Conviction of the Heart (28 page)

“Anything might work at this point.”

“I need the name and address of the girl.”

“The girl? What for? You’re….oh, no you’re not.” He stared at her. “You’re right, that’s a crazy idea. It’s damned insane!”

“I’ll go see her. See what she’ll tell me, woman to woman.” Suzanne turned and moved toward the door. “Come on, Hank, it can’t be slower than Internal Affairs.”

He stopped her as she went out the door. He spoke, louder, for the benefit of the others. “Hey, you can’t just walk downstairs unescorted. Don’t they tell you anything down at Tony’s? Jesus!”

As they got to the stairwell, they found themselves alone and unobserved. “All right, I’ll see what I can do. But if you find that information in your hands, I never gave it to you, you got it?”

“Gave what?” She smiled to seal their pact. Her heartbeat quickened as she realized he’d actually agreed to her request. Maybe now, at last, she’d be able to do something useful.

His eyes narrowed and he stopped about halfway down the stairs, taking her elbow. “Nick know you’re doing this?”

She shook her head. “He’d kill me. Don’t you tell him, either. If it works, he’ll know soon enough. Then you can come to the wake.”

He laughed at last, and let her continue her descent. “If it works, I’ll spring for the funeral myself.”

“You’re on.” Before they came out in the lobby, she leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Hank. I knew we could count on you. “

As she stepped away from him into the lobby, his face became gruff. “And you tell Tony if he doesn’t start sending you guys out with change, I’m gonna quit ordering from there!”

“Yadda, yadda, yadda,” Suzanne said, walking away quickly. Her head down, she passed by Reickert in the doorway, and hurried down the street to her car.

Not until she was inside with the doors locked did she take a minute to give thanks to the fates at large that Hank was willing to help her.
Now if only the girl was willing to listen to reason…

Chapter Twenty-Five

Four days later, a courier delivered an envelope bearing the printed return address of the precinct where Nick worked, marked “personal and confidential.” Suzanne took it from a puzzled Donna’s hands and carried it into her own office. As she’d hoped, it was a name and address on plain white paper: Cassandra Trujillo, 920 Kincaid Street.

Thank you, Hank.

She’d put together a loose plan, not really sure how to go about this kind of spy business. Most of her work was done in the open, either in court or in legal offices. Skulking around the back streets of Pittsburgh was not her style, as a rule. Whoever had gotten to this girl to convince her to accuse Nick probably had something to hold over her in return for her testimony. Suzanne had to have some coin, some counter-offer, to make the girl tell the truth.

If she’d even listen...

Nick had said the girl was a prostitute, maybe not even eighteen years old. What were her concerns? Would she take Suzanne’s word? Would she need protection? Suzanne was discouraged just thinking about the possibilities.

But she had a name.

With all Nick had done for her, she knew she had to try. He’d stuck with her through all her own emotional twists and turns, and he’d come to mean a lot not just to her, but to her daughters, too. She worried that if something didn’t break soon,
he
would.

When she got home that night, she typed the address into an Internet mapping site, searching for the unfamiliar street. It turned up off Penn Avenue out toward East Liberty. Well, there it was.
All I’ve got to do is go there and tell her… Tell her what?

That, Suzanne couldn’t guess just yet. Money? Suzanne had money. She could pay the girl, if that’s what it took. But she preferred something more…what was the word? Moral? She didn’t want to bribe her to say anything. What Suzanne would rather do was something to change the girl’s life, to show her that something existed in the world besides pain and lies. Suzanne would wait until she met the girl, take some clues from her environment, to determine how to make her see the damage she was doing to a good man.

Even as the thoughts passed through her mind, her cynical side mocked her Pollyanna attitude.
Oh, yes, with the right words and a big smile, we can change everyone’s world into sweetness and light, turn their frowns upside down, make it all perfect…

It was ridiculous to even hope for something so out of reach.

