-1Hey Guys!
A huge thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed so far
Chapter Five
August 19th 1900
"Did you shoot your husband, Mrs. Rossi?"
"Don't answer that, Mrs. Rossi." Julie looked around the interrogation room, favouring both Clarke and Jones with a coldly superior smile. "Do you have any evidence linking my client to this shooting or is this just a fishing expedition?"
"We have more than enough evidence linking your client to it, Ms. Phelps." Jim kept his voice cold, careful to keep his distance, wary of her and her tricks. She had already caught them by surprise once, turning up when she did.
Mrs. Rossi had refused her phone call. How the hell had Julie Phelps known?
"Really, Mr. Steele?" She turned that beautifully cold smile on him. "Or are you just looking for another domestic homicide to prosecute?"
"Was your husband drunk when he came home?"
Joanna waited for Julie's nod before she answered. "Yes."
"Did he drink a lot?"
"Yes. But it wasn't like that, not like you're thinking. He just…he worked so hard to support me and the kids, he just needed something to blow off some steam before he came home."
"Just blowing off some steam, eh?" Clarke shifted in his seat, glancing at his partner, raising his eyebrows. "Did he ever hit you when he was drunk?"
Again, Joanna Rossi waited for Julie's nod before she answered. "Sometimes."
"Where did the gun come from, Mrs. Rossi?"
"I don't know…"
"Did you and your son plan this together?"
"That's enough, Detective Jones!"
"He's already rolled on you, Mrs. Rossi. How do you think we knew where you'd be?"
"He didn't…he wouldn't…"
"That's enough." Julie Phelps stood up. "We're leaving. Now."
"Leaving?" Clarke bit back on a bitter laugh. "Your client is the one of the prime suspects in a homicide! She's not going anywhere!"
"So charge her! Show me the more than enough evidence you have, the more than enough evidence you need to convict a widow. I'll have a bail hearing scheduled for first thing in the morning."
"No." Jim shook his head, thinking quickly. "Her daughter is a District Attorney. Bind Mrs Rossi over to her care."
xxxXXXxxx
July 22nd
"Hello?"
"Hey, Ma, it's Jessica. I need to talk to you."
"What's wrong?"
"Jason talked to me, the other day, about you and Dad."
"Everything's fine between your father and me, honey."
"He's really worried, Ma. So am I?"
"There's nothing to worry about. Everything's okay."
"Is he still drinking?"
There was a moments silence on the other end of the phone. Her mother's voice, when she spoke again, was laced with the old familiar stubbornness and acceptance.
"He's trying to cut down."
"Why don't you come stay with me, Ma? Just for a few day?"
"No, Jessica."
"Please, Ma."
"No."
xxxXXXxxx
August 20th 0900
"You did what?"
Nick paused, his hand on the door of the Conference Room, straining to hear.
"I bound Joanna Rossi over to Jessica's authority."
"Why?"
"What else was I supposed to do, Alexandra? Let Julie Phelps turn a bail hearing into a media circus?"
Nick smiled and pushed open the door. "Good morning, Mr Clements." He shook hands with the other man. "My name's Nick Potter."
"Where's ADA Rossi?"
"I'll be handling this case from now on." Nick sat down opposite him, making a show of opening the file, at glancing at his own hand written notes. "I've reviewed the evidence, and I don't believe that there is any need for this case to go to court."
Relief and cautious optimism chased each other across Mr. Clements' face. "You don't?"
"I'm prepared to offer your client a deal. Three to five years."
"I could get him acquitted in court."
"You could. He could also get five to seven years at trial." Nick sat back, the same arrogant, confident pose he had seen Jim and Brian adopt so many times. "It's up to you."
Mr Clements bit nervously on his lip, nodded once, and stood. "I'll talk to my client, and recommend he take the deal. Thank you, Mr. Potter."
Nick stood, shaking hands with Mr Clements, wishing he could feel something other than cold betrayal, wishing he could do something other than twist the knife in her back. It was her case.
It should have been Jessica that closed it
xxxXXXxxx
August 19th, 0100
She couldn't feel her hands, restrained behind her back, the metal cuffs biting into her flesh.
"Sign here, Detective."
Detective Clarke leaned across the desk, scribbling his name across the bottom of the sheet. The other one, Detective Jones stayed with her, his large hand on her shoulder.
The Desk Sergeant's eyes roamed across her, cold, filled with contempt. "Who've we got here, anyway, Detective?"
"Joanna Rossi. Wanted for questioning in relation to a homicide."
The Sergeant snorted, lifting the clipboard to check the signature. "She doesn't seem like the type."
"What's open?"
"I got space in two."
Detective Jones grunted, pushing her forward. She went blindly, stumbling numbly forward, her mind still reeling, fixated by the memory of him, the smell of alcohol on his breath.
Her ears still ringing.
"Stop."
She felt Jones fumble with the cuffs and then her hands were free, the blood rushing back into her cold hands, pins and needles springing up in her fingers.
"Open up two."
The Sergeant opened the door, the locks screaming like gunshots. A sudden rush of heat, the sour smell of sweat, of too many bodies pressed in together, washed over her, her stomach lurching.
What had she done?
"What the fuck? Ah no, man, you cant put anyone else in here! There's too many in here!"
The Sergeant rattled his nightstick off the bars of the cell. "Shut up Louisa."
Jones ignored the chorus of cat calls and insults. "Move forward."
Dully, blindly, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, forcing her legs to work, stumbling into the cell, the smell and the heat almost overpowering, the noises fading to dull echoes of gunshots.
What had she done?
The door shut behind her.
xxxXXXxxx
August 20th 1800
He drummed his fingers against the wall, listening to the echo of the ringing telephone. Glancing over his shoulder, toying nervously with his tie. Looking back at the table. Just another night.
They didn't even seem to notice that she wasn't there.
Buying him drinks for closing a case she had done the work on.
No one seemed to notice that she wasn't there. No one cared what she was going through. What they were putting her through.
She should have been there.
"Hey, you've reached…"
"Hey, Rook!" Brian's voice cut clearly, easily through the noise and din of the bar. "What the Hell are you doing? Game's about to start."
"Yeah, yeah." Nick hung up, cutting off the answering machine message, sighing ruefully. He shook his head and started to thread his way through the crowd towards the bar.
He glanced back, over his shoulder, at the silent and dead pay phone.
He wondered if she would answer the next time he called.
End of Chapter Five
Please Read and Review.