asleep for three of them."
"If she didn't file charges, that's going to weaken the case."
"It's important, but that's not going to make or break this case. You talk to this guy once and you'll smell the stink coming off him."
"As in a confession?"
"No, not as in a confession," I said. "As in a string of goddamn lies. A two year old could see through the crime scene."
"Why don't you walk this two year old through it, then?" he said, his voice sarcastic.
I pinched my eyes with a finger and thumb until I saw stars. "There's no way the shooting could've happened the way he said it did. He calls it self-defense, but I walked through it and, physically, it doesn't work. The lab can give you the floor plan. You can see for yourself. As for the gun she was supposed to be pointing at him, unless she's got connections to a black-market arms dealer, it's a plant. And, for Christ's sake, the guy thanked me, like I was his sponsor at communion or something. He damn near came out and asked me to cover for him. I'm telling you, Don, he stinks."
His voice became brittle. "Marty, you might be able to play a hunch, but I need something more than how the guy smells. The union is coming out with a statement of support later today and the mayor's office is expected to comment after that. Half the city is going to want Wheeler swinging from the 14th Street bridge, the other half is planted directly behind him. If I'm going to prosecute this guy the right way, I can't afford to blow it on guesswork. It's my ass on the line when we go to court and I'm not going to let someone else fuck this up on my behalf."
It was obvious who he thought the someone else was. And I didn't appreciate it. "If this case goes down in flames, prosecutor, it's not going to be my team's fault."
Those were still the days of landlines and phones with bells in them and the base made a nice ringing sound when I slammed the receiver down hard enough to crack the plastic casing. It's not like today where you have to punch a button to hang up and all you get is a "beep," no matter how angry you are. You have to throw the phone across the room to get any satisfaction.
Then again, if I'd known where the case was going, I would've slammed the phone down and thrown it across the room.
. . .
Twelve years later, I found myself gritting my teeth as I remembered the memos Landis had sent to my office. The words "insufficient" and "inadequate" peppered most of the messages. The language was negative and harsh, criticizing my team and its work, while constantly urging us to double and triple our efforts. This on top of the three dozen or so other cases we'd been assigned. Only in books, TV, and the movies do cops get to work on a case at a time. And it seemed even more inequitable than usual for us. While other teams were going home at five, we were canceling vacations and sleeping in the office to handle the work load.
It didn't amount to squat. In court, Landis was unable to project the image of Wheeler as an obsessed stalker, refusing to make more than a passing mention of Brenda Lane's calls to the station complaining about his attentions. Atwater, despite her inexperience, used the same episodes to paint Wheeler as a devoted community peacekeeper, an example of his dedication to protect Brenda Lane and the neighborhood. She cited a rise in local crime to back up the need for vigilance--never mind that the "rise" consisted of statistics taken from the rest of DC and not the patty-cake problems the Palisades suffered from. Lawrence Ferrin, Wheeler's partner and friend, gave an impassioned description of Wheeler's service to the community and his fitness as a brother police officer. With sly looks in my direction, he described how brusque I'd been at the crime scene and my dismissive attitude.
The case progressed and Atwater ripped the lab team apart, describing their examination of the crime scene as a comedy of errors. She intimated that the body had been moved and
"If she didn't file charges, that's going to weaken the case."
"It's important, but that's not going to make or break this case. You talk to this guy once and you'll smell the stink coming off him."
"As in a confession?"
"No, not as in a confession," I said. "As in a string of goddamn lies. A two year old could see through the crime scene."
"Why don't you walk this two year old through it, then?" he said, his voice sarcastic.
I pinched my eyes with a finger and thumb until I saw stars. "There's no way the shooting could've happened the way he said it did. He calls it self-defense, but I walked through it and, physically, it doesn't work. The lab can give you the floor plan. You can see for yourself. As for the gun she was supposed to be pointing at him, unless she's got connections to a black-market arms dealer, it's a plant. And, for Christ's sake, the guy thanked me, like I was his sponsor at communion or something. He damn near came out and asked me to cover for him. I'm telling you, Don, he stinks."
His voice became brittle. "Marty, you might be able to play a hunch, but I need something more than how the guy smells. The union is coming out with a statement of support later today and the mayor's office is expected to comment after that. Half the city is going to want Wheeler swinging from the 14th Street bridge, the other half is planted directly behind him. If I'm going to prosecute this guy the right way, I can't afford to blow it on guesswork. It's my ass on the line when we go to court and I'm not going to let someone else fuck this up on my behalf."
It was obvious who he thought the someone else was. And I didn't appreciate it. "If this case goes down in flames, prosecutor, it's not going to be my team's fault."
Those were still the days of landlines and phones with bells in them and the base made a nice ringing sound when I slammed the receiver down hard enough to crack the plastic casing. It's not like today where you have to punch a button to hang up and all you get is a "beep," no matter how angry you are. You have to throw the phone across the room to get any satisfaction.
Then again, if I'd known where the case was going, I would've slammed the phone down and thrown it across the room.
. . .
Twelve years later, I found myself gritting my teeth as I remembered the memos Landis had sent to my office. The words "insufficient" and "inadequate" peppered most of the messages. The language was negative and harsh, criticizing my team and its work, while constantly urging us to double and triple our efforts. This on top of the three dozen or so other cases we'd been assigned. Only in books, TV, and the movies do cops get to work on a case at a time. And it seemed even more inequitable than usual for us. While other teams were going home at five, we were canceling vacations and sleeping in the office to handle the work load.
It didn't amount to squat. In court, Landis was unable to project the image of Wheeler as an obsessed stalker, refusing to make more than a passing mention of Brenda Lane's calls to the station complaining about his attentions. Atwater, despite her inexperience, used the same episodes to paint Wheeler as a devoted community peacekeeper, an example of his dedication to protect Brenda Lane and the neighborhood. She cited a rise in local crime to back up the need for vigilance--never mind that the "rise" consisted of statistics taken from the rest of DC and not the patty-cake problems the Palisades suffered from. Lawrence Ferrin, Wheeler's partner and friend, gave an impassioned description of Wheeler's service to the community and his fitness as a brother police officer. With sly looks in my direction, he described how brusque I'd been at the crime scene and my dismissive attitude.
The case progressed and Atwater ripped the lab team apart, describing their examination of the crime scene as a comedy of errors. She intimated that the body had been moved and
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