Magic Hour, Susan Isaacs [life changing books txt] 📗

tile, egocentric, that they lie as naturally as most people tell the truth. “Come on, Ray. Walk me down to the lab.”

“Brady,” Shea said, “you know what this bravado shit—‘Take me to the lab!’—is gonna get you?”

“Yeah. Exonerated.”

“No. Because I am going to call your bluff, you son of a bitch. I want you in the lab now. You hear me? You built a great case, and all of a sudden, when the commissioner, the county exec, the goddamn national media is at my throat, you’re sabotaging it. What are we gonna look like when the press finds out we had her and we let her slip through our fingers?”

“Frank, ask yourself: Why would I let a thing like that happen?”

“Because you’ve been on a binge and you’ve lost all sense of judgment, of decency…” His voice got louder, more theat-rical. He grabbed the paperweight, held it in his fist and shook it at me. “…of obligation to the department. And to me! I stuck my neck out for you.”

I stood and turned to Ray. “You’re the psychology genius.

Why would I…Even if I’d fallen off the wagon and went on the biggest bender of my life, what motive would I have for screwing up a case? If I thought Bonnie Spencer killed Sy, why wouldn’t I drink four or five toasts to justice and arrest the bitch?”

Shea didn’t give Carbone time to answer. “Because Robby saw you with her in her house when you went in with the search warrant. He saw how you got rid of him, sent him upstairs. And he saw you nosing around after her, following her from room to room. And then, when you asked her about where she got the money in the boot, you put on kid gloves.

So gentlemanly. Wimping out: You called that catalog MAGIC HOUR / 263

guy like it was killing you. Like the truth was killing you.”

“Shea, this is nuts.”

“And then all of a sudden, you’re onto Lindsay theories, Mikey theories. Onto anything that will keep Robby off Bonnie Spencer. So to answer your question: Why wouldn’t you arrest the bitch? Because for some stupid, drunken reason, you’ve fallen for her.”

I passed the Breathalyzer test, of course. Then I walked a painted line, from heel to toe, picked up a nickel, a dime and a quarter without fumbling, recited the alphabet. It took a couple of minutes more to pee into a cup and get blood drawn. Ray stood by while the tech stuck the needle in. He said, “Shea will be glad to hear about the breath test, and if the others come out all right—”

“You believe that feeling in love shit?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know Lynne, Ray. I’m asking you, do you think when I have someone like her I’d go for an old broad that every guy in town has had a piece of?”

“I saw her when she came in for the test. She’s not bad.”

“She’s no Lynne.”

“Look, all I know is you have a beautiful, well-constructed case against her—I heard you present it—and suddenly you’re throwing it away. Why? ”

“Because I don’t think she did it.”

Carbone shook his head. “I can’t buy that, Steve.”

“Where’s Robby?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know why he didn’t have the balls to face me.”

“He would have.”

“Except?”

“Except he’s down at Southampton Town Court 264 / SUSAN ISAACS

getting a warrant. And then he’s going to arrest Bonnie Spencer.”

Bonnie opened the back door a crack. “Do you have a warrant?”

“No. Listen, Bonnie—”

She shut the door hard, just short of a slam. I rang the bell. Nothing, except Moose right by the door, barking, trying to sound like a watchdog but giving away the game by the ecstatic wagging of her tail. I squinted, trying to see past the lace kitchen curtains. Bonnie had disappeared into the house.

I love the way cops in movies whip out a credit card, diddle a cylinder and the door springs open. I wasted about five minutes with a card, my Swiss Army knife and every key I had on my key ring. It was a bitch, because I had to do it quietly, so she wouldn’t call Headquarters and claim I was harassing her. Finally, the lock clicked open and I was in.

I didn’t have to do a room-to-room; Moose led me to an open door, then downstairs, to the basement. Bonnie stood by the dryer, folding a dish towel. When she looked up to greet Moose, she saw me. Jesus, did she scream!

“Bonnie, please, listen to me. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her head swiveled in a frantic search for something to protect herself with, but you can’t fight off an armed and dangerous psychopathic cop with a plastic bottle of Downy. I took a step toward her, I suppose wanting to touch her, reassure her I was there to help, but she drew back, as if trying to disappear into the narrow gap between the washer and the dryer. So I kept my distance. “I know you think I’m insane or something, but just listen, because there’s not much time.”

Shit. “Not much time” was the wrong thing to say. Bonnie’s eyes clouded, as if she comprehended she had only a few minutes more

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to live. “Bonnie, pay attention. The guy I’m working with on this case, Kurz, the asshole with the hairspray. He left Headquarters before I did. He’s going to court to get a warrant for your arrest. So time is a factor here. If he knocks on your door in the next couple of minutes, I can’t…I can’t help you. Understand?” She didn’t say anything, but she was listening. She looked straight into my eyes. It was such a probing gaze I felt she could absorb all my thoughts, understand precisely what I was there for. But she just waited for me to go on. “I have doubts. I mean, I don’t think you should be arrested yet. There are still too many questions about