would want to punish her for that?”
Nellie shook her head. “I can’t see—”
Max interrupted her. “Or her man. Do you know his name?”
“No. He don’t never come in. I never seen him.”
16
U P IN J UHLE’S office, end of the day, his two inspectors had no objection to the addition of Glitsky to the investigative team. In fact, they welcomed him back to Homicide almost as though he were the prodigal son. Wes Farrell had laid out the situation clearly to Juhle, and the lieutenant had welcomed the idea, because to a large extent it took the heat off both him and his inspectors.
Surely, the fact that he was willing to accept an African-American (well, half African-American) DA investigator underscored Juhle’s own sensitivity to the reservations and concerns of the black community. Because of Glitsky’s reputation and—Juhle couldn’t deny it—his skin color, they had at least one card to counter the argument that the police and the DA’s office weren’t committed to finding and convicting the person who’d murdered Anlya Paulson.
It wouldn’t stop Liam Goodman, but it certainly didn’t help him.
The decision was both political and cynical; it pandered to the lowest common denominator of the populace and all in all was not very pretty, but it gave the police and the DA’s office a little breathing room.
Not that they all hadn’t felt that they were hot on the scent of Greg Treadway. Or were, at least until Waverly started telling them about the call he’d taken fifteen minutes ago from Mr. Treadway’s attorney, admitting that her client had been less than truthful and forthcoming during his statement last night, and purporting to explain why. And in all, it was a perfectly plausible explanation, not that any of the inspectors were remotely tempted to believe it.
“But this wasn’t Treadway telling you himself that he lied?” Yamashiro asked.
“No. Specifically not. It was his attorney. She pointed out that since we’dseen them at Everett, Mr. Treadway had told her the whole truth and now, out of her love for justice and the goodness of her heart, she was telling us the real story. That makes it hearsay, which she also took pains to point out. But our knowing the real truth will help keep us from error, and we won’t have to waste any more of our time suspecting or investigating her client.”
“That is so thoughtful of her,” Juhle said.
“I know,” Waverly said. “I was profuse in my thanks.”
“The bottom line,” Glitsky said, “is we’re not getting anything more from him.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“How do you want us to handle this, Dev?” Glitsky asked. Then, to the two inspectors, “Do we have anything else that resembles a lead?”
Yamashiro spoke up. “Something may have been going on in the foster home she lived in. Eric and I talked to some of the girls there, and evidently, Anlya had some kind of falling-out with one of them. Her best friend, Honor.”
“Honor?” Glitsky asked.
“Her name, the friend’s name,” Yamashiro said. “Honor Wilson. The two of them left the house together that night, the same night Treadway picked her up. Then they split up.”
“Basically,” Waverly added, “Honor didn’t want to talk about any of it. Nothing had happened. They just said goodbye, and that was the last time she saw Anlya. But in the absence of Mr. Treadway, we’re going to want to talk to her again.”
“Which leaves the witnesses from the original scene,” Juhle said.
“How many?” Glitsky asked.
Juhle looked to his inspectors. “Guys?”
“Five,” Waverly said, “but maybe only four we can contact again, since one of them was a homeless guy who walked away before anybody thought to get his name. But the patrolman who talked to him said he might recognize him if he saw him again. Not that he’d necessarily be able to provide much in the way of reliable evidence, but you never know. The other four didn’t have too much to
Nellie shook her head. “I can’t see—”
Max interrupted her. “Or her man. Do you know his name?”
“No. He don’t never come in. I never seen him.”
16
U P IN J UHLE’S office, end of the day, his two inspectors had no objection to the addition of Glitsky to the investigative team. In fact, they welcomed him back to Homicide almost as though he were the prodigal son. Wes Farrell had laid out the situation clearly to Juhle, and the lieutenant had welcomed the idea, because to a large extent it took the heat off both him and his inspectors.
Surely, the fact that he was willing to accept an African-American (well, half African-American) DA investigator underscored Juhle’s own sensitivity to the reservations and concerns of the black community. Because of Glitsky’s reputation and—Juhle couldn’t deny it—his skin color, they had at least one card to counter the argument that the police and the DA’s office weren’t committed to finding and convicting the person who’d murdered Anlya Paulson.
It wouldn’t stop Liam Goodman, but it certainly didn’t help him.
The decision was both political and cynical; it pandered to the lowest common denominator of the populace and all in all was not very pretty, but it gave the police and the DA’s office a little breathing room.
Not that they all hadn’t felt that they were hot on the scent of Greg Treadway. Or were, at least until Waverly started telling them about the call he’d taken fifteen minutes ago from Mr. Treadway’s attorney, admitting that her client had been less than truthful and forthcoming during his statement last night, and purporting to explain why. And in all, it was a perfectly plausible explanation, not that any of the inspectors were remotely tempted to believe it.
“But this wasn’t Treadway telling you himself that he lied?” Yamashiro asked.
“No. Specifically not. It was his attorney. She pointed out that since we’dseen them at Everett, Mr. Treadway had told her the whole truth and now, out of her love for justice and the goodness of her heart, she was telling us the real story. That makes it hearsay, which she also took pains to point out. But our knowing the real truth will help keep us from error, and we won’t have to waste any more of our time suspecting or investigating her client.”
“That is so thoughtful of her,” Juhle said.
“I know,” Waverly said. “I was profuse in my thanks.”
“The bottom line,” Glitsky said, “is we’re not getting anything more from him.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“How do you want us to handle this, Dev?” Glitsky asked. Then, to the two inspectors, “Do we have anything else that resembles a lead?”
Yamashiro spoke up. “Something may have been going on in the foster home she lived in. Eric and I talked to some of the girls there, and evidently, Anlya had some kind of falling-out with one of them. Her best friend, Honor.”
“Honor?” Glitsky asked.
“Her name, the friend’s name,” Yamashiro said. “Honor Wilson. The two of them left the house together that night, the same night Treadway picked her up. Then they split up.”
“Basically,” Waverly added, “Honor didn’t want to talk about any of it. Nothing had happened. They just said goodbye, and that was the last time she saw Anlya. But in the absence of Mr. Treadway, we’re going to want to talk to her again.”
“Which leaves the witnesses from the original scene,” Juhle said.
“How many?” Glitsky asked.
Juhle looked to his inspectors. “Guys?”
“Five,” Waverly said, “but maybe only four we can contact again, since one of them was a homeless guy who walked away before anybody thought to get his name. But the patrolman who talked to him said he might recognize him if he saw him again. Not that he’d necessarily be able to provide much in the way of reliable evidence, but you never know. The other four didn’t have too much to
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