calls,” Babbage said evenly. “As a supervisor, I’ve got to set an example for my officers.”
Erin tried to sound seductive. “It’ll be worth your while.” But her voice cracked. Shit, shit, shit.
“Didn’t you hear what I just told you?” Babbage snapped. “No personal calls. I’ve got to hang up now.”
“Wait,” she blurted. “Don’t you want to see me? Don’t you want more of what you got Monday night?”
“What are you talking about? Is this some kind of shakedown? If so, you’ve picked the wrong guy to mess with!”
“You bastard!” she shouted. “You threatened to arrest me unless I … unless I gave you a … blowjob. Don’t try to deny it.”
Babbage shouted back. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m going to find out, and when I do, there’ll be some justice done. You can count on it.” The phone went dead with a loud click.
“Now what?” Erin said, hanging up.
Lundy took the handset back, listened, and nodded, confirming that everything had been recorded as planned.
“We still file the case,” Lundy said, putting down his earphone. “It’s not going to be a problem. Thankfully we have the DNA on your blouse, so it won’t just be your word against his. It would have been good if you’d come in immediately afterwards; we could also have prepared a sexual assault kit and might have gotten hair or semen samples.”
“I know,” Erin said. “That’s the first thing Sean said when I called him, but by then I’d taken my shower. I was going to trash my blouse—no way I’d ever wear it again without remembering what happened to me. Luckily I talked to Sean first.”
Sean handed Fitzgerald a plastic bag. “The blouse is inside,” Sean said. “I hope the lab finds something. If only—”
“What’s done is done,” Lundy interrupted. “We’re okay with the corroboration we’ve developed. Your six-pack photo lineup identification; the fact that he’s a sergeant, on duty and unaccounted for during the incident; and, very important, his knowing your first name and acknowledging that he’d talked to you. With all that, it’s an automatic conviction. In fact, I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t plead guilty to get a lighter sentence rather than face a trial he’s sure to lose.”
“I hope so,” Sean said. He picked up the six-pack Erin had looked at. “Which photo?”
“Number three,” Fitz said.
Sean frowned and studied the photo. “There’s something vaguely familiar about him. Something about the eyes.”
9
Babbage
Thursday, June 22
Y esterday morning his lieutenant had broken the news to Babbage. Internal Affairs had notified the captain that criminal charges had been filed against Babbage, based on the Erin Collins’s complaint. Babbage had to turn in his badge and weapon and was being suspended with pay pending his trial on the matter. Internal Affairs would not be interviewing him or scheduling any Board of Rights hearing until the criminal charges were resolved.
From the lieutenant’s office, Babbage went straight to Henderson, the union rep, who told Babbage that the union would hire a lawyer to represent him at all proceedings. An hour later, Henderson called Babbage. The lawyer was a hotshot named Anthony Giovanni, and Babbage better be early to his 10:30 appointment—the lawyer’s time was valuable, and the union didn’t want to pay for lawyer-time spent waiting.
Babbage arrived at 10 a.m.
The office was impressive. These fucking assholes really know how to spend the union’s money , Babbage thought, looking around at polished hardwood floors, fancy Persian rugs, and oil paintings, and hearing piped-in classical music. But what kind of lawyer would work in a place like this—with flowery smells, leafy plants, and soft lighting? He almost turned around and walked out.
But he couldn’t.
At 10:45, a secretary escorted Babbage to the lawyer’s office. Anthony Giovanni stood behind a huge desk and held out his pudgy hand.
Erin tried to sound seductive. “It’ll be worth your while.” But her voice cracked. Shit, shit, shit.
“Didn’t you hear what I just told you?” Babbage snapped. “No personal calls. I’ve got to hang up now.”
“Wait,” she blurted. “Don’t you want to see me? Don’t you want more of what you got Monday night?”
“What are you talking about? Is this some kind of shakedown? If so, you’ve picked the wrong guy to mess with!”
“You bastard!” she shouted. “You threatened to arrest me unless I … unless I gave you a … blowjob. Don’t try to deny it.”
Babbage shouted back. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m going to find out, and when I do, there’ll be some justice done. You can count on it.” The phone went dead with a loud click.
“Now what?” Erin said, hanging up.
Lundy took the handset back, listened, and nodded, confirming that everything had been recorded as planned.
“We still file the case,” Lundy said, putting down his earphone. “It’s not going to be a problem. Thankfully we have the DNA on your blouse, so it won’t just be your word against his. It would have been good if you’d come in immediately afterwards; we could also have prepared a sexual assault kit and might have gotten hair or semen samples.”
“I know,” Erin said. “That’s the first thing Sean said when I called him, but by then I’d taken my shower. I was going to trash my blouse—no way I’d ever wear it again without remembering what happened to me. Luckily I talked to Sean first.”
Sean handed Fitzgerald a plastic bag. “The blouse is inside,” Sean said. “I hope the lab finds something. If only—”
“What’s done is done,” Lundy interrupted. “We’re okay with the corroboration we’ve developed. Your six-pack photo lineup identification; the fact that he’s a sergeant, on duty and unaccounted for during the incident; and, very important, his knowing your first name and acknowledging that he’d talked to you. With all that, it’s an automatic conviction. In fact, I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t plead guilty to get a lighter sentence rather than face a trial he’s sure to lose.”
“I hope so,” Sean said. He picked up the six-pack Erin had looked at. “Which photo?”
“Number three,” Fitz said.
Sean frowned and studied the photo. “There’s something vaguely familiar about him. Something about the eyes.”
9
Babbage
Thursday, June 22
Y esterday morning his lieutenant had broken the news to Babbage. Internal Affairs had notified the captain that criminal charges had been filed against Babbage, based on the Erin Collins’s complaint. Babbage had to turn in his badge and weapon and was being suspended with pay pending his trial on the matter. Internal Affairs would not be interviewing him or scheduling any Board of Rights hearing until the criminal charges were resolved.
From the lieutenant’s office, Babbage went straight to Henderson, the union rep, who told Babbage that the union would hire a lawyer to represent him at all proceedings. An hour later, Henderson called Babbage. The lawyer was a hotshot named Anthony Giovanni, and Babbage better be early to his 10:30 appointment—the lawyer’s time was valuable, and the union didn’t want to pay for lawyer-time spent waiting.
Babbage arrived at 10 a.m.
The office was impressive. These fucking assholes really know how to spend the union’s money , Babbage thought, looking around at polished hardwood floors, fancy Persian rugs, and oil paintings, and hearing piped-in classical music. But what kind of lawyer would work in a place like this—with flowery smells, leafy plants, and soft lighting? He almost turned around and walked out.
But he couldn’t.
At 10:45, a secretary escorted Babbage to the lawyer’s office. Anthony Giovanni stood behind a huge desk and held out his pudgy hand.
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