Defensive Wounds (6 page)

“Which is just as good, assuming their expense accounts can keep up. And they never saw Marie again,” Theresa said, as if to clarify.

“According to them. I've gotten five other statements from people who recognized her photo, having been in the same audience at this or that lecture. They have quite the agenda. Today they had ‘How to Make Not-Guilty Happen,' ‘Criminal Defense in a Down Economy,' and ‘Defending Child-Pornography Cases.' ”

“Sounds a lot racier than forensic conventions. We have things like ‘The Life Cycle of the
Cochliomyia
.' ”

“What?”

“Blowfly.”

“Oh. There's also ‘Forensic Science in the Courtroom,' ” he added, reaching over to rub the powder off her face with one thumb. “Maybe you should sit in on that.”

“Maybe I should. What did the five other people say about Marie?”

“Never saw her after the sessions were over.”

“So she died, approximately, between five-thirty and”—Theresa thought about the condition of the body—“say, midnight. That doesn't narrow it down much. These people were all coming, going—”

“Looking forward to relaxing after a busy day of learning how to keep their clients on the street, free to commit more crimes.”

“Not much of a loss, is she?” someone said from behind Theresa.

Frank groaned inwardly. Sonia Battle.

Never had a woman been more appropriately named—the Battle part, not Sonia. She'd been Theresa's college roommate and gone on to become a criminal defense attorney. He knew that Sonia had gone into law because of some incident with her brother, and her passion to help the little guy oppressed by an uncaring, bigoted state had not abated, only grown stronger. Frank and Theresa, of course, were considered agents of this uncaring state.

Theresa hugged the woman. “Sonia! You were at this thing, too?”

“Of course. You know how dedicated I am to getting my scumbag clients back on the streets.” She glared at Frank.

“Please sit down.” Theresa retrieved one of the nicely cushioned chairs from the set tables and placed it across from Frank. The hotel would have to adapt.

Sonia sat. She continued to glare—at him only. She cut his cousin slack, everywhere but in the courtroom.

Marie Corrigan had, when alive, looked exactly like the kind of person she was—sexy, glitzy, driven, ready to eat men and even other women for breakfast to get what she wanted, without much concern for people's feelings, the rules of law, or justice. Sonia Battle's life could also be read from her appearance—weary-faced, with straight hair she didn't bother to style, round glasses to ease the eyestrain from reading briefs all night instead of going on dates, and a body she didn't have time to tone underneath the ill-fitting clothes she bought because she couldn't afford anything more on an Office of the Public Defender salary. Sonia had great concern for people's feelings (people other than cops and prosecutors, that was), the rules of law, and justice. So much concern that it seemed to eat her alive.

Theresa asked, “How are you? Did you know Marie?”

Sonia pressed fleshy lips together. “I knew her. And I know how the cops felt about her. Hell, I know how
you
felt about her.”

“Last year she practically accused me of planting paint chips from the suspect's car on the victim's jeans,” Theresa pointed out. Frank knew that there were more recent—and more virulent—experiences with Marie Corrigan, but if his cousin wasn't going to mention that to her old buddy, neither would he.

“She asked if it was a possibility there'd been cross-contamination at the lab, that's all.”

“No, she asked, ‘Did you take paint chips from my client's front bumper and put them in an envelope to indicate you'd found them on a pair of jeans?' And how did you know about that anyway?”

“I keep up on who's trying what case and its outcome. We all do. Cleveland's a small town in a lot of ways, and like any profession, ours can get a bit incestuous. You disliked Marie because she was good at her job—you just won't admit it.”

“I disliked her because she flat-out lied to juries. She told one that two hundred years of fingerprint analysis should be considered junk science.”

“Well, you can't prove that there
couldn't
be two people with the same fingerprint!”

“No, and by golly, I can't understand why we would think that when there's approximately
six hundred billion
comparisons done every
day
across the globe and we
still
haven't found two the same—”

“Ladies,” Frank interrupted. “Can we talk about Marie Corrigan?”

Sonia turned to him. “That's exactly who we're talking about, Detective Patrick. The woman you all despise because she beat you at your own games. Tell me you haven't done a fist bump over her cooling body. Reporters are already prepping sound bites wondering if Marie's own handiwork came back to haunt her in the form of some psycho she kept on the streets. Some sensible-looking lady in the bar asked me if the bitch was really dead. Why should I believe you're going to properly investigate this murder?”

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “
You're
worried about someone getting
off
?”

Sonia threw up her hands. “See what I mean? We're below some Quincy Avenue gangbangers in your estimation. You're waiting to pin a medal on whoever killed her.”

“Yeah, a big shiny one. But I'll still have to catch him first. Are you going to help or not?”

“Sonia,” Theresa said, probably figuring she'd better get a lid on her friend before the attorney could work up a really good fury of righteous indignation, “when did you last see Marie?”

The woman sighed. “At the luncheon yesterday.”

Frank stopped her to ask if she would sign a statement, and she agreed, but then he let Theresa ask the questions.

Sonia told them, “I grabbed a spot at her table, for the same reason she had—because the ‘Recent Supreme Court Decisions' speaker was sitting there, and I wanted to ask him about
Melendez-Diaz v. Massachusetts
.”

“And what did Marie want?”

“To sit with a speaker and not just a bunch of schlubs. Marie had the art of career networking down pat.” Sonia shook her head, but with a small, admiring smile. “Anyway, before you ask, we just talked about the seminar and what to do in Cleveland and the high price of parking. Marie seemed fine, glowing, the life of the party, just like always.”

