Chapter 12
Sam
My uncle’s words rattle around in my frozen brain. Do we have two feathered friends? If so, what is the common stone that binds the cases together?
As we traverse Staten Island, the feeling returns to my fingers and toes. By the time we cross the Verrazano, I’ve stopped shivering. I’m warm on the Belt Parkway and unzip my jacket in the Battery Tunnel.
A few minutes later, we exit in front of One Police Plaza where it’s raining cats and dogs. Probably a few rats, too.
The largest one of all rolls down his limo’s back window and waves. “Nice doin’ business wid youz.”
Grabbing my hand, my husband mutters something about payback being a bitch and when we reach the visitor’s entrance, holds the door.
My dad rushes over, gives me a hug, and scowls at Suds. “Is this what you call taking care of my daughter?”
“Daddy, knock it off.” God, anyone would think I was still in grade school.
I step back and introduce our fugitive. “This is our client, Ms. Bright.”
He inspects her, then eyes Andy Quinn, who, other than being a little damp, looks ready to enter the courtroom.
“Chief. Nice to see you.” The attorney nods and shoots out his hand, making it impossible for my father to ignore.
“Wish I could say the same. Don’t know why your firm continues to associate with these degenerates.” His gaze sweeps to Slate, too busy watching the hall to notice the slight.
“You got an office, sir, where we can be less obvious?” The lawyer’s tone, while respectful, is also demanding.
“Yeah, sure.” My father ushers us into an interrogation room and allows everyone to sit before shouting. “I want details. Every damn one.”
With her advocate making sure she doesn’t incriminate herself, the teenager relates her story once again. As she describes finding Akash’s body, tears well. “I swear I didn’t kill him.”
By noon, Andy has worked out a deal. If the girl cooperates, they’ll lessen the charges, perhaps even drop them altogether. This, I learn, is because the governor is under a lot of pressure to find the UB killer. Even so, I’m surprised when Detective O’Rourke walks in the room.
Introductions are made, then he hands Chrissy a pile of paperwork. “Congratulations.”
She reads, smiles, and holds them high in the air. “Woo hoo! I’m emancipated.”
Andy scours the documents and scowls at the upstate cop. “How convenient. Now, you don’t need her mother’s permission to get her to help you.”
The guy shrugs. “You don’t like it, we can skip these shenanigans and take her to jail.”
They argue and when finished, we all sit around a large table with twenty-inch monitors and three laptops. A landline is placed in front of the girl and the rest of us listen in with headphones.
“Ready?” The techie in charge eyes our client who swallows hard and nods. Seconds later, the other end rings three times, and a heavy breather picks up.
Chrissy bites her lower lip and leans toward the mic. “Hi. Is that you, Ronnie?”
It takes so long for a response, I fear the madam knows we’re onto her.
“Where the fuck are you?” Her anger is a good sign. Hopefully, the teen can use it to make the woman say something incriminating.
“I was at my mom’s, then stayed at a hotel.”
The laugh on the other side of the phone isn’t nice. “I bet you spent all the money you stole from me and now you want me to take you back.”
The young woman lifts her lashes, glances at Andy and when he nods, she lowers her voice. “So? Will you?”
“I’m not sure. Where are you?”