Who could ignore the fact that poverty, accidents of birth, economics, drugs and bad decisions in general set the path to the place each person would find themselves in life? Cops and dirty politicians could take advantage of those whose fortunes had fallen so far they had little to lose. Cassandra Trujillo might well be one of those unlucky people. Suzanne didn’t want to be just one more in a line of users, who took this girl for all she was worth, then kicked her aside. She intended to make Cassandra’s life better, if it could be done.

The second ticking clock in Suzanne’s focus was her need to make her move soon. The longer she waited, the more chance she’d let something slip to Nick, and he’d forbid her to go. He still believed in the system. If they would just be patient long enough, the innocent would be vindicated, he’d said. She knew better. The courts were full of liars and cheats using the system to their own benefit. Nice guys finished last.

Not if I can help it.

When Donna informed her a few days later that a custody matter scheduled for hearing had settled, suddenly giving Suzanne several free hours, she knew that was the time.
Show time.

She’d decided the best approach would be to appeal to this girl as a woman, find out what happened, learn the girl’s story. Originally, Suzanne had thought to tape their conversation, but she didn’t know if Chief Reickert would accept the recording as legitimate evidence. After all, she could certainly be perceived as having a bias. The only undeniable plan would be to have Reickert speak to the girl directly, to hear the exculpating words from her lips.

But first, Suzanne would have to find her, and second, convince her to come forward.

When the time came, Suzanne worried about every detail, right down to how she was dressed. She didn’t want the “social worker” look, because people in that neighborhood would probably distrust government intrusion, and she might not get in the door. If Nick’s co-workers had threatened her, she had plenty to fear from the authorities. On the other hand, she didn’t want to dress down too much, because then she’d lose whatever advantage her position might bring her.

She chose office casual at last, navy blue wool blazer and slacks and a flat-toned blouse.
No jewelry
, she decided, knowing the character of the neighborhood. Then she relented and stuck in some cheap butterfly-shaped earrings.
If they mug me for those, they’re in worse shape than I am.

At the end of the morning’s work, Suzanne stopped by Donna’s desk, slipping Hope’s stadium jacket over her blazer. She’d thought of wearing the blazer alone, but the wind was whipping snow crystals like cut diamonds against her window, and she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m taking a long lunch. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

“All right,” Donna said. “If you’re not here when I’m finished, I’ll just lock up.”

Suzanne nodded. “Thanks,” she said, and she headed out to her car.

****

Like most northern cities Pittsburgh in mid-winter was not an attractive place, all browns and grays, snow blending them into a neutral environment. But some sections of town, Suzanne thought, were even uglier because of their lack of amenities. The area that housed Kincaid Street was one of them.

The block where Cassandra Trujillo lived was lined with tiny row houses, built close together, most in bad repair. The house across the street had black holes for windows, gaping frames rimmed with shards of glass. On either side of Cassandra’s address, the homes’ peeling paint topped damaged porch supports. The Trujillo house was one of the smallest, couldn’t be more than three or four rooms, Suzanne thought, white paint fading past gray. Thick beige curtains covered every front window. No signs of life. She wondered if the girl had already left town.

With a sigh, Suzanne locked her doors, taking her purse, and started to walk up the cracked sidewalk to the door. Then she became aware of all the eyes.

She felt she was being watched, and a surreptitious glance around showed her the thin black man, walking down the street toward her, the old Spanish woman with a bandanna around her hair sweeping the porch across the street, and half a dozen other people peeking out from behind curtains or doors to see what stranger—what trouble—had come to their neighborhood.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself and her mission, both for her own safety and the girl’s, Suzanne pulled her coat closer and hurried to the door of Cassandra’s house without acknowledging the watchers. She rapped sharply on the door with her knuckles. There was no answer. She thought she heard music playing, so she knocked again, harder.
Come on, Cassandra, be here!
she appealed silently.

No one came to the door.

Suzanne was torn. She’d pushed herself to the bounds of her courage to make herself come here. She couldn’t leave without accomplishing her goal. Shivering, she muttered, “Can’t just barge in.”

Then she wondered why not.

