Page 8 of The Writer
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY THE TIME Declan catches up with Geller Hoffman, he has the guest room door open, and his face is bright red. “What the fuck are you people doing?”
Naked, with her back to them, Denise Morrow is standing next to the bed, her arms outstretched. The two female CSU techs are hovering around her. Diaz is running a swab down the length of Morrow’s arm, and the other is busy brushing the woman’s hair, capturing trace. The bed is covered in gear—open cases, a black light, various solutions. Morrow’s clothing has been bagged and tagged along with multiple samples. At the sight of Hoffman, Officer Hunter quickly rounds the bed and stands between him and Morrow, one hand extended, palm up, the other resting on the butt of her gun. “Back up! Now!”
Hoffman turns to Declan. “Who gave you permission to do this?”
“She didn’t decline,” Declan fires back.
“Did she specifically say yes?”
“You need to get back into the hall before you get yourself arrested for interference.”
He ignores him. “Denise, did you give them permission to touch you?” She doesn’t answer, so he steps around Officer Hunter and goes to her. When he sees her face, he appears horrified. “She’s practically catatonic! What the hell is wrong with you people? Somebody get her some clothes!”
Hunter looks at Declan, who nods. From one of the black cases on the bed, she retrieves a package of hospital scrubs.
Hoffman snatches them from her hand. “All of you, out. Now.” When nobody moves, he twists and stares down Declan. “Has she been charged with a crime?”
“Not yet.”
“Then get your people out of this room. Do you have any idea how many of her rights you’ve violated? Do you even care? ”
Declan isn’t about to get pushed around. He turns to the two CSU techs. “Did you get everything you need?”
They both nod.
Hoffman waves at the collected samples on the bed. “None of this will be admissible if you try to pin whatever happened to David on my client.”
“Your client?” Declan meets his beady little eyes. “If Mrs. Morrow has retained counsel, we haven’t been told about it.”
“Consider yourself told. I want to speak to her alone. Now.” Before Declan can object, Hoffman nudges Denise Morrow into the bedroom’s en suite and closes the door behind them. Clicks the lock.
“You believe that guy?” Declan asks Cordova.
“Hoffman could be a problem.”
“This case is open-and-shut. He can’t do a damn thing for her.”
Cordova doesn’t reply to that. He looks at Lori Hunter, then nods at the bathroom door. “Keep an eye on those two.” To Declan, he says, “There’s something you need to see.”
He leads Declan back down the hall, past the living room and a formal dining room to an office off a shorter hall behind the kitchen. Large space, at least twenty by thirty, with a wide window looking out over Eighty-First. Built-in bookcases on all four walls. The books are neatly arranged, not in alphabetical order but by color. A mix of fiction and non-fiction. Everything from Charles Dickens to Grisham to world politics to socioeconomic texts. Many of the books have yellow Post-it notes sticking out the top, flagging marked pages or passages or who knows what. Declan has never been much of a reader; he is more of a movie guy.
An antique cherrywood desk polished to a high sheen sits in the center of the room. The top is bare except for a laptop and a neat stack of paper in a black wire tray. That’s what Cordova is interested in, and when Declan steps close enough to read the top sheet, he understands why.
“This must be her latest book,” Cordova says, picking up the stack and thumbing through the pages.
“No shit,” Declan mutters, unable to look away from the title.
The Taking of Maggie Marshall Incompetence in the NYPD
By Denise Morrow
“You said she asked for me on the 911 call.”
“She did. Kept saying your name over and over again. You’ll hear it.”
“If she’s looking at Maggie Marshall, why would she ask for me? ”
Cordova doesn’t get the chance to answer that. From the other room, someone shouts his name.
They go back to the large foyer, where four CSU techs are busy processing David Morrow. The ME is here now too. The shout came from Lori Hunter near the front door, where they find Geller Hoffman back in his coat and attempting to guide Denise Morrow out of the apartment. Hernandez is blocking their path.
Declan has had enough of this guy. “Where do you think you’re going with her?”
“I’m getting her help.”
Denise Morrow’s gaze is fixed on the floor. Her lips are moving but without sound, as if she’s lost in some silent conversation with herself.
Declan isn’t buying it. The more he sees, the more this feels like some bullshit act. “Is she injured in any way? Does she need to go to the hospital?”
“She’s traumatized.”
“If she doesn’t need to see a doctor for immediate medical care, we’re taking her to the precinct for questioning.”
Hoffman twists his scarf around his neck. “She came home to find her husband dead on the floor and a possible intruder in her apartment. She’s lucky to be alive. She’s the victim here. Why are you treating her like a suspect?”
“Her role in all this has yet to be determined.”
“You’re stretching, Detective. I’ve seen this before. Some half-assed investigator gets a theory in his head, and the blinders go on. He gets so obsessed, he looks at nothing else. The product of a simple mind.” Hoffman licks his lips. “What’s your educational background, Detective? When I dig into that, what am I going to find? I seriously doubt you’re a scholar. My money is on a GED and some community college. Probably couldn’t stick it out long enough to get a degree and decided to become a cop instead. That what I’m going to find?”
Declan feels the blood rush to his face, and he takes a step closer.
Cordova’s hand settles on his shoulder. Declan starts to say something, but his partner cuts him off. “We’re all just doing our jobs here, Counselor. No reason to get personal. We’ll give Mrs. Morrow a ride to the precinct, where we can talk this through. You’re welcome to follow. The sooner we learn all the details, the sooner we can get this resolved.”
As Cordova speaks, Hoffman’s eyes don’t leave Declan. He actually draws closer, cranes his neck up to look him in the eye. Then he tells Denise, “I’ll be right behind. Don’t say a fucking word to anyone.”