeling with shock, Levi stood, buttoned his jacket, and left the stand to join Dominic and Martine while everyone in the room openly stared at him. Dominic rubbed a hand over his back.

  Wu rifled through her papers, scribbling notes and conferring with her co-counsel for a few minutes. Then she said, “The prosecution calls Dom
inic Russo.”

  Levi had to get up again to let Dominic out of their row, because there was no way Dominic could squeeze past him. When he sat back down, Martine linked her arm through his and patted his hand.

  In direct contrast to Levi, Dominic was an attorney’s dream witness—charming but never smarmy, playfully self-deprecating without crossing the line into false humility. His roguish good looks didn’t hurt either.

  Wu started by establishing his credibility as a witness, discussing his two terms of decorated service with the Army Rangers, his honorable discharge, and his years spent as a bounty hunter getting fugitives off the street. Within five minutes, Dominic had the entire jury regarding him with hero-worship, dazed lust, or both.

  Once she had the jury where she wanted them, Wu led Dominic through his account of the night in question. He’d been driving home when he’d received text messages from an unknown number. The sender had claimed to be the Seven of Spades, warned him that Levi was in immediate danger, and asked for his help. Dominic had driven straight to Levi’s hotel, where he’d convinced a hotel employee to bring him to Levi’s room and unlock the door. After hearing a gunshot and the sounds of a struggle inside, he had broken through the door and tackled Barton, subduing him with a chokehold until he’d surrendered.

  By the time she finished her questioning, Wu looked pleased again. It was a great story—and most importantly, it reinforced Dominic’s trustworthiness and dependability, clinching the jury’s clearly high opinion of him.

  Durham began his cross-examination by saying, “Mr. Russo, you stated that you had a hotel employee with you to unlock the hotel door, so why did you need to break through it?”

  “The security chain was fastened.”

  “And you . . . broke it?” Durham said with an expression of polite disbelief.

  “Well, I had to throw my weight against the door a few times, but yeah, it snapped eventually.” Dominic casually crossed his massive arms over his chest as he spoke. In his suit, the effect wasn’t the same as it would have been with bare arms, but it got his point across. One of the women in the jury was practically drooling.