Page 49 of The Writer
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
WHEN DECLAN STEPS out of the elevator and into the precinct bullpen, a silence falls over the room. Eyes follow him all the way to his desk.
No sign of Cordova.
He’s probably still with ADA Saffi, maybe at her office. After Saffi and Cordova spoke to Denise, they asked her to come in and provide an official statement. She said she would, but only after obtaining new counsel to replace Geller Hoffman. Maybe later today.
Maybe never .
They can’t force her, not without charging her, and he seriously doubts Saffi would do that. Denise played it perfectly. Damaged goods. It was all on Hoffman.
And him.
But that is about to change.
When Declan put the battery back in his phone and powered it on, he had nine missed calls from his partner. Three more from the lieutenant. A few others he didn’t recognize. An insane number of texts. And he was fairly certain someone was watching Fog Reveal to get his location. The moment his phone pinged the first tower, they knew where he was. That’s why he didn’t insert the batteries until he was standing on the sidewalk outside his building. He stood there for about a minute, then walked to the precinct.
“Declan.” Lieutenant Daniels’s voice cuts through the quiet like nails on a chalkboard.
Declan turns to find him standing in the elevator holding the door open, ADA Saffi at his side. No sign of Cordova.
“Lieutenant. I heard you were looking for me.”
The expression on his supervisor’s face clearly says No shit , but he bites his tongue. Instead of chewing Declan out, he nods his head to the left. “Conference room. Right now.”
“Should I call my union rep?”
“I already did.”
Ten minutes later, they’re all sitting around the large conference table, Daniels and Saffi on one side, Declan and his rep on the other. Declan is pretty sure his union rep is wearing the same shirt and tie as last time. The man looks so disheveled that if someone told Declan he’d been sleeping on a bench out in the park, Declan would believe it. Roy Harrison also came down for the party, and in an effort to appear as intimidating as possible, he has opted to stand in front of the door, one hand resting on his service weapon. What a tool.
Daniels looks to Saffi, then back to Declan. “Where have you been, Detective? And if you tell me you were out on another walk, I’ll cuff you myself.”
“I was with a friend.”
“That ‘friend’ will vouch for you if asked?”
“I’m sure she will.”
“Why’d you turn your phone off?”
“People kept calling for the wrong reasons. You’d shut yours off too.”
Declan’s rep slides him a note. In a nearly illegible scrawl are the words Geller Hoffman is dead.
Declan does his best to look surprised, then turns to Daniels. “What happened to Hoffman?”
Daniels tells him.
Slumping back in his seat, Declan can only shake his head.
ADA Saffi places her briefcase on the table, clicks it open, raises the lid, and narrows her eyes at Declan. “I’m going to ask you this one time, Detective. Did you kill David Morrow?”
There is no hesitation. “No.”
She removes a stack of pages from her briefcase and sets them in front of Declan’s union rep. The man flips through and actually surprises Declan when he’s able to identify what they are. “These are the results of Detective Shaw’s blood test?”
“They are,” Saffi says. “Detective Shaw’s DNA matches the blood found on the door frame at the Morrow apartment.”
Declan says nothing to that. Nothing to say. He knew it would match.
Saffi reaches back into her briefcase. This time she removes a witness statement from a woman named Beverly Marchant. The dog walker.
Saffi taps it with the tip of her manicured finger. “This woman places you at the Beresford building at quarter to nine the night David Morrow was killed.”
“She’s wrong.”
Harrison coughs into his hand. “Bullshit.”
Tool. “She’s wrong,” Declan repeats. “I was nearby, but she’s off on the time.” He looks to his union rep. “Did you bring it? That thing I sent you?”
His rep fishes around in his battered messenger bag and takes out an equally battered laptop old enough to be part of the Y2K issue. He logs in, locates a video file, and clicks Play, then turns the screen so everyone can watch as the hard drive hums with the strain.
Declan says, “Cordova told me about Mrs. Marchant yesterday, so I spent some time at a few of the area businesses. This footage comes from a Starbucks across the street from the Beresford with a direct line of sight to the building’s corner, near the entrance frequented by Mrs. Marchant, according to your statement.” He leans closer to the screen. “And, wait for it…” A woman comes around the building, tugging the leash of a small white dog. Declan freezes the video. “That is your witness.” He presses Play again and freezes it ten seconds later. “And there’s me.” When he presses Play, the on-screen Declan goes around the corner the woman had just come from and disappears from view.
“That doesn’t prove anything.” Harrison points at the laptop. “She says you went inside. You can’t even see the door on this.”
“Unfortunately, that’s the only camera facing that way. The door is right there around the corner. I didn’t go in. I went around the side of the building and kept going.”
“Out on your famous walk, right?” Harrison mutters. “This is meaningless. The time’s not even correct. That says six thirty-two.”
“The time’s right,” Declan tells them. “When you visit the Starbucks, ask for Zach, the manager. He’ll give you access to their security system. He cleared things with his corporate office while I was there. You’ll find they use a top-of-the-line system from a company called Lorex. It pulls the time directly from the internet to ensure it’s always accurate. There’s no way to change it. I called Lorex to confirm.” He points at the screen. “ME has TOD for David Morrow between eight thirty and nine thirty p.m. Your witness saw me at six thirty-two p.m. Two hours too early. When you visit Starbucks, review the next few hours. You’ll find she doesn’t come back out again until nearly ten p.m. for one final dog walk, and there is no other footage of me near there again, period. She’s mistaken on her time. Your witness statement is worthless.”
Daniels and Harrison exchange a glance. Saffi’s eyes remain locked on Declan. “Where exactly were you between eight thirty and nine thirty that night?”
Declan looks to his union rep, who nods.
He tells them exactly where he was, and they have the same reaction Cordova did when he told him. It’s all over their faces.
The museum closes at five thirty. That subway station is a ghost town. Why would you… oh.
Isn’t that the station where Murphy jumped? Nunez? That firefighter last year and the EMT a few months back?
Suicide Station . That’s what they call it down at the DA’s office. It isn’t just the police who know about it.
Saffi’s eyes go glossy; the woman actually tears up. Declan shouldn’t feel good about that, but he does. It’s nice to know somebody gives a shit.
Saffi says, “You could have talked to me. If things are that bad… if you…” Her face twists with concern. “Declan, why?”
He’d told her once about his father. Not about the Benadryl, not what he’d done. He’d told her how his father used to beat him and his mother. How his dad would come home drunk and angry and take out the world’s problems on them. How his mother had vanished. The hell of foster care. He told her about everything but the Benadryl. He imagines all of that is flying through her head now; he can see it in her eyes. Declan forces a weak but disarming smile. “You know. Sometimes it’s just… it’s just too much, but I’m okay.”
The room goes quiet for a very long time, the implications hanging over all of them.
Declan finally looks at Daniels and Harrison and says, “I told Cordova where I was. I didn’t want word to get out. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.”
Daniels swallows. “I can’t unring that bell, Detective. At the very least, I’ll need to put you on leave and go through the proper channels with an evaluation.”
Declan nods solemnly. “Okay.”
Harrison’s gaze drills into him. He’s not buying any of it. “Your word’s not enough. Your word isn’t shit.”
Remaining calm, Declan says, “Cordova pulled the camera footage from the subway platform. You can too. You’ll find I got there a few minutes after eight and I didn’t leave until Cordova called me and told me to get to the Beresford.”
There’s a knock at the door. A uniformed officer sticks his head in, studies the group, and locates Lieutenant Daniels. “Cordova is on six for you. He says it’s important.”