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“Not that I’m aware of.” Ossokov’s index fingernail raked over the battery compartment of the remote, flicking back and forth. “But maybe. I’ll ask.”
Jo measured his body language and his cadence—he was choosing his words with care. Why?
“I’ve read a few of your statements to the press. You’ve been careful to say you don’t harbor any ill will toward anyone involved, and that you’re just glad the ordeal is over. So you have no lingering resentment?”
The flicking stopped, and he leaned forward—toward Arnett. “Of course I struggle with lingering resentment, I just don’t allow myself to give in to it. How would you feel about someone who had you locked up for a crime you didn’t commit?”
Jo spotted the twitch in Arnett’s temple, and raised the fingers of her left hand just enough for him to notice:Let me handle it. Every word you say is a potential land mine. He remained silent.
“I know I’d be angry,” she said. “The rational part of my brain would understand that Sandra Ashville had been assigned to my case, that a grand jury had made the indictment, and she was just doing her job to the best of her ability. But the emotional part would be screaming that someone needed to pay.”
Ossokov’s gaze slid to her, then back again to Arnett. “I just want to live what’s left of my life, Detective. In peace. Without the same people who put me away showing up at my door looking to lock me back up.” Ossokov set down the remote and picked up his phone from the coffee table. “When I saw Detective Arnett coming up my driveway, I hoped he was coming to deliver some sort of apology to me for what he’d done. I suppose I should have known that was a ridiculous thing to hope for, but considering I’ve had nothing but a bureaucratic ‘apology’ through attorneys, I thought perhaps it was possible. But it’s clear now you’re here to harass me, so I think it’s best I contact my attorney.”
Jo stood, and Arnett slowly rose to her side. “That’s certainly your right. But whether you feel harassed or not, two women who played a role in your incarceration have been murdered, and the SPDU can’t ignore that just because it might hurt your feelings. If itisjust a coincidence that those two women turned up dead shortly after you were released from prison, it would be in your best interest to help us eliminate you as a suspect.”
Ossokov also stood, his face still passive, but now he spoke directly to her. “The SPDU could have sent out any detectives in the unit to talk to me, but they senthim. Do you expect me to believethat’sa coincidence? Whatever it is he’s doing here, I can assure you, it’s a very,verybig mistake.”
Jo very gently raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Ossokov, that sounds very much like a threat. I don’t respond well to threats.”
He stared directly into her eyes. “Neither do I, Detective. Now please leave my home.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
A chill settled through Jo as they climbed back into the Crown Vic—the way Ossokov had looked at Arnett penetrated to her bones. He hadn’t just been annoyed, or tired of dealing with the situation. The look had been pointed. Calculating. “He didn’t respond well to seeing you.”
“No, he didn’t,” Arnett said as she set the GPS. “I should’ve anticipated that and had you go with someone else.”
“There was no reason to think he’d respond that way with all the love and light he’s been feeding to the press.” She turned to him. “Did something happen when you were investigating him that led to some sort of rancor?”
Arnett turned up his palm in a frustrated gesture. “Me specifically? Not that I’m aware of. I was nowhere near the shit storm.”
“Shit storm?”
He scrubbed his hand through the back of his hair. “I already told you. The other ADA—Grace Bandara, I think?—already had the prior rapes up in front of a grand jury. It was a battle royale between her and Ashville over who was going to prosecute him when Zara Richards’ murder came in. With multiple detectives and ADAs looking to make sure he ended up behind bars, I’m sure he spent quite a lot of time at HQ having a variety of conversations.”
“Right. So why was it that Sandra was worried the other rape cases would drag down her case?”
His brows knit. “If I’m remembering correctly, in the one case, the witness couldn’t pick him out of the lineup, and while they had a DNA match in the other case, Ossokov claimed the sex had been consensual. From the start the case was going to hang on the one witness’s testimony.”
“But they had DNA in the Richards’ case. Pretty clear cut.”
“I think she was worried Ossokov would argue the sex had been consensual with Zara, and that someone else had killed her after. You have sex in a tight car, the possibility of scraping something that’s not usually bare and getting a tiny swipe of blood on the dash is pretty high.”
“And with someone else’s DNA on the cup and tape, the defense would have reasonable doubt.” Jo shook her head.
“We’ve both seen defendants get off with far more convoluted defenses.”
Jo sighed. “I keep forgetting to ask. Who was your partner on that case?”
A call from Marzillo preempted his response. She connected through speakerphone.
“Jo.” Marzillo’s brisk, efficient tone came over the line. “Just touching base. Dr. Krug made the autopsy her top priority given the situation. She’s running a tox panel, but can say with confidence that Judge Sakurai was killed by at least two blows to the head, possibly three, that fractured her skull. There are no other injuries anywhere on the body. She confirmed that the contours of the rock we found at the scene, particularly the portions covered in blood, are a match for the fracture. Even without knowing the rock was several feet from Judge Sakurai, she also determined that manner of death was homicide—Sakurai couldn’t have fallen and sustained such injuries.”
“What about the blood and hair on the rock?” Jo asked.
“Too early for DNA, but blood type matches Sakurai’s and several hairs attached to the rock match hers as well.”
“Safe assumption then,” Arnett said.
