Partners

14.

Knoxel brought a lawyer to the meeting, a union veteran named Dahl, a tough labor guy the cops ran to when they were in trouble. Dahl had once been a cop and had learned the ways of the streets from the gutters up. He truly believed that no cop should ever be punished. The average citizen wanted to be safe but had no idea what that required of the men in blue. Any day could be their last. The criminals had them outnumbered. The pressures were enormous, and if they cracked occasionally it should be overlooked or swept under the rug.

On the phone Mancini said it was bad. As Dahl and Knoxel read the sworn statement from Jane Doe, Mancini watched them carefully. He fancied himself a shrewd observer of people. He had to be. Success in the courtroom often turned on which side presented the most effective witnesses. Smooth liars, and they were rare, often convinced jurors. Honest witnesses often came across as unsteady because of the pressure.

Watching Knoxel read the affidavit, Max Mancini had no doubt Jane was telling the truth. When Knoxel finished, he huffed and tossed it on the table. “What a crock of shit,” he said.

“Unbelievable,” said Dahl.

“Were you with the girl?” Mancini asked.

“What? Hell no.”

“You’re lying, Keith. Look at you. Your eyes. You’re a deer in headlights.”

Knoxel flinched as his jaw dropped open. He had just been called a liar by the chief prosecutor. They were on the same side, weren’t they?

Because he had to say something, Dahl offered a weak “You don’t believe this stuff, Max, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Mancini said, glaring at Knoxel. “It’s what the jury believes.”

Knoxel’s heart was pounding and his forehead was moist. He looked away and thought of his wife and three children. The marriage wasn’t that stable at the moment anyway; they were barely holding it together for the kids. This testimony from China, in a crowded courtroom with the press licking up every word, would be the end. He had fantasized about his wife sitting proudly in the front row while he carried the ball for the entire force. He would be the man of the hour, and perhaps she would be proud of him.

He shook his head as Mancini bore holes in him. He would simply maintain his innocence, claim she was lying, and convince the jurors. Hell, he was a white cop. She was a black hooker. Surely credibility would swing his way. He managed to say, without a trace of conviction, “Come on, Max, she’s lying. This is just some more fiction created by Rudd.”

Max replied, “I don’t trust Rudd for a moment. But how do you respond to paragraph number ten, where she says there’s at least one other girl who can identify you as a customer? And, of course, the pimp.”

“I’ll bet the pimp has a record a mile long,” Dahl offered gamely.

“He doesn’t,” Max snapped without taking his eyes off Knoxel. “The cops leave him alone for some reason.”

“It’s a crock, Max, okay. All fiction. I’ve never met this girl and I don’t sleep with hookers.” Knoxel folded his arms over his chest and pouted like a four-year-old. How dare they question his integrity. Worse than the divorce would be the humiliation in front of his brethren. They were counting on him, the star eyewitness, to nail Tee Ray, to deliver a guilty verdict followed by the death penalty. For eleven months Keith Knoxel had been their hero, the comrade who would avenge the killing of one of their own. Now, though, he was being accused of having a little paid sex in a run-down flophouse with a minor while his partner was gunned down a block away.

He would be ostracized, cut out, ignored, fired, or worse. Divorced and out of work. “I don’t believe this,” he mumbled.