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“Yes, but ninety-nine times out of a hundred, a suspect is going to say they didn’t do it.”
“You’ve interviewed a hundred homicide suspects?”
“Figure of speech,” Conklin said. “I don’t know how many homicide suspects I’ve interviewed. Quite a few.”
“I see,” Davis said. “Is it a figure of speech to say that you and Sergeant Boxer tricked and bullied my client until she confessed?”
“Objection!” Yuki called out from her seat.
“Sustained.”
“I’ll rephrase. As we all know, Ms. Moon’s ‘confession,’ ” Davis said, making the universal symbol for quote marks with the first two fingers of each hand, “wasn’t on tape, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“So we don’t know the tenor of that interview, do we?”
“I guess you just have to trust me,” Conklin said.
Davis smiled, wound up for the pitch. “Inspector, did you take notes of Ms. Moon’s statement?”
“Yes.”
“I asked to see those notes during discovery,” Davis said, “but I was told you no longer had them.”
Conklin’s cheeks colored. “That’s right.”
“I want to make sure I understand what you’re telling us, Inspector,” Davis said in the snotty tone she’d perfected over decades and was using now in an attempt to undermine and humiliate Conklin.
“You were investigating a probable murder. As you told us, Ms. Moon was your primary witness, or maybe a suspect. You had no taped record, so you made a written record. That was so you could tell the court and the jury what the defendant said, right? And then you threw the notes away — can you tell us why?”
“I used my notes as the basis for my report. Once my report was typed, I didn’t need them anymore.”
“No? But what’s a better record of that interview? The notes you took that night? Or the report you filled out a couple of days later? You’re supposed to keep those notes, aren’t you, Inspector? . . . Inspector?
“Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer my question.”
Yuki clenched her fists under the table. She hadn’t known Conklin had destroyed his notes, but while it wasn’t kosher, homicide cops did it all the time.
Judge Bendinger shifted in his seat, asked Conklin to answer the question.
Reluctantly, Conklin said, “My notes would be more of a verbatim account, but —”
“But still, you felt it was appropriate to throw them out? Is there a shortage of storage space at the Hall of Justice? Were the file cabinets full, maybe?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Davis asked, letting the question hang in the dead silence of the courtroom.
“Do you remember where you threw the notes? In the garbage perhaps, or out your car window? Maybe you flushed them down the toilet?”
“Your Honor,” Yuki said. “Defense counsel is badgering the witness —”
“Overruled. The witness may answer,” said Judge Bendinger.
“I shredded them,” Conklin said, the cords in his neck straining against the white collar of his shirt.
“Please tell the jury why you shredded your notes.”
