Stranglehold by Ed Gorman Page A

see him.”
    â€œYou stay there. I’ll be right down.”
    â€œI’d really appreciate it, Mr. Conrad.” Starting to cry. “He didn’t kill her. He really didn’t.”
    After hanging up, I said to Ben, “I need the name of a good criminal attorney in this town. Fast.”
    â€œWhat the hell’s going on?”
    â€œJust the name, Ben. I’ll have to explain later.”
    â€œWell, one of our backers is a man named James Shapiro. Very good reputation. Very nice guy.”
    â€œFine. Thanks. You got his number?”
    A minute later I was talking to James Shapiro’s secretary. “He’s not in right now.”
    â€œI’m with the Cooper campaign. Dev Conrad. Something’s come up and I really need to talk with him. I hate to lean on you this way, but it’s important.”
    â€œWell, he’s probably in court.”
    â€œCan you reach him there?”
    â€œYes, one of his people can get a message to him.”
    â€œHere’s my cell phone number. I’ll be in my car soon, but please have him call me as soon as possible.”
    â€œAll right. Mr. . . . Conrad?”
    â€œYes. Conrad. Thank you.”
    I got directions to the police station from Ben.
    â€œYou got me scared, Dev. Young woman crying and a criminal defense lawyer . . .”
    â€œIt’d take too long to explain. And it’s between you and me, obviously.”
    â€œReally? Shit, I thought I’d call the
Chronicle
and give them an exclusive.”
    Traffic was light so I moved quickly. I was getting close to the street I wanted when my cell phone toned.
    â€œMr. Conrad?”
    â€œThanks for calling, Mr. Shapiro.”
    â€œJim. Please. You probably don’t remember this, but we met one time at the governor’s inauguration ball. Debby said it was an emergency. I just stepped out into the hall to call you. One of my associates is conducting the cross, anyway.”
    I told him what I knew without mentioning Susan. Just that I liked this young woman and wanted to help her.
    â€œSo you don’t know anything about this Bobby?”
    â€œAfraid I don’t.”
    â€œMonica Davies, huh? I wish I could say she didn’t have it coming.”
    â€œI feel the same way.”
    â€œAll right, Dev, I’ll be there. I need a little time, but I’ll be there.”
    I pulled into the parking lot of the long, low, lean police station. The tan limestone exterior and the wide windows in front gave it an open feeling you don’t find in many law enforcement facilities. I swung the car into an empty parking spot. “I’m at the police station now.”
    â€œI’m about six blocks from you. I need fifteen minutes, give or take. I’ll see you then.”
    The same architectural feeling continued inside the police department. The walls were painted a light blue, the tile floors were a complementary darker blue, the lobby furnishings were modern but comfortable, and the front counter was held down by two attractive women in regular blouses and skirts, no uniforms of any kind. This might have been the office of a medical clinic. The grit was found in the back half of the building, the one where the windows were barred up and down.
    I went to the counter and asked if Detective Priya Kapoor was here and if I could speak to her. One of the women told me to have a seat and she’d see if the detective was available. Then I asked her about Gwen. She said, all maternal rather than all cop, “She’s in the bathroom being sick.”
    I sat down and started to wait. I’d been there only a few minutes when the front doors opened and a sobbing woman and an angry man disrupted the busy but tranquil air.
    The woman, mid-forties I guessed, worn from work and dashed dreams, sat in the seat across from me. She kept dabbing her face with her gnarled handkerchief and looking at me with watery blue despairingeyes. If she