Snap Judgment (Samantha Brinkman Book 3)

by Marcia Clark

  Officer Grimes didn’t like it, but we’d done him a big favor. He stared at me, then Alex. “So you went right back out and did what I asked you not to do.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And probably solved your case for you. Let’s not waste time. You need to get a search warrant. I’ll help you write it up.”

  I could see the officer was torn. A little legal help with a search warrant would make his life easier. But I was a civilian—one who’d just meddled in his case. Ultimately, the allure of making his life easier won out. He went to his computer and pulled up the form. “Okay, run the facts by me again.”

  An hour later, he had a search warrant—signed and ready—in hand. He thanked me—finally. “I’ve gotta admit, you did a good job.”

  He reached out to shake, but I held up my hand. “I don’t need the thanks. I just need you to promise you’ll let me watch the interrogation when you bring in the professor.”

  Officer Grimes reared back as though I’d hit him. “You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t let you do that.”

  “Sure you can.” I told him about all the times I’d done it before. There really hadn’t been that many. I’d only been able to get away with it once since I met Dale. But Officer Grimes didn’t need to know that. “Besides, I’m not asking to sit in on it. I just want to watch.” And probably give some suggestions if he seemed to be blowing it. I didn’t see any need to mention that part right now.

  He looked very skeptical. “I’ll check with the captain, see what he thinks.”

  I nodded. “Thanks. You might want to have him call Dale Pearson. He’ll vouch for me.”

  The officer’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. “I’ll do that.”

  I didn’t think he would, but I wasn’t worried. The minute we left the station, I called Dale. “Can you do me a quick favor? I need you to call the captain at Olympic.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  By the time we got back on the road, it was the middle of rush hour, and I was starving. “There’s an In-N-Out on Seventh Street.”

  Alex wasn’t enthused. “The last time we ate in the car, I found French fries under your seat for a week.”

  I shot him a dagger look. “Please. You found a single fry. Consult your alien leaders. They’ll tell you accidents happen.” Alex still didn’t look happy. “Okay, I won’t order fries.”

  He sighed and headed toward Seventh Street. “You can’t not order fries. That’s blasphemy.”

  The line at the drive-through was, as usual, a mile long. One of the servers had come out and was taking orders from the waiting cars to speed things up. We ordered two double-meat Animal Styles and fries. I rolled down my window to inhale the smell coming from the kitchen. Heavenly. But it only made me hungrier. I rolled my window back up and thought about the search that was about to happen at Barth’s place. “You think they’ll find anything on the Audi?”

  Alex leaned back in his seat. “I guess anything’s possible. But if I was him, I’d have taken a power washer to that thing and sprayed it within an inch of its life.”

  That definitely would’ve been my move. “Yeah, they’ll need to go over that car with a magnifying glass.” That’s why I’d asked Dale to give the captain a heads up on the best crime-scene techs. All they’d need to find was one tiny piece of evidence that matched the victim, and they’d have something to build a case on.

  We got our food, and Alex pulled into the parking lot. We ate our burgers and some of the fries, then Alex headed back to the freeway. I noticed he had the radio tuned to KNX news. “You always listen to KNX?”

  Alex shot me a look. “Hell no. But I wanted to hear what they did with the story we gave them on Dr. Mortimer.”

  I’d been checking, too. “I noticed the AP did a little blurb on it. Did KNX run with it?”

  He nodded. “They gave it a couple of cycles. What about Sheri? Did she use it on Crime Time?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. They’re waiting to see what the coroner says.” It’d be much bigger news then—regardless of what the coroner concluded.

  It wasn’t a ton of coverage, but it might’ve been enough to get people to start doubting Mortimer’s credibility—especially the coroner. If all he needed was a little extra nudge to reject Mortimer’s call, the story about Mortimer’s screwup on the dog-bite case might just do the trick.

  An hour later, we were only one mile from the office when I got a call from Officer Grimes.

  His voice was tight. “Captain told me to make this call, so I’m making it. Professor Foley has agreed to come in. Your father offered to let us use the RHD interrogation room so you could observe. But that’s all you get to do. Watch. Understood?”

