Chapter Seven
The week in jail had left the former deputy chief looking worn, exhausted and rattled.
Good, Sam thought. That’s the least of what he deserves.
His wispy blond hair had started to turn gray, and there were bags under his blue eyes that hadn’t been there before his arrest. He wore an orange jumpsuit, handcuffs and leg chains that gave Sam tremendous satisfaction.
The officers who’d brought him up could’ve removed the cuffs and shackles but had chosen not to, something Conklin would surely realize.
That he was receiving no special treatment gave her special pleasure.
In this room, he was like any other scumbag with his attorney seated next to him. Sam found it interesting that the lawyer was a public defender and not one of the high-dollar attorneys who usually defended the scumbags.
“Mr. Conklin.” Sam took a page from the playbook of FBI Special Agent Avery Hill. He’d refused to use Conklin’s rank during an earlier interrogation. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“I asked for the chance to see you because I want to say how sorry I am—”
Good thing she didn’t have her rusty steak knife handy. “Save it. Your apologies mean nothing to me now. That’s not what I came to talk to you about.”
Conklin cast a glance at Malone, seeking help that Malone clearly wasn’t inclined to give him.
Sam had to fight the urge to crack up. She had never loved the captain more than she did in that moment, and that was saying something. Sam turned on the recording and noted who was in the room.
With the recorder running, she sat across from Conklin and for the longest time did nothing but stare at the face of the man who’d been part of her life for longer than she could remember.
She’d been too young to recall giving up her room to him after his first marriage ended and her father brought him home to sober him up, effectively saving his career.
She didn’t remember that, but he certainly did.
“Remember the time you lived in my room for a couple of months?”
Judging by the shocked expression on his pale face, Conklin hadn’t expected that question.
“I don’t remember it, because I was too young, but my sisters do. They remember you living with us while my dad helped to dry you out so you wouldn’t lose your job along with your marriage. Bring back any memories?”
Conklin looked to Malone for rescue.
Malone ignored the silent request, sending the message that Sam had the floor.
“Mr. Dunning,” Sam said to the attorney without taking her gaze off Conklin.
“Would you please remind your client that it’s a good idea to answer the questions he’s asked in this room.
We’d be happy to review interrogation etiquette for him if he’s forgotten how it works along with the other things he learned on the job about withholding evidence in a felony investigation, witness tampering, lying—”
“I remember it,” Conklin snapped.
“Oh good.” Sam shifted into her zone and felt the buzz of nuts on the block that made this dreadful job so rewarding.
“My family will be so glad to know that you do recall what my dad did for you during that difficult time in your life. Didn’t you also often say that you never would’ve been deputy chief without him?
Hell, I think it’s safe to say you never would’ve made lieutenant or captain without him, isn’t it? ”
“Yes,” Conklin said through gritted teeth.
Sam stared at him, without blinking, for two or three minutes. In that time, she hoped he was thinking about her father and the way he’d let him down.
“I told him to leave the Coyne case alone.” Conklin sputtered and tripped over words he couldn’t seem to say fast enough. “I tried to warn him.”
“What exactly did you warn him about? Did you say, for instance, the same men who murdered Steven Coyne will come for you if you dig into what happened to your dead partner? Were those the words you used?”
“No. I told him a case that cold was a waste of time.”
Sam sat back in her chair, folding her arms. “And what was his response?”
Conklin took a deep breath and looked down at his hands on the table. “He said it was never too late to get justice for a fellow officer.”
“Isn’t that rich?” Sam ached from head to toe with grief for her dad.
Of course that’s what he’d said. He’d never gotten over the brutal murder of his beloved first partner, who’d been gunned down feet from him in a drive-by shooting that’d remained unsolved until recently.
They’d gotten two for the price of one by solving Skip’s case—and Steven’s. “Don’t you think that’s rich, Captain?”
“Indeed, I do. But then, Skip was the cop we all wanted to be, and it would be like him to use his final months on the job to finally get justice for his late partner.”
“Yes,” Sam said softly, “it would be like him to do that. When Arnold was killed, he was right there for me, sharing the grief. He got it because he’d been there himself after Steven was killed. He never got over that. I mean how would anyone get over something like that?”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Dunning asked. “Or are we simply here to reminisce about old times?”
