The big man had allowed the john to leave, barely even registering his presence. From the street outside where he called the police from a pay phone, the john said he heard the giant wailing like an injured moose. He hid himself in a doorway as the man ran from the building, climbed into an SUV, and sped off.
“I’ve never seen anyone that tall outside a basketball court,” he told the police when they arrived. “He came through that door like it was made out of cardboard. She called him ‘Mateo.’ ”
The surveillance camera from the livery cab company outside captured Detective Mateo Stenopolis arriving at Katrina’s apartment around midnight and leaving less than a half an hour later.
“He doesn’t look upset,” said Jesamyn after watching the tape for the fifth time. “He’s not upset. He’s not running.”
“That’s because he’s a stone-cold killer, Detective Breslow.”
“Bullshit. I don’t care what kind of evidence you have. You’ll never convince me of that.”
“We have an eyewitness account, a videotape, blood evidence in his vehicle.”
“What about his DNA at the scene? If he beat her to death, his DNA should be all over her body. His knuckles should be broken and bloodied. Or bruised.”
“Evidence suggests that he wore gloves.”
“Hair, then. Fibers.”
“It’ll take weeks for that to come back.”
The interrogation room was too cold. She found herself wondering if they knew that she hated the cold, that it made her feel vulnerable somehow and small, that it opened a strange place of sadness within her that she couldn’t explain. She folded her arms across her chest, tucked her hands under her arms.
“Just two days ago, we had a civilian complaint from a Jorge Alonzo. Alonzo claims that Stenopolis menaced and brutalized him, damaged his property.”
Jesamyn looked at the old cop, pushed a disdainful breath out of her mouth. “Give me a break.”
“Is it true?”
She remembered how mad Mount had gotten, how she’d turned her back so she wouldn’t see him put his hands on the guy.
“The kid was a punk, he had an attitude, he made some shitty comment about me and Detective Stenopolis raised his voice.”
Detective Ray Bloom looked at her with wise, moist eyes. She could see that he’d been handsome about a hundred years ago. She could see that he was smart and kind and a good cop. But she hated him anyway.
“He didn’t put his hands on Alonzo?”
“No,” she said. The lie stuck in her throat and she reached for the coffee they’d placed in front of her. It was bitter and cold.
“He didn’t put his hands on Alonzo,” repeated Detective Bloom. He knew she was lying, that it pained her, and he wanted to force her to say it again.
But Jesamyn didn’t say anything, just turned her eyes on Bloom.
“I heard you didn’t even let him put on his clothes,” she said quietly. “How do you people live with yourselves?”
His partner pushed himself away from the wall behind her where he’d been standing for a while and moved into her field of vision. He was a big guy, with a bodybuilder’s physique. Square jaw in square head on square shoulders, very little neck, heavy brow. He didn’t look very smart. Did he think he was intimidating her? Even the biggest of them fell and cried like little girls with a solid kick to the kneecap; hit hard and directly in just the right place it shattered like a china saucer beneath the wheels of a car.
“Let’s try to stay focused, Detective Breslow,” said Bloom. “Did you know he was seeing a prostitute?”
“No,” she said. “If it’s true, I didn’t know that. You still haven’t convinced me it’s true.”
“I don’t have to convince you of anything, Detective,” he said quietly.
She nodded. She’d been in with them for nearly two hours and she was getting tired. Dylan had been right. When she showed up at 1 PP, they wouldn’t let her see Matt. He was being processed and it would be twelve hours at least before she could even talk to him. She’d spent a few minutes with Mount’s family, his mother, father, and younger brother Theo. His mom had been crying and started again when Jesamyn approached them.
She’d embraced each of them and told them that it was all going to be fine, though she wasn’t sure of that at all. It was just a misunderstanding. A mistake, she assured them. Theo looked the least freaked out of the three of them, so she took him aside.
“What you need to do,” she told him, “is get in touch with Mateo’s PBA rep. Call the desk sergeant at the Ninth Precinct, he’ll know who it is and how to get in touch. They’ll know what to do and they’ll help you find a lawyer.”
He put a hand on her arm. “Just tell me the truth. It’s bad, isn’t it?”
She hesitated a second. Then, “Yes, Theo. It’s very bad. Get him a very good lawyer. The best you can afford.”
Theo nodded, looking stunned. She could relate. She felt pretty stunned herself. That’s when Detective Bloom approached her.
“You saved me a trip, Detective,” he’d said, coming up behind her. “I have some questions about your partner.”
They’d led her to an interrogation room, showed her the videotape. Once. Twice. Three times. As often as she asked them to rewind it and play it again.
“If he was seeing her regularly, that video could have been taken anytime,” she said suddenly.
“It’s date stamped.”
“That can be tampered with.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that this is all a little too easy. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t understand what that means,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We have a lot of good evidence against your partner, if that’s what you mean by ‘too easy.’ What are you suggesting?”
She sighed. “We were threatened,” she said. “The night before last we infiltrated this church group called The New Day. And their lawyer threatened Detective Stenopolis.”
He frowned and his bushy eyebrows came together, looked like a long furry caterpillar on his head.
“So you’re suggesting that this church is setting up your partner,” said Bloom carefully, as a wide smile spread across his partner’s face. She didn’t say anything.
“How about this instead?” said Bloom, leaning into her. “Your partner became obsessed with the Lily Samuels case, started to develop inappropriate feelings for the missing girl. He ran into one dead end after another, enough so that your CO insisted that you both start working on another case. Your partner continued to follow up leads on his own time, looking for a girl who maybe didn’t want to be found, eventually relying on the statement of an unreliable witness to obtain a search warrant in the middle of the night. When that turned into a huge clusterfuck that did nothing to further your case, he was angry and frustrated. Witnesses at the scene said that Matt lost his temper with an attorney, started making threats. Is that true, Detective?”
Again, she just stayed quiet and held his eyes.
“Maybe finding the prostitute whom he fantasized was his girlfriend with another man was just the last straw. He lost it.”
She shook her head slowly, held herself tighter. “That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“Really,” said Bloom, tapping his pen twice, quickly, on the table. “Have you ever known Detective Stenopolis to be involved in a healthy relationship with a woman?”
She hesitated, then shook her head.
“While he doesn’t live in the same house with his parents, doesn’t he live just one door down and doesn’t his mother continue to cook and clean for him as if he were still a child?”
She didn’t answer because it didn’t matter. Bloom already knew the answer.
“Didn’t Detective Stenopolis lose his temper with Jorge Alonzo when he made a
“Well, I wouldn’t say it was sexual exactly-”