  I was glad he couldn’t see me smile. “Of course. Is he coming in now?”

  Grimes exhaled loudly. “Yeah. We’ve got a uni who’s going to follow him in and make sure he doesn’t rabbit on us. Probably get to PAB within the hour.”

  When I ended the call, Alex gave me a wary look. “Don’t tell me I have to turn around and go all the way back downtown.”

  I didn’t blame him for hating the idea. “You don’t have to—if you don’t mind missing Barth’s showdown with the cops.”

  Alex groaned, but he turned around and headed back to the freeway—which, good news, was much less backed up now.

  It was almost eight o’clock when we got to the PAB. As we followed our escort to the interrogation room, I said, “Aren’t you glad I made us stop and eat?”

  Alex gave me a flinty look. “I’ll decide when I clean my car tomorrow.”

  Dale met us outside the observation room. He and Alex exchanged a back-clapping bro hug. “Nice to see you,” Dale said.

  Alex nodded. “Likewise. They bring him in yet?”

  Dale opened the door and motioned for us to go in. “They’re on their way in now.”

  We took seats at the window / one-way mirror just as Officer Grimes ushered Barth into the room—followed by Detective Rusty Templeton. The fact that he was involved in this interrogation told me they’d taken my theory about Barth’s possible involvement in Roan’s death seriously. I had my issues with Rusty. He was a classic chauvinist pig, and he was lazy as hell—but he wasn’t stupid. And he knew his way around an interrogation. I could tell by his expression that he was up for this one.

  Barth, on the other hand, looked like the only thing he’d be up for was a double shot of Scotch and a handful of Roan’s Oxy. He was stiff-legged as he moved to his chair, and he darted nervous looks around the room as he sat down. When Grimes read him his rights, he looked like he was wondering if he was dreaming and this was all just a bad nightmare. He almost choked on the words as he waived his right to remain silent.

  Rusty let Grimes lead off—it was his case, after all—but interrogation is an art, and Grimes was a paint-by-the-numbers kind of guy. He tried to press Barth on his movements the night of the accident, but when Barth either dodged or denied, Grimes let it go. I could tell Rusty was getting agitated, and I had a feeling he was about to shove Grimes out of the way.

  Sure enough, after ten minutes of tail chasing, Rusty stepped in. “Look, Professor, I’m going to level with you.” His confident, authoritative attitude immediately changed the atmosphere in the room. Barth had grown increasingly relaxed as he’d seen how easily Grimes was pushed off. But now, I saw his body tense. Rusty continued. “The reason we kept you waiting out there was because we got a call from our crime-scene techs.”

  That was total bullshit. No way the techs could work that fast. But it’s perfectly legal for cops to make up stories about what they’ve got. The problem is, only the experienced criminals know that. Barth, obviously, did not fit that bill. His face froze. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

  I glanced at Dale. “You guys would be so hosed if you couldn’t lie to them.”

  Dale gave me a smug smile. “It only works when they lie first.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows. “He’s got a point.”

  I shook
my head and turned back to watch. Rusty had brought a manila file folder with him. Now he flipped it open and put on his reading glasses. “They found fabric matching that poor old homeless guy’s coat embedded in your grill.” He took off his glasses and leaned back. “So how about you stop bullshitting us and tell the truth?”

  Barth opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it and stared down at the table. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin and weak. “I—I don’t know how that could be.”

  Rusty gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Because you thought you’d scrubbed the living hell out of it, right?” Barth’s eyes grew wide, and Rusty nodded. “Yeah, we know that, too. Look, obviously you’re no criminal. I imagine this has to be eating at you. I promise you, you’re gonna feel a lot better once you get this off your chest. And I also promise you that we’ll tell the DA how cooperative you’ve been. We make lousy enemies but really good friends. And you’re going to need some good friends when folks find out that you killed Roan Sutton.”

  Barth jerked up in his seat. “What? What are you talking about? I had nothing to do with that!” He looked confused. “I thought he . . . Didn’t he hang himself?”

