Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [60]
“I don’t know.”
“Well, get a handle on it, Sergeant,” Foyt said, “because this case might need all the ammunition we can muster.”
“Are you here to make a deal?”
Foyt shook his head. “No, to listen to one. Want to come along?”
“You bet I do,” Ramona replied, pushing open the door. “What’s up with Dean?”
Foyt followed her into the public reception area where three female citizens were waiting to speak to their incarcerated loved ones. “He’s in a holding cell at the courthouse awaiting arraignment.”
“No problem with him, I hope,” Ramona asked.
“Not so far.”
They signed in and got buzzed through to the corridor that led to the interview rooms. Patricia Delgado stood in the hallway by an open door. At five-nine, she towered over both Pino and Foyt.
A former basketball star at one of the smaller state universities, Delgado kept in shape by running marathons, usually finishing in the top five for her age group. Single, still in her thirties, and attractive, she was romantically linked to a state senator rumored to have his eye on the governorship in the next election.
Ramona thought of Delgado as an ice princess, who hid her self-absorbed personality behind a veneer of charm. Today she wore a tailored tan pantsuit that accentuated her long legs. The smile on her face held all the false enthusiasm of a media spokesperson peddling a beauty aid.
“I’d almost given up on you,” Delgado said, nodding at Foyt and giving Ramona a quizzical look. “I didn’t realize you were bringing Sergeant Pino along.”
“Is that a problem?” Foyt asked.
Delgado shrugged and gestured at the table inside the room where Griffin waited. “Not at all. I just hope you don’t have any more little surprises for me.”
“If your client has told you everything,” Foyt said as he sat down, “there won’t be. What’s on your mind, counselor?”
Ramona slid into the seat next to Foyt and studied Griffin. He’d shaved and combed his hair back so that it stood up at his forehead like strands of wispy wire. He no longer looked like a faded country music star. The stress and anxiety of yesterday were gone, replaced by a blasé, untroubled expression.
“If you give him a pass on the drug dealing charges in exchange for his testimony against Mr. Dean,” Delgado said, “he’s agreed to cooperate.”
“Mr. Griffin made that same offer to us yesterday,” Foyt said huffily. “I didn’t take it then. Why should I take it now when I’ve got more than enough evidence collected at the pharmacy to nail Dean on drug trafficking without the help of your client?”
Delgado leaned forward in her chair and smiled winningly. “Because he might be able to help you with the murder charges you’ve filed against Dean.”
“I’m listening,” Foyt said.
“Before we get into that, let me tell you that the lab report on Mr. Griffin’s urinalysis came back positive for both alcohol and barbiturates. In fact, he was barely below the legal limit for intoxication hours after his arrest, and the thin layer chromatography and infrared spectrophotometer analysis shows that Mr. Griffin had ingested a significant amount of Seconal prior to being taken into custody.
“You’ll get the details at the preliminary hearing when I move to have the evidence suppressed, the confession thrown out, and the charges dismissed. I also plan to bring along expert witnesses who will testify that my client was in no condition to intelligently understand his rights or give an informed consent to search his premises.”
Clearly irritated, Foyt rolled his tongue around his lips before speaking. “I’m not going to bargain with you based on a report I haven’t seen.”
Delgado flipped slowly through a leather-bound notecase with her long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. She extracted the report and gave it to Foyt. He read through it quickly and passed it to Ramona.
Delgado hadn’t exaggerated. Ramona pushed the report across the table to Delgado. “Exactly what evidence will you ask to have suppressed?” she asked.
“The pharmaceuticals, of course,” Delgado replied.
Ramona smiled. “But not the ten pounds of marijuana we found