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IT TOOK THE DETECTIVES a half hour to bounce through the capital in the Impala. The car windows were down, catching warm wind as they zipped to the United States Attorney’s office in Judiciary Square. Detective McGee parked in a private garage, before walking two blocks to the prosecutor’s office. They rode an elevator to the sixth floor, approached a receptionist behind a bulletproof glass, and announced their business. They were asked to wait in a bland, carpeted lobby with eighties wood paneling and framed headshots of the sitting US President and current US Attorney General on the wall.
Waiting to meet the Big Kahuna, they whispered toxic, demeaning rhetoric about the man they were set to meet. Leonardo Gucci had been with the office since God had passed along the Ten Commandments; yet, he was passed over for the head job and took it out on police officers and uncooperative defendants. He appeared at the security door, wearing his familiar frown. A blustery Italian man with an outrageous comb-over of blonde hair and a ruddy complexion. He spent more time in the tanning salon, then, the gym. Obviously. But he possessed, despite being the second-in-charge, a name that appeared as the prosecution for almost every noteworthy murder in the District over the past twenty years. His grand list of criminals behind bars was impressive.
After passing through metal detectors—reserved for confidential informants and outsiders—-they huddled in Leonardo Gucci’s office. Sitting at a six-person conference table was AUSA Shai Brown.
“Ladies...” Brown began, smiling. “Have a seat,” he said, pointing to seats at the conference table. Brown had a dark complexion, dark hazel eyes, and perfect teeth.
“Make it Detective McGee and Bald Eagle,” Detective McGee said deadpan.
“OK, if that’s how you want to play it.” He had a super sardonic aura to complement an upper-class education with a year abroad at Oxford University.
“I do,” she replied. There was constant tension between her and Brown, a man she’d once casually dated. “Can we get to the business of capturing Justice Weston’s Killer?” She crossed her legs in a cheap leather chair.
“We hear you have a substantial lead for us to follow up on?” Detective Bald said, running her middle finger across her eyebrow.
“We do, but we must preface this discussion by confirming, I mean, they’re papers filed, a suit, claiming you, Detective McGee, caused intentional infliction of emotional stress and maliciously prosecuted a woman,” AUSA Brown said with a supreme sneer on his face.
While seated at his desk, AUSA Gucci added, “You can imagine how that’ll complicate this matter if you’re called testify at trial.”
Detective McGee was silent, staring blankly out a tinted window into a sunny D.C. sky. She set her sight on the apex of the Washington Monument. Let freedom ring.
AUSA Brown railed on, flipping through a sheaf of papers in a folder. He said, “In 2002 you obtained—”
“A false confession from a Carol Jackson using coercive interrogation tactics. You also...allegedly...suppressed and disregarded evidence demonstrating her innocence of the murder she was charged with committing. This office withdrew prosecution, and then, arrested and convicted the true murderers—”
“That’s what we do,” AUSA Gucci chimed in, looking up from his computer.
“Despite this...um...allegation,” AUSA Brown said, “you became a lecturer and teacher on police interrogation tactics last year, and have been recorded admitting that you had coerced her confession and had disregarded evidence that was exculpatory. It’s on video, ma’am.” Brown closed the folder and set it aside. He tented his hands on the table, leering at Detective McGee.
“The Metropolitan Police Department expressed that you were assigned to lead this case by rotation. And your commander is confident that you’re explicitly capable of handling the vigor of a case on this scale.” He had a seat at the head of the table, and added, “I just need assurances from you that you’ll play this by the book because there’s a lot riding on this case. We cannot give people the impression that they can kill our people sans consequence. Severe consequences.”
After briefly digesting his word, Detective Bald Eagles said, “I’m sure your elevation to D.C. U.S. Attorney is riding on this. It’s widely known you’re set to replace the top man of this office who is awaiting Senate confirmation to join the D.C. District Court as the first Mexican-American on the bench here in the city. This case is a must win for you to go to your bosses post.”
“You can deduce,” ASUA Gucci said, adjusting in his seat. “We must, though, acknowledge that I can win this without you two.”
Brown said, “The FBI Assistant Special Agent in Charge is a stone throw away and can assume responsibility of this case because of the victim. Under that scenario you go back to you MPD district and I go on to head this office. Win-win for me.” He smiled and adjusted his power-tie.
“Not so fast,” Detective McGee said. Everyone had spoked and it was her turn. “You’ve forgotten one small detail. Your office has to defend the claim levied against me. If we lose, the floodgates would open and many of the other black and brown defendants in Southeast DC will be rich for mistakes like the one I’ve made. So how about we cut the bullshit and get to the business at hand as I’ve stated moments ago.”
The two men in the room looked at each other. The two women did the same. Lines were drawn and smirks settled on everyone’s faces.
“We can get to business,” AUSA Gucci said, “but know that this case must be played by the very playbook you teach from Detective, McGee.”
“Got it,” she said, cocking her head to the side.
Reaching under the table, AUSA Gucci retrieved an attaché. He opened and pulled out a CD. He rolled in his chair to a TV with a DVD player, popped in the cd, and pressed PLAY. On the screen a man appeared at an ATM machine, inserting a card into it and withdrawing cash.
“That’s our man,” AUSA Brown said, at the screen, “using the judges’ debit card. He’s on the loose with a four hundred dollar head start.”