Pop Goes the Weasel

missing. I haven’t given up hope that she’ll be found. I pray every day that she’s still alive.”
    Halpern clucked sympathetically. He was good, much like his client. “I really am sorry. Did the department give you adequate time off?”
    “They were understanding and helpful,” I said, feeling my jaw stiffen with resentment. I hated that Halpern was using what had happened to Christine to unsettle me.
    “Detective, were you officially back on active duty at the time of Detective Hampton’s murder?”
    “Yes, I went back on full-time duty about a week before the murder.”
    “Was it requested that you stay off active duty for a while longer?”
    “It was left up to me. The chief of detectives did question my ability to resume my duties, but he made it my choice.”
    Halpern nodded thoughtfully. “He felt your head might be elsewhere? Who could blame you if it was?”
    “I was upset, I still am, but I’ve been able to work. It’s been good for me. The right thing to do.”
    There were several more questions about my state of mind, and then Halpern asked, “When you found out that Detective Hampton had been murdered, how upset were you?”
    “I did my job. It was a bad homicide scene.” Your client is a butcher. Do you really want to get him off? Do you realize what you’re doing?
    “Your fingerprints were on Detective Hampton’s belt and on the dashboard of her car. Her blood was on your clothes.”
    I paused for several seconds before I spoke again. Then I tried to explain. “There was a huge, jagged tear in Detective Hampton’s jugular vein. Blood was everywhere in the car, and even on the cement floor of the garage. I tried to help Detective Hampton until I was certain she was dead. That’s why my fingerprints were in the car and Detective Hampton’s blood was on my clothes.”
    “You tracked blood upstairs?”
    “No, I did not. I checked my shoes carefully before I left the garage. I checked twice . I checked because I didn’t want to track any blood up into the building.”
    “But you were upset, you admit that much. A police officer had been murdered. You forgot to put on gloves when you first searched the scene. There was blood on your clothes. How can you possibly be so sure?”
    I stared directly into his eyes and tried to be as calm as he was. “I know exactly what happened that night. I know who killed Patsy Hampton in cold blood.”
    He raised his voice suddenly. “No, you do not, sir. That’s the point. You do not . In frisking Colonel Geoffrey Shafer, isn’t it fair to say that you were in physical contact with him?”
    “Yes.”
    “And isn’t it possible blood from your clothes got onto his? Isn’t it even likely?”
    I wouldn’t give him an inch. I couldn’t. “No, it isn’t possible. That blood was on Geoffrey Shafer’s trousers before I arrived.”
    Halpern moved away from me. He wanted me to sweat. He walked over to the jury box, occasionally looking back at me. He asked several more questions about the crime scene, and then said, “But Dr. Cassady didn’t see any blood. And the two other officers didn’t see any blood, either — not until after you came into contact with Colonel Shafer . Colonel Shafer was on the phone for three to five minutes before he met with his therapist. He went straight there from his children’s birthday party. You have no evidence, Detective Cross! Except what you brought into Dr. Cassady’s apartment yourself. You have absolutely no evidence, Detective! You arrested the wrong man! You framed an innocent man!”
    Jules Halpern threw up his hands in disgust. “I have absolutely no further questions.”

Chapter 97
    I TOOK A BACK WAY out of the courthouse. I usually did that anyway, but on this day it was essential. I had to avoid the crowds and the press, and I needed to have a private moment to recover from my time on the witness stand.
    I’d just had my ass pretty well kicked by an expert asskicker. Tomorrow, Cathy Fitzgibbon would try to undo some of the damage in cross-exam.
    I was in no hurry as I walked down a back stairway that was used by maintenance and cleaning people in the building, and also served as a fire escape.
    It was becoming clear to me that there was a chance Geoffrey Shafer would be acquitted. His lawyers were the best, and we’d lost important evidence at the suppression hearing.
    And I had made a bad mistake at the homicide scene, when, in my rush to help Patsy Hampton, I’d neglected to put on