If looks could kill, he’d have a rusty steak knife sticking out of his heart. “You got somewhere to be, Mr. Dunning? Because I’m pretty sure your client has nowhere to be but back in a cell. He might prefer it in here. I hear the lighting is better up here than it is downstairs.”
While Conklin and his attorney visibly fumed, Sam settled into the groove of the moment, determined to take her own sweet time.
In the meantime, she kept her gaze fixed on Conklin because it rattled him, and rattling him satisfied her greatly.
This is for you, Dad, she thought, making sure to keep her expression flat so Conklin would never see the emotion she fought so hard to keep out of this room.
“Who else knew?”
Conklin glanced at his attorney and then at Sam. “What do you mean?”
She sat up straight, elbows on the table. “I mean, who else knew who was behind the shootings of Officer Coyne and Deputy Chief Holland?”
“I, ah, I don’t know of anyone, other than Gallagher, Santoro and Ryan.”
“This would be a good time to tell the truth, Mr. Conklin,” Sam said.
His face got very red. “I am telling the truth!”
“Someone else knew that you and Gallagher were involved—and I’m guessing Ryan and Santoro would have no inclination to help us. So who would that someone else be?”
“How do you know someone else knew?” Dunning asked.
Sam slid the photocopy of the anonymous note across the table and gave them a minute to look at it. “Any other questions?”
“I don’t know who could’ve sent this,” Conklin said.
Had she ever noticed before that his lip twitched when he lied?
“You’re sure about that? Since all your dirty secrets have come to light, I’d think you’d be bending over backward to make things right for the people you harmed, including the man who stepped up for you at your lowest moment.
Didn’t he deserve better than what he got from you? ”
Sam was gratified to see tears in Conklin’s eyes.
“I loved him,” he said imploringly. “You know I did.”
Sam slapped her hand on the table, making the two men jolt. Apparently, Malone had anticipated it, because he remained stoically still. “Don’t you dare insult his memory by pretending you understood what it meant to love him.”
Conklin dropped his head into his hands, sobs shaking him. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”
“Stop talking, Paul,” Dunning said.
“No, I need to say this.” Conklin raised his head and wiped the tears from his face. “I am so sorry about all of this. It was never my intention…”
“What? To hide the fact that you knew who shot my dad for nearly four years?”
“None of it,” he said softly. “I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.”
“Why don’t you tell me how it did happen.”
“Paul,” Dunning said, the warning clear.
Conklin shook off Dunning’s hand from his shoulder. “I replaced one addiction with another. I got in so deep with the gambling that I couldn’t find my way out. Gallagher and Ryan… They owned me.”
“How did they find out that Skip was taking another look at Steven’s shooting before he retired?” Malone asked.
“I have to stop this right here,” Dunning said. “It’s not in my client’s best interest to have this conversation.”
“I need to have it,” Conklin said. “I need people to understand that I never would’ve…”
“What wouldn’t you have done? Hidden the truth from your colleagues, your friend’s family, the city that’s paid your salary for thirty years? You wouldn’t have done that?”
“No,” he said softly. “Under normal circumstances, I never would’ve done that. But they owned me.”
“Who else knew that?” Sam asked again, staring at him without blinking.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
She leaned in. “Guess what? I don’t believe you. So you know what happens now? We rip apart your life and your wife’s life, and we find out who else knew.”
“Leave Kaitlyn out of it. She knew nothing about any of this.”
“So you say.”
“It’s the truth!”
Sam laughed and glanced at Malone, who seemed equally disgusted. “He wants us to believe him now.” She stood. “Let’s go, Captain. We’ve got work to do.”
On legs that felt wooden, Sam walked out of the room. She made it halfway down the hallway that led out of the interrogation area before leaning against a wall to collect herself as the adrenaline from the interview drained from her system, leaving her shaky.
“You okay?” Malone asked.
“I need a minute.”
“Take as much time as you need.”
“I’ll catch up to you in a few.”
Nodding, he left her and headed toward his office.