“You have the right to remain silent…”
Groaning obscenities about their mothers asthe sicko’s scraped, bleeding head bounced around.
“Anything you say…if you cannot afford anattorney…do you understand?”
More yelling, and the filthy, sweaty head ofRay Gruner bobbed as it dropped to the hood.
They’d brought him in. Given him soda andwiped the scrape on his lolling head. He hadn’t requested a lawyer, and sincehe hated women Kerri had gone in alone to interrogate him. The tape had justreached that part. Kerri’s heart pounded. She’d been exhausted and sleepless beforethis, so decided to drop into a chair too; for a whole minute watched herself withGruner in the interview room. Couldn’t stand it. Got up again and resumedpacing. Watching, hearing herself.
“You like to hurt women?”
Gruner leaned back, his pale, inhuman eye-slitsmocking her. He was cuffed but managed to bulge his steroid pumped muscles underhis black T-shirt.
“I asked, do you like to hurtwomen?”
His lips curled into a sneer. Bad teeth. Hereeked in the small room.
“Makes you feel powerful, huh? Making womenbleed, beating them to death?”
He thought that was funny. Rolled his eyes asif recalling fun times. “Blow me,” he spat.
Kerri laid her folder on the table. Openedit, withdrew a paper document and a photo, slid the paper across the table tohim.
“Your mother did tricks too, didn’t she?” Kerritapped the paper.
The smirk disappeared. Became an icy,killer glare.
“You lived with her in a one-bedroom. Youwere five when she was first arrested. Where’d she leave you when she was ballingher clients? On the couch, maybe? On the other side of the thin wall where youcould hear everything?”
He shifted. The corners of his mouth turneddown, way down. His phosphorescent eye-slits glared at Kerri’s throat, then southto her open-collared white blouse. She’d pulled her dark blond hair out of herponytail and let it drop past her shoulders. She was about the same age –thirty-four – his mother had been when she was robbed and shot by one of herjohns. Now Kerri pushed his mother’s photo to him.
“She was pretty, wasn’t she?” Kerri leaned furtheracross the table, closer to him. “Big, smiling, beguiling eyes. Did you wishshe paid more attention to you? Did you hear the moans and bouncing andthudding of the sex she was giving?”
He glared.
“As you got older, did you wish you were inbed there with her? Did you wish you, too, were in her, like all thosemen who came and didn’t give a shit for you?”
His chair crashed back as he lunged,shrieking, “Bitch! I’d kill you worse than I did that Selena whore. I’dtwist your arms off first!”
The others were on him fast, forcing himback down. They had him. Kerri remembered gulping her breath back in giantheaves and leaving the room thrilled. Another evil was removed from thestreets. Now they could rejoice, catch up on sleep, grin to each other on hardteamwork finally ending well.
Until their Lieutenant Tom Mackey, with a sorry,frustrated face, saw the tape and shook his head.
Gruner hadn’t been properly Mirandized. Theunis who’d taken him down had pounded him. Yes, yes, his head bobbed anddropped during the Miranda, but was that a nod? For sure it wasn’t averbal yes. It could be argued that they’d beaten him into a confession.
They were screwed. It was over. Someonemuttered that a public defender had arrived and was taking Gruner out, back tothe streets. Someone else switched off the monitor. Silence closed in on thewhole squad room, beyond depressing.
Depression becomes a wave that rises up andswallows you. Drags you down. Tells you that all your best and most desperateefforts are worthless. They all felt it, but Kerri Blasco had an easier time lettingtears come.
4
She made it to herdesk, her piled-high, littered desk, and fell back in her chair. Through astinging blur she scowled at stacked files, ME reports, witness statements fromother open cases. So many. Face it: the system favors bad guys, letsthem slip through the cracks more than half the bleeping time. She wanted to letout a good, self-indulgent, wonderfully howling bawl, but instead reached and whackedover her red papier-mâché pen holder. Ballpoints spilled to the floor.
“Oh, that’s really going to help.”
Alex Brand had been on his way back to hisdesk facing her, and knelt to pick up the scattered ballpoints. “Pencils too?”he said, rising, shoving his fist full of Bics and stubby pencils back into theirholder. “Who still uses pencils?”
“People who wanna chew ‘em,” Kerri groused.“Don’t interrupt my tantrum.”
Ah, sweet Alex. Tough and terrific cop, feelinglousy like the rest of them but kneeling again now near her black Nikes for alast ballpoint he had missed. Once, they loved each other - a bad idea on topof Department Don’ts since Alex was married at the time and Kerri was strugglingthrough a divorce. Since then they’d managed to contain their feelings, prettymuch. They’d each gone through pain and needed peace for a while. Plus they’d beenpartners for nearly two years, which can lead anyone to sometimes bickeringlike old marrieds.
Do I still love him? Kerri often askedherself.
Of course I do. It always came back to her like that, a slam to the heart.
But how did he feel? Had he moved past thatdangerous, red-hot attraction of twenty months ago?
If so, he had it too well under control, hadrecognized his aversion to drama. But he still cared about her, no doubt aboutthat. He worried out loud, got sometimes downright fretful. “Hey, I’m a cop,remember?” she’d remind him, and he’d mutter, “Yeah, yeah,” and wave a hand.Anyway, he was seeing someone else, although he hadn’t mentioned her lately. Kerriwondered how that was going…
…and leaned down to him, to his flopping brownhair that needed a cut and had started to curl at his collar. He smiled at her,his hazel eyes urging her to feel
