is a family man, a pillar of the community, a man with no criminal record at all--yet you waste our time with this nonsense. At best--at the very, very best if all the tests come back the way you hope and I don't destroy all your so-called physical evidence with my experts and my cross and my accusations about tainting and incompetence--if that all goes perfectly for you, which I highly doubt, you might, might, be able to show a casual link between my client and Dan Mercer. Period, the end. And that's laughable. No body, no weapon, no witness who can positively identify my client. You don't even have proof there was a crime--let alone that my client was involved."
Walker sat back, the chair creaking with the onslaught. "So you can explain the fibers and blood?"
"I don't need to, do I?"
"I just thought you might want to help us out. Clear your client once and for all."
"Tell you what I'll do." Hester scribbled down a phone number and passed it to him.
"What's this?"
"A phone number."
"I see that. For?"
"The Gun-O-Rama shooting range."
Walker just looked at her. The color in his face ebbed away.
"Give them a call," Hester said. "My client was there just this afternoon, an hour before you picked him up. Doing a little target practice." Hester did a little finger wave. "Bye-bye, gun residue test."
Walker's jaw dropped. He looked at Stanton, tried to regain his composure. "Convenient."
"Hardly. Mr. Grayson is a decorated retired federal marshal, remember? He shoots frequently. Are we done here?"
"No statement?"
" ' Don't eat yellow snow.' That's our statement. Come on, Ed."
Hester and Ed Grayson stood.
"We will keep looking, Ms. Crimstein. You should both know that. We have a timeline. We will trace Mr. Grayson's steps. We will find the body and the weapon. I understand why he did what he did. But we don't get to play executioner. So I will make that case. Make no mistake."
"May I speak frankly, Sheriff Walker?"
"Sure."
Hester looked at the camera above his head. "Turn the camera off."
Walker looked back, nodded; the red light on the camera went off.
Hester put her fists on the table and leaned down. She didn't have to lean far. Even sitting Walker was nearly her height. "You could have the body and the weapon and, hell, a live feed of my client shooting this child rapist at Giants Stadium in front of eighty thousand witnesses--and I could still get him off in ten minutes."
She turned. Ed Grayson had already opened the door.
"Have a nice day," Hester said.
AT TEN PM, Charlie texted Wendy.
POP WANTS TO KNOW WHERE THE NEAREST TITTY BAR IS.
She smiled. His way of letting her know that he was fine. Charlie was pretty good about staying in touch.
She responded: I DON'T KNOW. AND NOBODY CALLS THEM THAT. THEY'RE GENTLEMEN'S LOUNGES NOW.
Charlie: POPS SAID HE HATES THAT POLITICALLY CORRECT SH*T.
She smiled as the home phone rang. It was Sheriff Walker returning her call.
"I found something on my car," she said.
"What?"
"A GPS. I think Ed Grayson put it there."
"I'm around the corner," he said. "I know it's late, but do you mind if I take a look now?"
"No, that's fine."
"Give me five."
She met him outside by her car. Walker bent down as Wendy reminded him of Ed Grayson's visit, this time adding the seemingly unimportant detail of him checking her back tire. He looked at the GPS and nodded. It took him a moment or two to get himself back upright.
"I'll send some people out here to take pictures and remove it."
"I heard you arrested Ed Grayson."
"Who told you that?"
"Mercer's ex-wife, Jenna Wheeler."
"She's wrong. We brought him in for questioning. He was never arrested."
"Are you still holding him?"
"No, he was free to go."
"And now?"
Walker cleared his throat. "Now we continue our investigation."
"Wow, that sounds official."
"You're a reporter."
"Not anymore, but okay, let's make this conversation off the record."
"Off the record, we don't have a case. We don't have a body. We don't have a
Walker sat back, the chair creaking with the onslaught. "So you can explain the fibers and blood?"
"I don't need to, do I?"
"I just thought you might want to help us out. Clear your client once and for all."
"Tell you what I'll do." Hester scribbled down a phone number and passed it to him.
"What's this?"
"A phone number."
"I see that. For?"
"The Gun-O-Rama shooting range."
Walker just looked at her. The color in his face ebbed away.
"Give them a call," Hester said. "My client was there just this afternoon, an hour before you picked him up. Doing a little target practice." Hester did a little finger wave. "Bye-bye, gun residue test."
Walker's jaw dropped. He looked at Stanton, tried to regain his composure. "Convenient."
"Hardly. Mr. Grayson is a decorated retired federal marshal, remember? He shoots frequently. Are we done here?"
"No statement?"
" ' Don't eat yellow snow.' That's our statement. Come on, Ed."
Hester and Ed Grayson stood.
"We will keep looking, Ms. Crimstein. You should both know that. We have a timeline. We will trace Mr. Grayson's steps. We will find the body and the weapon. I understand why he did what he did. But we don't get to play executioner. So I will make that case. Make no mistake."
"May I speak frankly, Sheriff Walker?"
"Sure."
Hester looked at the camera above his head. "Turn the camera off."
Walker looked back, nodded; the red light on the camera went off.
Hester put her fists on the table and leaned down. She didn't have to lean far. Even sitting Walker was nearly her height. "You could have the body and the weapon and, hell, a live feed of my client shooting this child rapist at Giants Stadium in front of eighty thousand witnesses--and I could still get him off in ten minutes."
She turned. Ed Grayson had already opened the door.
"Have a nice day," Hester said.
AT TEN PM, Charlie texted Wendy.
POP WANTS TO KNOW WHERE THE NEAREST TITTY BAR IS.
She smiled. His way of letting her know that he was fine. Charlie was pretty good about staying in touch.
She responded: I DON'T KNOW. AND NOBODY CALLS THEM THAT. THEY'RE GENTLEMEN'S LOUNGES NOW.
Charlie: POPS SAID HE HATES THAT POLITICALLY CORRECT SH*T.
She smiled as the home phone rang. It was Sheriff Walker returning her call.
"I found something on my car," she said.
"What?"
"A GPS. I think Ed Grayson put it there."
"I'm around the corner," he said. "I know it's late, but do you mind if I take a look now?"
"No, that's fine."
"Give me five."
She met him outside by her car. Walker bent down as Wendy reminded him of Ed Grayson's visit, this time adding the seemingly unimportant detail of him checking her back tire. He looked at the GPS and nodded. It took him a moment or two to get himself back upright.
"I'll send some people out here to take pictures and remove it."
"I heard you arrested Ed Grayson."
"Who told you that?"
"Mercer's ex-wife, Jenna Wheeler."
"She's wrong. We brought him in for questioning. He was never arrested."
"Are you still holding him?"
"No, he was free to go."
"And now?"
Walker cleared his throat. "Now we continue our investigation."
"Wow, that sounds official."
"You're a reporter."
"Not anymore, but okay, let's make this conversation off the record."
"Off the record, we don't have a case. We don't have a body. We don't have a
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