Except Tammy says, “Because you promised me money to say it.”
That's not good, Boone thinks.
The jurors gasp. The trial junkies in the gallery sit up with ears pricked. Petra turns in her chair and looks at Boone. Then she shakes her head sadly and goes back to her computer.
Todd the Rod morphs into a semi-vertical position that could be mistaken for an actual human being standing up. “Move for a directed verdict, Your Honor. Not to mention sanctions for gross misconduct.”
Alan says, “Mistrial, Your Honor.”
“I'll see you both in chambers,” Hammond says. “Now.”
Fucked, Boone thinks as he watches Todd the Rod ooze toward the judge's chambers.
Epic macking fucked.
101
Boone intercepts Tammy as she walks out of the courtroom.
“They got to you, didn't they?” Boone asks.
She just shakes her head and pushes past him into the hallway. He follows her, just a few steps ahead of Johnny and Harrington.
“What did they offer you,” Boone says, taking her by the elbow, “that's worth more than your friend's life?”
She turns those green eyes on him. “If you'd seen what I've seen-”
“What have you seen?”
Tammy jerks her arm away, hesitates for a second, then says, “There's a world out there you know nothing about.”
“Educate me.”
But Johnny steps between them. He shows his badge and says, “Sergeant Kodani, SDPD. Ms. Roddick, we have some questions for you regarding the death of Angela Hart.”
“I don't know anything about that.”
“You might know more than you think,” Johnny says. “In any case, we'd appreciate your coming down to the station to discuss it with us. It won't take long.”
“Am I under arrest?” she asks.
“Not yet,” Harrington says, pushing in. “Would you like to be?”
“I have things I have to-”
“What,” Harrington says, “you're late for the pole?”
“Just come with us, Ms. Roddick,” Johnny says. He guides her toward the door.
Harrington looks at Boone. “Another stellar performance from you, Daniels. Congratulations. At least this time, you got a grown-up killed. Maybe next time, it'll be an old lady.”
Boone punches him.
102
Tammy Roddick is stone.
That's what Johnny Banzai thinks.
“Angela had your credit cards,” he says. “Why?”
Tammy shrugs.
“Did you give them to her?”
She stares at the wall.
“Or did you check into the motel with her?” Johnny asks.
She checks her fingernails.
The interview room is nice. Small but clean, with the walls painted in a soothing light yellow. A metal table and two metal chairs. The classic one-way mirror. A video camera with microphone bolted to the ceiling.
So, as much as Harrington would like to bust into the room, call her a stupid fucking twat, and bounce her off the walls, he can't do it without making a guest appearance on America's Worst Police Videos. All he can do is watch, through a swollen eye, as Johnny takes another tack.
“Hey, Tammy,” Johnny says, “you saw her get killed, didn't you? You were there. You got away. You could give us the guy who did it.”
She finds an interesting stain on the table, wets her finger, and rubs it out.
“That's the good-parts version,” Johnny says. “You want to hear the bad version?”
She goes back to the shrug.
“The bad version,” Johnny says, “is that you set her up. You both saw Danny set the fire, but you made a deal and she wouldn't, so you got her in that room to be killed. Try to follow along here, Tammy, because I'm presenting you with a very important choice. It's a one-time offer. It goes off the table in five seconds, but right now you get to choose which you want to be-witness or suspect. We're talking first-degree homicide, premeditated, and I'll bet I can get ‘special circumstances’ tossed in. So you'd be looking at… I don't know. Let me get my calculator.”
“I want a lawyer,” Tammy says.
Which is some sort of progress, Johnny thinks. At least we've gone verbal now. The problem is, she's verbalized the magic words that will stop the interview.
“Are you sure about that?” Johnny says, playing the standard card because he's not holding any better ones. “Because once you ask for a lawyer, you choose suspect.”
“Twice,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“This is twice I'm asking for a lawyer,” she says.
Johnny pushes his luck. “Who was the kid, Tammy?”
“What kid? I want a lawyer.”
“The kid in the room with Angela, a little girl, pink toothbrush?”
“I don't know. I want a lawyer.”
But she knows. Johnny sees it in her eyes. Dead as stone until he mentioned the kid, and then there was something in there.
Fear.
You're a cop for more than a few weeks, you know fear when you see it. He leans over the table and says real quietly, “For the kid's sake, Tammy, tell me the truth. I can help. Let me help you. Let me help her. ”
She's at the tipping point.
Again, he knows it when he sees it. She could go either way. She's going toward Johnny's when There's a commotion in the hall.
“I'm her attorney! I demand access!”
“Get out of here,” Harrington says.
“Has she asked for a lawyer? She has, hasn't she?”
Tammy sets her jaw and looks at the ceiling. Johnny gets up, opens the door, and sees Todd the Rod standing in the hallway. The lawyer looks over his shoulder at Tammy.
“It's okay now,” he says. “I'm here. Not… one… more.. word.”
He has her out of there in thirty minutes.
103
