City of Sins. Daniel Blake

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      He changed the subject.

      ‘You came here around ten o’clock on Tuesday night, that’s correct?’

      ‘That’s correct.’

      ‘And you brought cocaine for Cindy then?’

      ‘Did I?’

      ‘Remember the text you sent?’

      Luther shrugged. ‘Maybe I did.’

      ‘And how did she seem to you then?’

      ‘Fine.’

      ‘Fine?’

      ‘Yeah, fine. A little tired, maybe. Said she’d had a long day.’

      ‘Stressed about anything?’

      ‘Not that she told me about.’

      ‘How long did you stay for?’

      ‘A few minutes. We chatted a bit, then I had to shoot.’

      ‘More deliveries?’

      ‘I had to shoot, man. Where and why ain’t your concern.’

      ‘Don’t get lippy with me, Luther. You’re in enough trouble as it is.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      Patrese let it go. ‘You talk a lot with Cindy? In general?’

      ‘Man, we were … I supplied a service to her. We weren’t buddies.’

      ‘You ever fuck her?’ Patrese was watching Luther closely for his reaction, but even so he sensed rather than saw Selma wince.

      Luther didn’t miss a beat. ‘Never.’

      ‘You ever want to?’

      ‘Oh, here we go. Black men violating white women. Man, your fear’s forty years out of date. Ain’t you never seen Shaft?’

      Selma took personal charge of processing the paperwork for Luther’s arrest, having belatedly roused herself to appreciate that she couldn’t afford to be accused of letting her ex-husband off lightly. Luther would spend the night in a police cell, and would be transferred on remand to Orleans Parish Prison tomorrow. Drugs for sure, possibly murder as well; though if he had killed Cindy, he’d have known Patrese’s text was a fake, so why would he have turned up? Unless he’d tried to double-bluff them by pretending not to have known.

      Either way, the only question seemed to be how long he’d be going down for.

      Luther hadn’t mentioned entrapment. Maybe his lawyer would. Maybe Patrese could make the texts disappear before then; he had Luther’s cell phone as well as Cindy’s now, so he could delete the evidence at both ends.

      Luther didn’t have any previous: not in civilian life, at least. Abu Ghraib, of course, was a different matter entirely. So, while Selma was filling out the usual mountain of forms, Patrese did as she’d suggested, and searched online for exactly what Luther had done in Iraq.

      It wasn’t hard to find.

      Luther Marcq had been one of the intelligence officers assigned to interrogation duties, and with one particular detainee, Salman Faraj, he’d gone too far. He’d handcuffed Faraj to a radiator with his underwear over his face; he’d jumped on his leg (already wounded by gunfire); and he’d beaten him with a flashlight.

      Speaking in his own defense, Luther had said he’d known that what he was doing was wrong, but that his superiors had put him under intense pressure to get results, reminding him over and again that they were at war and that he was to use any means necessary.

      He’d been convicted of dereliction of duty, battery, and making a false official statement to army investigators. Jail, demotion, discharge, as Luther had already said.

      Patrese knew soldiers operated for months on end under conditions unimaginable to civilians in their comfortable suburban homes, but even so. Selma’s disgust wasn’t hard to understand.

      He found her in her office, staring into space.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

      ‘I never, ever thought he’d do something like that.’ Patrese didn’t know whether she meant the drugs, the torture, or both. ‘He’s a good man. Was a good man. We married for life. I really believed that. God had brought us together. But I just couldn’t go on with someone who could do those things. My minister told me to hate the sin while loving the sinner, but it was too late. Luther … he just wasn’t the same man any more.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘You never really know someone, do you?’

      Patrese was about to agree when the door burst open. Thorndike, looking furious.

      ‘Luther Marcq. What the fuck?’

      ‘Excuse me?’ Selma said.

      ‘What the fuck are you doing arresting him?’

      ‘Three wraps of cocaine, for a start.’

      ‘Right. And how did he know to meet you at Cindy’s apartment?’

      Selma looked accusingly at Patrese: Told you so.

      ‘Let’s not even start on your personal connection with him,’ Thorndike continued, looking straight at Selma. ‘In fact, I’m reassigning you.’

      ‘You’re what?’

      ‘You can’t work on this case. Not if your ex-husband’s a suspect. You see how this would look if it ever came to court? I tell you to tread carefully, and what do you do? Go running around like it’s the Klondike out there. You forgotten who Cindy’s daddy is? Her boss? That means we take no chances. Not one.’

      ‘Luther’s a drug dealer. Pure chance that Cindy was one of his clients.’

      ‘Pure chance? Ain’t no such thing. Not in law enforcement. And certainly not in law school.’

      ‘Then let the lawyers prove that.’

      Thorndike shook his head. ‘I let him go.’

      ‘You did what?’ said Patrese and Selma in perfect tandem.

      ‘A half-hour ago. Let him walk free, no charge.’

      ‘But he’s …’

      ‘He’s nothing. He was a lawsuit waiting to happen, if I hadn’t done what I did. Franco, I’ll assign a new lead detective in the morning.’

      ‘This case is mine,’ Selma said. ‘You know that.’

      ‘You prove Luther had nothing to do with Cindy’s murder, you can have it back.’

      ‘How can I? You just let him go.’

      ‘Don’t СКАЧАТЬ