Anger crossed Guzman’s face. He looked like he was going to spring across the table, all one hundred and forty pounds of him. I imagined the punch I’d throw if I had the chance.
“Don’t say anything else, Gregor,” said the attorney, putting a hand on his client’s arm.
“Don’t worry about it, Ernie. This is all crap.”
“So straighten me out,” I said. I clasped my hands on top of the folder.
“I can straighten you out, Sergeant Boxer, but I’m not doing it to hear the sound of my voice. I want this crappy murder charge dropped.”
“We’ll consider doing that if you point us to Dennis Martin’s killer,” I said, “and we can prove who did it.”
“Look. I didn’t kill Martin. You’ll never connect me to that killing, and I’m not going to do your job for you, lady. I’m willing to trade information so that I don’t get wrongfully convicted by an unsympathetic jury. That’s it. That’s what I’m willing to do.”
“Okay. Done,” I said to Guzman. “Tell me what you’ve got, and if I like your story, I won’t charge you.”
Santana said, “Sergeant, no offense. If you want Mr. Guzman to give you information leading to the arrest of this man’s killer, we want an agreement in writing. From the DA.”
“It’s two-thirty in the morning,” I said.
“Take your time,” said the lawyer. “We can wait.”
My dad used to say you have to “strike while the iron is hot.” Well, my iron was sizzling.
“I’m here and you’re here,” I said. “I’ll rouse someone from the DA’s Office.”
Chapter 113
YUKI ANSWERED HER PHONE on the first ring.
“He’s primed and the grill is hot,” I said. “You’re going to want to hear this.”
“Just marinate him a little. I’m bringing my appetite,” she said.
An hour later, I brought ADA Yuki Castellano into the interview room on the third floor of the Hall.
Ernesto Santana stood and shook her hand, and Lieutenant Hampton did the same. Guzman groused to Yuki, “You seriously work for the DA? How old are you? Twelve?”
“Old enough to have been certified in spotting bull,” she said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
I took the photos out of the folder again, and Guzman said, “This girl — I don’t remember her name — she’s the one who tried to hire me. She’s connected back east. She contacted me through channels. I said I’d meet her.
“She was wearing a blond wig,” he went on. “I know because I saw long red hair coming out the back of that thing. She brought an envelope of small bills, tens and twenties. About a thousand bucks. She wanted me to take out the doctor. Candace Martin.”
“You’re saying she ordered a hit?”
“Yeah. She brought money and a picture.”
I found Guzman more believable than I’d found Ellen Lafferty, who’d insisted she’d been doing an errand for Dennis Martin. That she didn’t know who Guzman was. That she didn’t know what was in the envelope.
“Go on,” I said.
“I said to this chick, ‘Thanks, but you’re crazy. I don’t know where you got my name from, but this is not exactly my line of work.’”
“Okay, Mr. Guzman. We’ll check out your story.”
“Check it out?” he said. “Check out what? You think that bitch is going to admit to wanting to have the doctor whacked? Candace Martin is alive, right? What more proof do you need?”
“Ms. Castellano,” I said. “Have you got enough to charge Ellen Lafferty with solicitation of first-degree murder?”