Nickel City Crossfire by Gary Ross (popular romance novels .txt) 📗

lady. Until they run in the same circles...” He pushed everything away with a wave of his hand. “Too many hypotheticals. Be easier if the assailant in the hospital was a big black guy.” He grinned. “If you broke her nose, you probably would’ve iced him.”

“Might’ve had no choice.”

“At least I could investigate then. This still isn’t a major case. At best you stopped a tweaker from assaulting somebody. But you’d be hard-pressed to prove even that much. The idea someone sent her to do it is a lot to swallow. The narcotics overdose, the shooting—you gotta connect the dots, show this is all one case. Then I can get the guys working each end to share information.”

“Can I talk to her? You got her in the box.”

“Hell, no! Civilian! Some guys I’d risk my pension for. You ain’t one of them. Yet.” He shook his head. “Sooner or later she’ll get a lawyer. Once he got wind a private citizen did an interrogation—in homicide, no less, when nobody died and his client might’ve been coming down from a meth binge—he’d think it’s his birthday.”

“Can I watch?”

“The detective sergeant on duty, the guy who put her in Interview One, is good people. Before you got here I told him what you told me on the phone. You can join him at the window. A professional courtesy. Off the record, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Never to be fucking mentioned.”

“Okay, I got it.”

“The whole night will be off the record unless I get something to give the detectives.”

“Fair enough.”

Piñero stood, stretched. “I’m going to the break room for coffee. Want some?”

“Sure. Black.”

He returned with a small cardboard tray that held four Styrofoam cups of coffee. He set one cup in front of me. Then he picked up a legal pad from his desk and motioned for me to follow him. Wrapping tissue from the box on his desk around the hot cup, I sipped as I went.

Fiftyish and weary-looking, in shirtsleeves and loosened tie, Detective Sergeant Pete Kim had a firm handshake and a gravelly voice. Taking his coffee from Piñero’s tray, he gestured me into the observation room, dimmed the lights, and opened the curtains. On the other side of the two-way mirror sat Jane Doe, twitching and gazing about. The handcuff chain connecting her to the table ring was long enough to let her chew a thumbnail or scratch her forearms through her sleeves, which she did every few seconds, as if unconsciously. In the overhead light, her bruised nose packed with wadded cotton, she appeared smaller, more fragile than she had on the hospital floor. Despite the blood on the front and puckers left after the fabric dried, her oversized scrubs still bore the fold lines of something recently removed from its packaging.

“The scrubs look new,” I said to Kim.

“And too big. Maybe picked up just for tonight, like a prom dress.” He turned to me and grinned. “Some date you turned out to be.”

I shrugged. “What I get for not signing her dance card.”

We both sipped coffee as Piñero stepped into view, the pad under his arm and a cup in each hand.

“I been here fucking forever,” the woman said.

“I’m Detective Piñero, ma’am. I brought you some coffee.” He slid a cup to her and took a step back as if getting out of range in case she decided to throw it at him.

Chain ratcheting through the ring as she raised the cup to her lips, she took three hefty swallows, despite the steam we could see rising. Then she set the empty cup down, throat apparently intact, and angled her head awkwardly to wipe her mouth on her sleeve.

“Start by giving me your name,” Piñero said. “We’re video-recording. Okay?”

“Already told that chink cop I got nothing to say ‘cause I didn’t do nothing. I’m the victim here.” Gazing up at a space above the mirror—the camera bubble, I presumed—she poked out her lip and absently dug at her forearm. “Jesus! Can’t I talk to somebody white?”

Piñero shook his head. Still standing, he placed the pad on the table and made a show of reviewing his notes on the top sheet as he drank his coffee. “Could be looking at serious charges—criminal trespass, impersonation, disorderly conduct, assault with a deadly weapon, maybe even attempted murder.”

“Attempted—shit!”

“I want to hear your side.”

“I ain’t got no side, Paco!” She scowled at him. “That big nigger tried to rape me!” Her voice was even deeper when laden with contempt. “But you won’t do jack shit about it ‘cause he’s a friend of yours. Yeah, I heard that fucker give your name to the cop in the hospital. He didn’t believe me either and your asshole buddy got to ride in front.”

“Probably to keep you two separated.” Moving behind her, he bent close to her ear. “I know him but that doesn’t mean we’re friends or that I gotta believe everything he tells me.” He glanced up at the glass and fought back a smile. “You’re right. He can be a real asshole.”

Without looking at me, Kim chuckled and shook his head.

She rattled the chain. “Then how come he’s not the one locked up in here?”

“What, you think this is our only interview room? He’s in another one.”

“Cuffed?”

“Standard procedure. He told me his story. Now I want you to tell me yours.” He rounded the table and sat across from her so that Kim and I were looking at his back. He set down his cup, flipped to a blank sheet, and took a pen from his shirt pocket. “So he tried to rape you. That’s a serious accusation.”

“It’s true!” She snorted. “You cocksuckers never believe the woman.”

“Tell me what happened, as much as you can remember.”

She was quiet a moment, eyes blinking rapidly, darting back and forth. Fingernails ragged from chewing disappeared under her sleeves now. “When I came through the door he grabbed me and pulled me to him. Fucker tried to kiss me.”

“Tried to kiss you?”

“Stuck his tongue in my mouth.”

Still watching