Page 44 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“And where did it lead?”

“It led to the Attorney-goddamn-General for the great State of Missouri, the Honorable Quentin Bridges, walking into my office one day and plopping down in my visitor chair. I’d met the guy exactly one time before, at some fundraiser for the Fraternal Order of Police, and it was a quick handshake kind of thing. But he knew exactly who I was, asked about my wife and kids, and was interested in what my active cases were. That sort of thing.”

“And you told him about Ferry? The suspicion of a frame-up?”

“Nope. I absolutely didn’t. I didn’t want to look stupid if it didn’t pan out,” Lopez answers. “I included the roadie in the rundown of my current case load, but just sort of brushed it off. And then the AG askedmeabout my little side project.”

“I take it your questions and inquiries had been noted?”

“You got it, man,” he says. “Got it in one. The state Attorney-goddamn-General asks me directly about my quiet little side project, and of course I’m curious about how he knew, but I don’t lie. I tell him that yeah, we’re looking into the allegations the roadie made. We have to. Otherwise, a defense attorney’s gonna use that to create reasonable doubt in front of a jury.”

“Yeah, they do have a nasty habit of doing that, don’t they. So what happened?”

“AG said it sounded like a dead end, and probably a waste of ‘valuable police time and resources,’ I think is how he put it. Then he mentioned that such-and-such other case was far more interesting, and that I should maybe take a hard look at it.”

My jaw drops.

“That’s, ah, pretty interesting. So what came of it?”

“I didn’t really think too much of it at the time, which was pretty stupid of me, I guess,” he says, ruefully. “I kept on asking my questions, though. Kept pulling on that string. Something about it, I mean, I knew the AG was right on one level—probably would be a dead end—but my gut just wanted more information.”

“Obviously you never got to the bottom of it?”

“Sure didn’t,” he confirms. “To my great and everlasting shame, I didn’t. Two weeks later, got offered a promotion. Came with a big raise, and I had two kids in Catholic school, man. That ain’t cheap. But it came with a transfer out of Gang / Drug and into the Sexual Assault Division. I hate rapists even worse than I hate bangers and dealers, so I took it.”

“Huh. And what happened to the guy in your lockup?”

“Well, that’s the interesting bit. I poked around a little, even after the transfer. The guy clammed up. Stopped talking to anyone and changed his plea. He’d been singing like a canary to me, and now all of a sudden he won’t even open his mouth in my presence.”

Lopez stops talking, but he’s not finished. Even over the phone I can tell he’s just bursting to get something else out.

“There’s a silentandhanging off the end of that sentence, Diego. What’s the other bit that you haven’t told me?”

“I got another visitor right after I left the jail. Not the AG, this time. It’s my boss. The County Prosecuting Attorney. And I’m on thin ice, he says to me. Drug cases are not my concern, anymore, and if I’m going to insist on interfering with other prosecutors and their jobs, then I’m going to lose my own job.”

“I presume you’re still employed,” I say.

“Yeah. I am. I learned my lesson,” Lopez answers. “If I had it to do over again? I dunno. Maybe I’d have done something different. Gone about it a different way. I didn’t get the evidence, and I couldn’t make it happen. Dave Banks couldn’t. But maybe you can. But watch out for the political connections. That’s what’ll blow you out of the water, more than anything else.”

“Just what I needed.” I grimace. “More politics.”

“I heard about that,” Lopez says. “You just got a promotion, didn’t you? And you’ve got some political aspirations.”

“Promotion happened before Ferry even came to town,” I say, “so there’s no connection there. And as for future aspirations? That’s still yet to be determined.”

“Case like this can make you famous,” he says. “Or it can break you. Be cautious.”

“Always am,” I answer. “But seriously: what the hell kind of connections does a rock star have where he can just reach into the AG’s office, or the Prosecuting Attorney’s office, like that? I haven’t seen anything showing links to anybody like that.”

“That’s where it gets interesting. That’s what I wanted to tell you about.” Lopez’ voice drops again, so quiet that I can hardly hear him. “You know Ferry’s not his real name, right?”

“I… actually did know that. Wikipedia says he was born Robert Jason Grant, I think?”

“Yeah. But you know how Wikipedia gets edited, right? Lot of information there that’s wrong, or missing, or whatever? They don’t talk about his parents. His daddy was Sherman Lee Grant—which is an unfortunate as hell name to grow up with in the south—but his momma’s the interesting one.”

“Who’s she?”

“Kathleen Birchall-Jones,” Lopez answers, pausing to let me absorb the significance of the name. “The sister ofDavidBirchall-Jones, and youngest daughter ofGeraldBirchall-Jones.”

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