Night Is the Hunter by Steven Gore Page B

hearings, and no evidence relating to the identity of the caller had been submitted to him.
    After fifteen minutes, McMullin closed the folder. “The name isn’t here.”
    He shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
    Donnally watched his skin stretch and whiten under the pressure, then redden. He had a sense the judge’s thoughts had moved on, beyond the words on the page.
    McMullin opened his eyes again. He stared at Donnally for a moment, then said, “And you believe Junior that it was a police officer who called?”
    â€œIt’s possible. I made those kinds of warning calls myself. If I got intelligence a contract was out on someone, I’d contact the target to tell him, even if it compromised an investigation. Like with Emanuel Jones. You remember him?”
    McMullin nodded. “His is still the longest sentence ever handed out by a judge in this county. Life plus three hundred years.”
    â€œJones was only alive to get sentenced because I warned him he was about to get hit. And it cost me an informant. I came too close to burning him because only a couple of people were in on it and they were real close to being about to figure out who was in a position to know what was supposed to happen. That informant never gave me anything again.”
    â€œThen maybe that’s all this was. A cop warning Edgar Senior. And since he got killed anyway, there wasn’t any need to put a continuing investigation at risk by giving the defense access to that kind of information.”
    â€œExcept Junior claims it wasn’t just a warning. The cop told him to check the street. That’s how he put himself in Dominguez’s sights.”
    â€œHow would Junior know what the caller said?”
    â€œBecause his father asked something like ‘You mean the front window?’ and then walked over and looked down.”
    â€œIs Junior claiming the officer was working for the Sureños?”
    Donnally shook his head. “He didn’t go that far. He might have been thinking it, but he didn’t say it.”
    McMullin leaned back in his chair. It gave Donnally the feeling that he was withdrawing from the issue or preparing to minimize it.
    â€œMaybe the whole thing was just a child’s fantasy,” McMullin said. “A way to look for someone big to blame for the death of his father. The bigger the conspiracy, the more important his father would be in the kid’s mind.”
    â€œThat’s possible. It could be that the cop meant for him just to peek out through some curtains, locate where the killer was lying in wait, then sneak out the back.”
    â€œBut that begs the question of why Senior wouldn’t have just stayed inside and out of harm’s way?”
    â€œThat depends on what the cop knew or believed at the time and what he’d said to Senior. Suppose the cop hadn’t known how the killer was going to do it.” Donnally gestured toward McMullin with an open hand. “Would you risk bringing violence to your mother’s home? The plan could’ve been to firebomb the apartment or make it a home invasion. Maybe Senior makes a show of getting away or sends someone back with a message, ‘Too late. You missed your chance.’”
    â€œBut the issue remains,” the judge said. “Did the information the officer received bear on who killed Senior and why the killer did it?”
    â€œOr just the why of it. Wasn’t that the fundamental issue in the trial? What Dominguez was thinking. First-degree premeditation or second-degree reckless disregard?”
    McMullin tilted his head back and stared at the wood-paneled ceiling. Donnally had seen that move in court as the judge listened to oral arguments on motions. It seemed to Donnally back then that McMullin wanted to use the blank screen above to focus his mind on the words alone, follow the logic of the arguments, uninfluenced by attorneys’ gestures and facial