“What the hell… here goes.” She tested the tarnished door handle. It turned without impediment.
I could just say I thought she said to come in.
With a quick look behind to make sure no one was sneaking up on her, Suzanne turned the handle and stepped into the hall, where she was met with a melange of odors. The first whiff smelled like backed-up sewage, succeeded closely by a burnt-egg aroma. Shuddering, she noticed piles of clothes on the floor in the room off to her right, near a folded-out sofa bed covered with worn blankets. She heard a tinkle of silverware straight ahead in what might be the kitchen, followed by a string of Spanish words.

“Hello?” Suzanne called.

“Who’s there?” came a suspicious female voice, and the music cut off abruptly. Before Suzanne could answer, a young woman moved into the doorway, silhouetted from behind by the light from the kitchen window. She wore a long cotton gown or bathrobe in a pale blue. “What do you want?” she demanded.

Suzanne found herself struck dumb for a moment, now that she was where she wanted to be.
What now?
“Cassandra?” she asked.

“Who want to know?” The girl’s face was soft in shadow, but her accented voice was hard. “What you doing in my house?”

She kept her voice at a warm pitch, and took a step forward, allowing the light to shine on her face. “My name is Suzanne Taylor. I wanted to talk to you about the police department.”

The girl didn’t move. “You got a warrant or something?”

Suzanne shook her head. “I’m not a cop.”

“Who are you then?”

“Someone with a reason not to trust the police.”

“What business I got with the police?” The girl shifted slightly in the doorway, and as she turned to an angle, Suzanne saw the gently-rounded belly of a pregnancy.
Now that’s an interesting development...

“I hear you’re under pressure to testify against a cop,” Suzanne said, hoping the girl wouldn’t panic. Because the voice sounded so weary, she’d thought at first that Cassandra was grown-up, but as the light caught the edges of her face under her long hair, Suzanne noted the huge dark eyes and soft skin of a teenager.

“I think you better go,” the girl said, taking a step forward.

Suzanne saw no threat in the girl’s stance. No one else had appeared. She took a deep breath. This was her chance, and she had to take it. “I know that cop, Cassandra, and I know he would never do the things they’re saying he did.” She moved forward, too, hands at her sides, trying to show she had no intention of harm. “I think he’s being set up by some other officers who want to screw him over.”

“I don’t want to talk about that!” Cassandra said, scooting back to the kitchen. “Get out!”

“Nick Sansone is a good man.” Suzanne followed her, slowly, hoping the girl was still listening. “He told me he was worried about you, out on the street alone. That’s why he picked you up.”

A long silence, then a thud of something falling. “Who asked him?” the girl muttered.

Concerned the girl had been hurt, Suzanne hurried around the corner. When she came into the kitchen she saw some cereal boxes had tumbled from the cupboard. Paint hung in peeled strips from the wooden cupboards. The linoleum was cracked and torn, but cheerful yellow curtains hung at every window. “Are you okay?”

“I told you, get out!” Cassandra’s eyes blazed. She turned to face Suzanne, her hand twitching on the counter near a large butcher knife.

Briefly, Suzanne’s insides froze. Would the girl really do something so desperate as to stab her? She’d be within her legal rights, since Suzanne had entered without invitation. But that little thing didn’t look capable of murder. Swallowing back the fear, she said, “Cassandra, I just need to know what happened.” Suzanne stopped where she was, her mind clicking ahead along a new path. “That officer is my fiancé. He told me he loved me, that he’d never be with another woman.” She managed to choke a tear into her voice. “If he cheated on me, I deserve to know the truth.”

The Hispanic girl stared at her for a minute, then burst out laughing. “You came here to see if your man step out?” she asked, derision dripping from her tongue. “Why should I keep track of some cop’s sex trips?”

“No, you’re right. It’s not your responsibility,” Suzanne said, capitulating suddenly, trying a new tactic. “I shouldn’t have come.” She turned away, just a little.

“Got that right.” Cassandra moved away from the counter, bending down to scrape some pet food from a can into a dish on the floor. Suzanne noticed for the first time a scrawny kitten rubbing against the girl’s ankles. It sprang to the dish and gobbled the food down as if it were starving.