A Criminal Defense by Steven Gore Read Free Book Online

rights that he could deliver up to any politician any group that devoted itself to playing the victim. It’s like a . . .” Navarro flicked his fingers next to his head like he was flipping through note cards in his mind. “What do you call it where two people share the same delusion?”
    Donnally guessed that Navarro assumed he’d know the word because the nature of Janie’s work—and he did.
    â€œA folie à deux,” Donnally said.
    â€œThat’s it. That’s what he has with the LGBT groups. They act like we live in a Jim Crow world, but they control who gets elected in this town, who gets appointed police chief, and who gets the big city contracts. Whenever something bad happened, Hamlin would undergo some kind of mind meld with them in their fake victimization. Some transgender idiot would get his ass kicked, and Hamlin was on TV declaring a hate crime. Never considered the possibility that the asshole might’ve deserved it. Lot of rough stuff happens in the Castro and most of it people bring on themselves.”
    â€œSounds like you’ve joined the Log Cabin Republicans,” Donnally said. “I wouldn’t have expected it.”
    â€œBeing gay doesn’t mean I have to follow the party line and wiggle my ass in a conga line at the pride parade. I moved out here in order to fit in and live a normal life, not to keep drawing attention to myself.” Navarro tapped his chest. “I’m a cop. Not a gay cop, or a fag cop, or a ho-mo-sex-u-al cop. A cop. If I hear somebody yell one more time, ‘We’re here. We’re queer. Get used to it,’ I’ll rip out his vocal cords. Everybody in San Francisco is already used to it.”
    â€œHow about just give him a bus ticket out of town?”
    Navarro half smiled in embarrassment, realizing that his rant was irrelevant to their task, then said, “That’ll do, too.”
    Navarro turned and led the way into the kitchen.
    â€œDoesn’t seem to be part of the same apartment,” Donnally said, as they stood looking at the clean granite counters, the bare butcher-block island, the slick Sub-Zero refrigerator, and the polished walnut table and chairs. “Either he’s got a cleaning service or somebody did a helluva job destroying evidence.” Donnally pointed through the doorway toward a bathroom across the hall. “Check that one for anything that smells like lavender. I’ll take a look upstairs.”
    Donnally walked back to the foyer and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He glanced into two small bedrooms as he made his way down the carpeted hallway and then turned into what appeared to be Hamlin’s master suite, shadowed within closed curtains. The blanket and spread were draped off the side of the bed and both pillows showed depressions. He resisted the temptation to conclude that they had been used the previous night. That was a fact not yet in evidence, and might never be.
    The only illumination in the room came from a shaft of sunlight spreading out from the bathroom. He followed it inside and sniffed the air.
    Lavender.
    He spotted a bar of soap on the shower floor, then opened the glass door and kneeled down to inspect it. A brown hair was stuck to it and partially wrapped around. A curled black one lay on the tile next to it. At least two people, or one with dyed hair, had used it. He suspected that the black one was from Hamlin, but only forensic testing would tell.
    Donnally pushed himself to his feet and returned to the bedroom. He flicked on the overhead light and checked the visible portions of the pillows and sheets for hair or semen stains. He found none. He figured he’d leave it to the evidence technicians to do a more thorough search.
    After he walked back downstairs, he found Navarro talking on his cell phone in the laundry room beyond the kitchen, reporting their address.
    Navarro pointed at a frayed length of rope lying on