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“But we still have to deal with this lawsuit.” Arnett sipped his coffee, made a face, and set it back down. “They’ve pulled the lab records. The blood from the car was the only blood tested at the time. There’s no possibility that Zara Richards’ blood somehow contaminated the sample.”
Murphy waved away the suggestion with a smirk. “Who knows what the lab did or didn’t do?”
“We do,” Arnett said. “Because it was sent to DNA CompCorp, while none of the other tests from the case were.”
“So, talk to the tech that sent it out.” He shrugged, and drank.
“He’s retired, but it doesn’t matter.” Arnett dumped a packet of sugar into his coffee, stirred it, then looked up at Murphy. “Because his signature was forged.”
Jo caught the flash of fear before Murphy pasted on a skeptical expression. “They can’t know that.”
“I trust the tech who did the comparison.” Arnett’s eyes stayed on Murphy’s face.
Murphy turned pugnacious. “More than you trust me.”
“I trust that you want bad men off the street, and innocent men free,” Arnett said. “I trust that when you were on the force you showed up every day with the best of intentions. But I need to know what happened and why, because Ossokov is coming after you and me next.”
Murphy grimaced at him. “You know what happened, Bob.”
“I don’t know what happened with the blood,” Arnett said. “This is your chance to tell me your side of the story so I can help you.”
Murphy laughed, and his words slurred slightly. “How many suspects have I said that to?”
Arnett leaned forward. “We’re not in an interrogation room here. It’s just us, talking about old times over drinks. But if I have to, I’ll have our tech compare the forged signatures with your handwriting.”
Murphy’s eyes slid off Arnett’s, up to a spot above his head. His thumb ran up and down the condensation on the beer while he stared. “You won’t do that, Bob. Because you know what happened.”
“Refresh my memory.”
He turned to Jo, his eyes pleading with her. “Grace Bandara, from the Domestic and Sexual Violence Unit. She wanted to hold on to Ossokov like a steel trap, even if it meant he went free. Made a huge stink about it, and the DA was so concerned with how it would look if he favored one unit over another. Complete bullshit, because that’s the damned job. But Grace whined at the top of her lungs about how her evidence was stronger because she had the DNA match, and DNA was always better. Argued the jury would never believe the vic had consented to sex behind a bar dumpster. Like we don’t all know juries are justachingto victim-blame when it comes to rape, especially when the woman’s been drinking.”
Jo forced herself not to let her disgust show through—if he felt judged by her, he’d slam shut. She kept her face soft and nodded.
Encouraged, he continued. “And even if she did get a conviction, he wouldn’t have served more than a few years and then he’d’ve beenright back out thereraping other women. But a homicide conviction, that meant mandatory life with no possibility of parole. We couldn’t risk her fucking that up.”
Jo nodded again. “Very frustrating.”
“Frustrating isn’t the word. Agonizing. Infuriating. Because weknewhe did it. The third rape in the same one-mile radius in just over two years? Similar MO, except he’d escalated to murder?Come on.” He jutted his head toward her as he spat out the last two words, sending a wave of alcohol-laden breath toward her. Her stomach flipped; she’d seen countless decaying bodies, but she’d never been so close to vomiting.
“The DA told us Grace’s evidence was the safest bet. That if we got better evidence, he’d reconsider. And that pissed me off, but I’ll tell you, not as much as it pissed off Sandra. So, she told me to do whatever I had to do to find whatever would put him away for life.”
Jo put on a purposefully exaggerated expression. “But I’m confused. If you didn’t have the evidence—”
Murphy looked around and lowered his voice. “You want the real deal? Here it is. Sandra had been on a losing streak. Watched a string of scum just walk on off into the sunset due to technicalities or lack of evidence. She wanted the win and wasn’t going to let it go.”
“And you wanted to make sure he was off the streets for good,” Jo said. “Only now he’s back on the streets and he’s killing the people who put him there. One every morning for the last three days like clockwork, and you’re most likely next.”
“Let him come. Look at me—he’d be doing me a favor.” Murphy signaled the bartender for another beer. “I know what you’re thinking, I can see it in your face. You think it was an easy choice? It wasn’t. But I had a chance to put the fucker away for life, and I wasn’t gonna scratch on the eight. And I wouldn’t take that choice back, not for a second. But every time I look in the mirror, I see that damned forged evidence bag staring back at me. And no amount of these”—he pointed to the beer—“gets rid of it. And you’re no better, Bob, so don’t you dare fucking judge me.”
Arnett shook his head. “You never told me you were going to plant Zara’s blood.”
Murphy narrowed his eyes at Arnett. “Don’t fucking start that. You knew. Of course I didn’t say it outright, just like Sandra didn’t tellmeoutright what to do. Plausible deniability. But it was all clear.”
Arnett shook his head again. “I wasn’t in that conversation with Sandra. You had it when I wasn’t there.”
Murphy’s glass froze in midair. “You didn’t have to be. You knew what the issues were. You knew she and I talked things over. And you fucking for sure knew when everything suddenly turned onthat particular dime.”
Arnett opened his mouth to respond, but Murphy cut him off. “No. If I’m putting my cards on the table, you’re puttingyourcards on the table.” He punctuated his final words by pointing the glass at Arnett, causing beer to slop over the side: “You. Knew.”