  Rusty had been studying him. “Didn’t you hear? A private pathologist says Roan was murdered. The killer strung him up to make it look like a suicide. My bet is the county coroner’s going to agree with him in another day or two. So how about you tell us where you were the night he died.”

  Barth’s shoulders slumped. “I was home. Alone.” He gave Rusty a beseeching look. “But I didn’t kill him. I swear.”

  Rusty studied him for a long moment as he drummed his meaty fingers on the table. “Let’s get back to the hit-and-run for a minute. I’ll tell you what it looks like to me. You and Roan were supposed to be getting beer and pizza for everyone. You bought the beer, maybe drank some, and on the way to get the pizza, you ran down that old guy—and forgot all about the pizza. Roan threatened to call the cops—and you killed him.”

  Barth grabbed his head. “No. He never threatened me, and I never did anything to him.” He dropped his face into his hands, and the room fell silent. When he looked up, there were tears on his cheeks. “But I did hit that old man.” His voice shook as he wiped away the tears. “I wasn’t drunk, I swear! It was an accident. But I should’ve called an ambulance. I can’t believe I just ran like that. I’ve regretted it every minute of every day since that night.” His choked sobs filled the air.

  Rusty peered at him for a few seconds, then handed him a box of Kleenex. He glanced at Grimes. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  That was our cue. We went out and met him in the hallway. He gave me a superior smile. “You just love to watch the greats at work, don’t you? Hope you learned something.”

  Same old obnoxious Rusty. I spoke with sarcasm. “I sure did. I learned that some things don’t change.”

  He ignored me and spoke to Dale. “I don’t think your boy’s good for the Sutton kid’s death.”

  I folded my arms. “Seriously? You’re going to write him off just like that?”

  Rusty glanced at me like I was an annoying gnat that wouldn’t go away. “I can smell a lie at twenty paces. But I can smell the truth, too. He didn’t kill that kid.”

  I stared at him. “Aren’t you at least going to swab him and see if he matches anything in Roan’s place?”

  Rusty finally turned to face me, his expression irritated. “Of course we’ll swab him. But they were friends. Even if we find that teacher’s DNA on Roan Sutton’s neck, it won’t necessarily mean much.”

  Alex stepped in to break it up. “Thanks, Detective Templeton.”

  Dale asked, “You about done with the teacher?”

  Rusty glanced at me, as though daring me to object. “Yeah. I may let Grimes take another run at him, but I doubt anything will come of it.”

  That much I agreed with. Grimes couldn’t get a dog to bark. We went back to the observation room and watched as Grimes spent another ten minutes questioning Barth about his relationship with Roan and Alicia. We didn’t learn anything we didn’t already know.

  When Rusty suggested they call it a night, Barth asked if he’d be allowed to go home. Rusty looked like he almost felt sorry for the professor. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. You’ve confessed to a hit-and-run. We’re going to have to book you now, so you’ll be staying at Twin Towers tonight. You should be able to bail out tomorrow, though.”

  Dale walked us out. When we got to the elevators, he asked, “You still think the teacher killed Roan? Tell me the truth; I won’t tell Rusty.”

  I glanced at the corridor behind Dale to make sure Rusty couldn’t hear me. “No, not at all.”

  Dale shook his head. “You just couldn’t resist busting his chops.”

  I gave him a little smile and shrugged.

  Dale looked at Alex. “Must’ve been fun when they went at it full time on the Sonnenberg case.”

  Alex rolled his eyes. “It was a nonstop laugh riot.”

  The elevator dinged its arrival. I gave him a cold look. “I just don’t suffer assholes gladly.” I got in and waved to Dale. “Thanks for this.”

  He nodded. “Not a problem—this time. But we can’t make it a habit.” He held the door open and glanced down the corridor as he added, “The last thing I need is to make him an enemy.”

  Rusty had been around a long time, and he had a lot of friends among the brass. Dale had only recently dug his way out of the doghouse after his murder trial. And he’d just stuck his neck out to find the local cops on Tracy’s case. “Message received.” I gave him a little smile. “Next time I’ll ask your partner.”

  Dale sighed and let the doors close. As we rode down to the main floor, Alex asked, “Want me to get my uncle to bail him out?”