“No arguments, complaints?” Theresa asked.

“None.”

“Did she flirt with this speaker?”

“Yeah, but he didn't seem to be going for it. He had a wedding ring on.”

Frank stifled a chuckle at the idea that a ring would stop a man at an out-of-town function. Theresa went on. “Anyone else seem especially taken with Marie?”

“Only the usual—every guy at the table checking out her rack.”

“Someone mentioned that Marie had raised some sort of a fuss at the luncheon?”

Sonia rubbed her eyes, devoid of makeup. “No. She sent her veal piccata back, said it tasted old, and refused another one. She got pretty curt with the waiter. I felt sorry for him, but with Marie—she either wanted more attention from the speaker guy or just an excuse not to eat her lunch. I've seen her at a lot of functions, and she never eats much. I've always suspected bulimia there. Did you know that surgeons and trial lawyers have the highest rate of alcoholism, drug addiction, and eating disorders? And she's got to keep her figure to keep her image. No one's afraid of an attorney who looks like me,” she added, prodding her own rolling waistline.

“How long have you known Marie?” Theresa asked. Frank cleared his throat, to let her know she had veered off topic. She ignored him, of course.

“Since law school. She's our age.”

Theresa goggled. “Then how does she look like she's twenty-five?”

“By not eating, I guess.” Sonia shrugged. “Maybe a tuck here or there. I told you, she took care of her image.”

“Can we get to more recent history?” Frank asked, before they could start exchanging diet tips. “Was she planning to hook up with anyone in between seminars?”

“I wouldn't know. Marie was nice to me—Don't raise your eyebrows, she really was. Even though I obviously have the social status of a half-dead rat, she has always been nice to me. Steered me toward a civil-rights statute once that proved a lifesaver. But still, we were acquaintances, not BFFs.”

“It's a conference. They're like a high school where everybody is the new kid. Word gets around.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but I don't have any intelligence to share on hookups.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?” Theresa asked. “Husband? Fiancé?”

“Never a husband, so far as I know. But I can't believe that you don't know who she's dating.”

“Why would I?”

Sonia smiled, not very pleasantly. “Because he's a particular favorite of yours.”

Oh, boy.

Theresa thought a moment, then exploded. “Britton? The one that rakes me over the coals about ASCLD certification and whether I can prove I used sterile tweezers to pick up a fiber? The one who exclusively defends murderers and rapists? The only attorney in Cleveland even sleazier than Marie Corrigan?”

The attorney talking to Angela turned to stare. Detective Powell, guiding another interviewee into the room, started to laugh. Sonia threw up her hands again. “And you tell me you're going to be objective.”

“
Britton?
Well, I see where Marie got the fingerprint-analysis line of questioning. But Britton can't be at this conference, too. I just testified in front of him this morning, about the East Sixth shooting.” Cops and carjackers had gotten into a shoot-out, which ended with two bleeding officers and one deceased carjacker. Now the suspect's family had brought a civil suit against the police department
and
the dead suspect's partner. “I
thought
he seemed in a hurry, though he still found time to spend twenty minutes questioning me about crime-scene procedures. Not questioning anything I actually did or actually found or actually analyzed, of course, just talking long enough to irritate me and put the jury to sleep so that they won't remember what I
did
find or
did
analyze. Does he ever have a real point to make, or is that considered old-fashioned?”

Sonia ignored this tirade. “Of course he's here, in between court appearances.
He
ate lunch at the keynote speaker's table.”

“Without Marie?” Theresa calmed slightly. “She couldn't have been happy about that.”

“I'm sure she wasn't, but it's par for the course. I've seen them together at 1890. She's running at full wattage, but he spends half the time on his cell phone. He's the king of the hill, and she's hot, and that's all that's keeping that relationship together. Kept.”

Frank spoke up. “So where was he last night?”

“That's the question I'd
like
you to ask. Because if you have a suspect list, I suggest you put him at the top. You want a scumbag off the street, make it him.”

“Why?” Frank and Theresa asked in unison.

“I got assigned a kid picked up with some other guys for possession. Less than felony weight, so I should have been able to get him out with time served. As I arrive for the pretrial hearing, Britton is just leaving, and my client wants to plead guilty to dealing, says all the drugs in the group were his.”

“What happened?” Frank asked.

“The kid's outfit offered the kid something to take the fall. Take care of his family, give him a lump sum when he got out, or else he'll be killed in his cell before the trial can even begin. That's the standard deal.”

“And Britton brokered it.”

“Had to. He conspired to coerce my client to commit perjury and obstruct justice. And yet I'm sure that in his mind he only delivered a message for his client. Period.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, except my client didn't make his full term. A fight broke out in the cafeteria one day, and he never saw his nineteenth birthday.”

Theresa said, “I'm sorry.” Something in the lawyer's expression made Frank feel sorry as well. Sonia Battle might be a pain in the ass, but she was a sincere pain in the ass.

Sonia shook it off. “I filed a complaint with the Office of the Disciplinary Counsel, for all the good it will do me. He'll win in the end. There's too many routes for jailhouse communication. I can't prove it was him. I can't even prove that a deal was made.”

Nor could she implicate Britton in Marie Corrigan's death. Sonia, unlike her partying compatriots, had gone back to the PD office immediately after Tuesday's final session to work on what had piled up on her desk during the day. She hadn't seen either Britton or Marie and had no idea where they'd been during the evening.