been granted permission. I called the police and checked out his badge number as he stood patiently at my door. As I waited for the dispatcher to make sure that Detective Moretti was who he said he was, my eyes fell down to his hands. They were rough and leathery.
“What can I help you with, Detective?” I asked as I showed him to a chair in my kitchen.
“Where were you at four-thirty p.m. today?” he asked, taking out a pad and a pen.
“What?” I said. I was struck by how Law and Order it all was. Detective Moretti looked up and waited for my answer, pen poised at his pad. “Taking my boyfriend to the hospital for an allergic reaction to nuts,” I said. “I was in an ambulance. Why?”
“You’re being investigated for the attempted murder of Jaime Castillo,” he said, looking up at me again. I assumed he was gauging my reaction to this news.
“What?” I said, thanking the gods above that Detective Moretti said “attempted murder” and not “murder.” “That’s ridiculous!”
“With all due respect, Ms. Goodman, you had a motive,” the detective said. “He was going to break up with you.” I never understood the expression “with all due respect.” Clearly he did not respect me—he was accusing me of assaulting a man with my deadly lips.
“You can call me Hannah. And who told you that he was going to break up with me?” I asked.
“Jaime’s mother,” he said, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Well, that is a total surprise to me,” I said, speaking very quickly. “I had no idea that we were breaking up.” I tried to remember something valuable from criminal law class. “And even if I did know, trying to kill him would not exactly be the best way to get Jaime to stay together with me, now would it?”
I spoke very quickly, saying anything that came to my head while I tried to remember my first year of law school. I got an A in criminal law; surely something should have stuck. Finally, I remembered something valuable: always lawyer up.
“I think I’d like to see my lawyer,” I said, and Detective Moretti stopped scribbling and put down his pen.
“This is only questioning, Ms. Goodman. Do you really think you need a lawyer?”
“I’m sorry, Detective Moretti,” I said, “I really think that I do.”
* * *
The next morning, I went downtown with Priya, who was acting as my attorney even though she actually practiced tax law. As we got closer to the Eighteenth Precinct, I was beginning to doubt my very juvenile plan to get out of this mess. I was counting on the fact that Detective Moretti would be awestruck by Priya’s beauty and let me out of the whole thing. Because if anyone could get you out of a mess just by being herself, it would be Priya.
Three years of law school and the best strategy I could come up with was to throw the detective off guard with a gorgeous tax attorney? No wonder my firm didn’t want to make me partner.
Priya pulled her tiny Mini Cooper up to the precinct and parked it right in front. Her father is a diplomat, which means that she can park anywhere she wants in the city, a fact she takes full advantage of. Priya touched up her pout—a quintessential part of our defense strategy—and we were off to face the detective.
We waited for about fifteen minutes in what I could only guess was an interrogation room from its similarity to one I had seen on an episode of CSI:NY. Two cups of decaf later, the detective strolled in. Try as he did to focus on the investigation, he couldn’t take his eyes off Priya. My plan was working perfectly. He and Priya made flirty chitchat as she crossed and uncrossed her legs in a very PG-13 Basic Instinct fashion. The swoosh of her nylons seemed to have the intended effect: Detective Moretti was awestruck.
“Sorry I’m late,” the assistant DA said as he flew into the room. “Hi, I’m Nate—”
“Sugarman,” I finished.
“Hannah,” he said, with a look on his face that I couldn’t
“What can I help you with, Detective?” I asked as I showed him to a chair in my kitchen.
“Where were you at four-thirty p.m. today?” he asked, taking out a pad and a pen.
“What?” I said. I was struck by how Law and Order it all was. Detective Moretti looked up and waited for my answer, pen poised at his pad. “Taking my boyfriend to the hospital for an allergic reaction to nuts,” I said. “I was in an ambulance. Why?”
“You’re being investigated for the attempted murder of Jaime Castillo,” he said, looking up at me again. I assumed he was gauging my reaction to this news.
“What?” I said, thanking the gods above that Detective Moretti said “attempted murder” and not “murder.” “That’s ridiculous!”
“With all due respect, Ms. Goodman, you had a motive,” the detective said. “He was going to break up with you.” I never understood the expression “with all due respect.” Clearly he did not respect me—he was accusing me of assaulting a man with my deadly lips.
“You can call me Hannah. And who told you that he was going to break up with me?” I asked.
“Jaime’s mother,” he said, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Well, that is a total surprise to me,” I said, speaking very quickly. “I had no idea that we were breaking up.” I tried to remember something valuable from criminal law class. “And even if I did know, trying to kill him would not exactly be the best way to get Jaime to stay together with me, now would it?”
I spoke very quickly, saying anything that came to my head while I tried to remember my first year of law school. I got an A in criminal law; surely something should have stuck. Finally, I remembered something valuable: always lawyer up.
“I think I’d like to see my lawyer,” I said, and Detective Moretti stopped scribbling and put down his pen.
“This is only questioning, Ms. Goodman. Do you really think you need a lawyer?”
“I’m sorry, Detective Moretti,” I said, “I really think that I do.”
* * *
The next morning, I went downtown with Priya, who was acting as my attorney even though she actually practiced tax law. As we got closer to the Eighteenth Precinct, I was beginning to doubt my very juvenile plan to get out of this mess. I was counting on the fact that Detective Moretti would be awestruck by Priya’s beauty and let me out of the whole thing. Because if anyone could get you out of a mess just by being herself, it would be Priya.
Three years of law school and the best strategy I could come up with was to throw the detective off guard with a gorgeous tax attorney? No wonder my firm didn’t want to make me partner.
Priya pulled her tiny Mini Cooper up to the precinct and parked it right in front. Her father is a diplomat, which means that she can park anywhere she wants in the city, a fact she takes full advantage of. Priya touched up her pout—a quintessential part of our defense strategy—and we were off to face the detective.
We waited for about fifteen minutes in what I could only guess was an interrogation room from its similarity to one I had seen on an episode of CSI:NY. Two cups of decaf later, the detective strolled in. Try as he did to focus on the investigation, he couldn’t take his eyes off Priya. My plan was working perfectly. He and Priya made flirty chitchat as she crossed and uncrossed her legs in a very PG-13 Basic Instinct fashion. The swoosh of her nylons seemed to have the intended effect: Detective Moretti was awestruck.
“Sorry I’m late,” the assistant DA said as he flew into the room. “Hi, I’m Nate—”
“Sugarman,” I finished.
“Hannah,” he said, with a look on his face that I couldn’t
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