The 9th Judgment

Dowling had buttoned his shirt and put on a jacket, and he looked completely in control. I had to admire his cool, since his gun was in a clear plastic evidence bag on the table.

Conklin, too, looked completely at ease. I thought he was doing his best not to grin. He'd earned the right, but I wasn't doing high fives just yet. Dowling loved himself so much, he'd probably convinced himself that no one could touch him.

"My lawyer is on the way," Dowling said.

There was a knock on the door. I opened it for Carl Loomis, a ballistics tech at the crime lab. I pointed to the bagged gun, and he picked it up, turned to Dowling, and said, "I really enjoy your work, Mr. Dowling."

"Loomis, the ballistics test is top priority," I said.

"You'll have the results in an hour, Sergeant," he said as he took the evidence bag out of the room.

I turned to Dowling, who was showing me how nonchalant he was by leaning back in his chair, rocking on its hind legs.

"Mr. Dowling, I want to make sure you understand your situation. When the lab fires your gun, the test bullet is going to match the slugs removed from your wife's body."

"So you say."

Conklin said, "Believe this guy? Let's just book him on suspicion of murder. We've got him. He's done."

"Tell us what happened," I said to Dowling. "If you save us the time and cost of a trial, the DA will take your cooperation into consideration-"

"Oh. Cross your heart?"

"Just so you know, the DA goes home at five. That's in fifteen minutes. Your window to make a deal is closing fast."

Dowling snorted derisively, and Conklin laughed.

He went out of the room and came back with three containers of coffee, making a big show of adding milk and sugar to his cup, all the while humming the theme song from Night Watch. It was a catchy little ditty that had made the charts even when Dowling and Cushing's shoot-'em-up movie had bombed.

I saw something come over Dowling's face as Richie hummed. The nonchalance evaporated. The chair legs came down. Seemed to me that hearing that tune had focused Dowling as nothing else had.

Chapter 108

DOWLING'S CELL PHONE rang. He looked at the caller ID, opened the phone, and said, "Peyser? Where are you? What are you doing? Walking here?"

Dowling paused for his lawyer's response, then said, "You're useless. Useless." He snapped the phone shut and looked at his watch. It was five on the nose.

"Call the DA. I'm talking to you of my own free will," Dowling said. "I have nothing to hide. Do I need something in writing from you or the DA?"

"Nope," I said. I pointed to the camera in the corner over my head. "You're on the record."

Dowling nodded. He was on camera. A place he liked to be.

"I lied to protect Casey's reputation," he said. "Casey found out that I had a girlfriend. She pulled the gun on me. I wrestled it out of her hands, and the gun went off."

"Before or after the burglar went out the window?" I asked him.

"The burglar left. That's what gave her the idea. Casey saw an opportunity to shoot me. She grabbed the gun from the night table and started screaming at me. I tried to take it away from her, and it went off. That's the truth."

"Mr. Dowling, are you sure you want to tell it that way? Your wife took two bullets, remember? One to her chest. The other to her neck. She was naked and unarmed. There was no gunpowder stippling on her skin. That means you were standing at least five feet away. The angle of those shots is going to bear that out."

"That's not how it happened-"

"It's exactly how it happened, Mr. Dowling," I said. "Your Ruger is a single-action revolver. You had to pull the hammer each time before you fired."

I made a gun of my hand. I pulled back the "hammer" I made with my thumb. I said, "Bang." Then I repeated the action and said, "Bang," again. "You want to try to convince a jury that was self-defense?"

"It was. It happened just like I said," Dowling insisted. He was sputtering now, a lisp coming into his speech, but he clung to his story. "She tried to kill me. I got the gun away from her and it went off. Maybe I panicked and fired it twice. I don't remember. I was frightened," he said, tears coming now. "I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I loved her. Ask anyone. I should never have cheated on her. It's hard, don't you see? Women come on to me all the time. Casey didn't understand that."

The door opened again, this time no knock, and Tony Peyser, Dowling's confident, thousand-bucks-an-hour attorney, came through the door.

"Don't say anything, Marc. What's the charge?" the lawyer asked me.

I was filled with a heady blend of fury and elation. Dowling's statement was on tape, and the prosecution would use it to tear him apart.

I didn't even look at the lawyer. I said, "Stand up, Mr. Dowling. You're under arrest for the murder of Casey Dowling. You have the right to remain silent..."

Conklin cuffed Dowling as I finished reading him his rights. Dowling was still protesting, "It was self-defense!"