James_Grippando_ _Jack_Swyteck_01_ _The

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pouring through his nostrils. We got Swyteck s prints on the handle of a
knife we found on the floor. I also had the blade checked. There was blood on
the tip. AB negative. Very rare. Same as Swyteck s. Lab found some fish-stick
remnants on there, too, which is what the autopsy showed Goss had for dinner.
And best of all, the blood came later, after the fish sticks.
Which means?
Which means that on the night Goss was murdered I can place Jack Swyteck in
the victim s apartment, after dinner, wielding a steak knife.
And you got a victim who was shot to death, the prosecutor fired back. I d
say we need more.
There is more. Just a few hours after the murder, about seven in the
morning, we interviewed Swyteck. This was before he was a suspect. Swyteck
came to the door in a pair of gym shorts, right outta bed. Nervous as a cat,
he was. Big bruise on his ribs. Looked like a bite mark on his belly. Fresh
red scratches on his back. Had an open cut on the back of his left hand, too.
It looked like a stab wound, to me and Bradley both. Just to look at him, I d
say he d been in a pretty recent scuffle.
And he would say he fell down the stairs.
Maybe, said Stafford, his voice gathering intensity. But he s gonna have a
hard time explaining how he knew Goss had been shot before we ever told him
so.
What do you mean?
I checked with the media. No news reports were out about Goss s murder until
almost eight o clock. We showed up at Swyteck s house at seven, and we told
him Goss had been killed but we didn t tell him how. Swyteck knew he had been
shot. He said so. It was a slip of the tongue, I think, but he was talking
about a shooting before we were.
McCue listened with interest. We re getting there, he said. He paused to
rub at his temples and think for a second. Why don t you just arrest him,
Lonnie. You know, maybe B and E or something, if all you want to do is rattle
his cage?
Stafford s eyes narrowed with contempt. I want to do more than rattle him. I
want toconvict his ass.
Because of what he did to you in the Goss trial? McCue asked directly.
Because he s guilty. The fact that I would thoroughly enjoy nailing his ass
doesn t change that. I wouldn t tag him or any one of those crusaders at the
Freedom Institute just to get even. Swyteckdid it. I m convinced of it. He
wigged out and blew away his scumbag client. He screwed up big time. And I
want to be the guy who makes him pay.
The prosecutor sighed heavily. We can t be wrong about this one.
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I mnot wrong. And if you d seen Swyteck s face that morning after the murder
like I did, you dknow I m not wrong. I ve got a feeling about this one,
Wilson. Not some flaky feeling you get when you wake up one morning and read
your horoscope. This one s based on a lifetime of police work. And in all the
years you ve known me, have my instincts ever steered you wrong?
McCue averted his eyes. He had complete trust in his friend, but the pointed
question reminded him that there may very well have been one instance when
Lonzo Stafford had steered him wrong dead wrong. It was a first-degree murder
charge that Stafford had built on circumstantial evidence. McCue had gone
ahead and prosecuted the case, but by the time it was over, even he was
beginning to wonder whether Stafford had tagged the right man. It was academic
now, of course. The jury had convicted him. Governor Swyteck had signed his
death warrant. The state had put him to death. He was gone. McCue would never
forget him, though. His name was Raul Fernandez.
Let me sleep on it, McCue told his friend.
What more do you want?
He shrugged uneasily. It s just that there are so many people who wanted to
see Eddy Goss dead. We need to talk to other suspects. We need to talk to
neighbors. You need to make sure there isn t some witness out there,
somewhere, who ll gut the whole case by saying they saw somebody running from
Goss s apartment with smoke pouring from the barrel of a .38-caliber pistol.
Somebody who couldn t possibly be Swyteck. Like a woman, a seven-foot black
guy, a friend of one of Goss s victims, or
A cop, Stafford interjected, his tone disdainful. That call to
nine-one-one about the cop being around Goss s apartment has you spooked,
doesn t it?
McCue removed his eyeglasses. I m concerned about it, yeah. And so s your
boss. That s why he told you about it when he put you on the case.
Stafford shook his head. You know as well as I do, Wilson, that if it d
really been a cop who d blown Goss s brains out, he wouldn t have showed up at
his apartment wearing a uniform. He would ve stopped Goss on the street, shot
him in self-defense, and laid a Saturday-night special in his cold, dead
hand.
Maybe, said McCue. But the fact of the matter is that we re talking about
the governor s son here. And we re talking about a first-degree murder charge.
I m not takingthat case to the grand jury until you ve got some good, hard
evidence.
Stafford s eyes flared. He looked angry, but he wasn t. He took it as a
challenge. I m gonna get it, he vowed. I m gonna get whatever you need to
bring Swyteck down.
McCue nodded. If it s out there, I m sure you will.
It s out there, Stafford replied, his tone very serious. I know it s out
there. Because in here, he thumped his chest, Iknow Swyteck s guilty. He
rose quickly from his chair and started for the door, then shoved his hand in
his coat pocket and stopped short, as if he d suddenly found something. What
the hell s this? he asked, clearly overacting as he pulled a plastic bag from
his pocket.
McCue smiled. He knew his old friend was up to something.
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Well, I ll be damned, said Stafford as he smacked his hand playfully
against his forehead. The Cheshire-cat smile he d been holding inside was now
plastered from ear to ear. I almost forgot to tell you the best part, Wilson.
You see, nobody heard any gunshots at the time of Goss s murder. Doesn t seem
possible, really, that nobody hears nothin in a building like that unless, of
course, the man who plugged Goss had a silencer on his thirty-eight-caliber
pistol. Which is whythis is so important, he said as he raised the plastic [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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