  “Definitely. But before he bails, I want to go see him.” I’d felt pretty strongly that he’d been holding out on us before. “He might be more talkative now.”

  FORTY

  It was after ten o’clock by the time I got home. As I dropped my keys on the dining table, I admitted to myself that I had way too many balls in the air. Between my normal caseload, Graham’s case, and that Gila monster Cabazon, I barely had time to breathe. Something had to give, or I’d drop at least one of those balls.

  I showered and turned on the TV as I got into bed. I was flipping through the channels when I saw a reporter standing in front of Twin Towers, his tie flapping in the breeze.

  I turned up the volume just in time to hear him say, “. . . reported that he’d been picked up in connection with the investigation into the death of Roan Sutton, but we’ve now learned that aspect of Barth Foley’s arrest has been dropped.” I sat up. How did they get ahold of this so fast? Then I wondered why they’d mentioned Roan’s death if they knew he wasn’t being charged with it.

  The blonde anchor, who looked like she was dressed for an S&M party, leather choker and all, said, “Thank you, Jim. For those who are just tuning in, that was a follow-up story to our other breaking news. The county coroner has just issued a statement that he has changed his preliminary finding regarding the death of Roan Sutton. The coroner has now officially stated that the manner of death is inconclusive—meaning that he cannot conclusively state whether Roan’s death was a suicide or a homicide. Yet another strange development in this tragic case.”

  The anchor threw to footage of Audrey Sutton that’d been taped “just one hour ago.” She predictably touted the new conclusion as “proof that Roan Sutton had not taken his own life.”

  The anchor returned with a conspiratorial look. “We’ll be posting updates on this very unusual case, so be sure to tune in.”

  Damn it! I’d so hoped the coroner would shut down that lying scumbag Mortimer. True, it could’ve been worse. He could’ve gone along with Mortimer’s claim that Roan had been killed. But it still set off a fresh wave of anxiety. Now the cops would be rechecking every piece of evidence and reinterviewing every witness to come up with just one mo
re thing to corroborate the neighbor who claimed to have seen a man who looked similar to Graham at Roan’s door that night. One more thing, that’s all it would take now to justify arresting Graham.

  I was a little surprised the cops hadn’t asked me to bring him in voluntarily to do a DNA swab.

  Not that I’d have done it. I supposed they knew that.

  I paced around the apartment as I mentally replayed the interviews we’d done and tried to think of who else might be a suspect. An hour later, I had no answers, and my head ached. I looked at the clock on my coffeemaker and saw that it was almost twelve thirty. This was getting me nowhere. I popped three Advil and put myself to bed.

  At six a.m. I woke up with a blinding headache. Hoping a caffeine fix would cure it, I poured as much coffee down my throat as I could stand. As I drank down my third travel mug, the pain had begun to ebb and I let myself have a tiny sliver of hope that Barth might give us something to go on. Alex had offered to pick me up and drive us downtown, and I was glad I’d agreed to let him. The caffeine had helped, but my head still hurt.

  At eight fifteen sharp, Alex texted to tell me he was downstairs. It’d been cloudy and chilly when I got up, and I didn’t have to be in court, so I’d chosen a turtleneck and jeans. But as I opened the door, I noticed the sun had poked through, and it looked like the clouds were about to break up. I ran back to my closet, exchanged the turtleneck for a crew-neck sweater, and hurried downstairs.

  Alex did a double take when I got into his car. “Nice ’do.” He drew a circle in the air around my head.

  I pulled down the visor and opened the mirror. Damn. My hair was standing straight up—static electricity. I sprayed some hairspray into my hand and smoothed it down. “I take it you saw the news about the coroner.”

  “Yeah. Could’ve been worse, though, right?” I’d crossed my legs, and my foot was bouncing—a nervous habit. Alex stared at it. “But I’m guessing it ratchets things up.”

  I stared out through the windshield. “It definitely does. Graham’s their best suspect. He’s got the motive to beat all time and that neighbor gives them a lead. They’ll be looking hard to find a reason to arrest him.”