It was early Friday afternoon, a week after Jim’s murder, when the NYC female police officer stood outside of the door. She gave a low whistle as she looked around at the surroundings. Her male partner nodded his head in silent agreement. She rang the doorbell. The door opened several seconds later.
“Hi, Officers. Can I help you?” Gabriella asked.
“Can you tell me your name, please,” the female officer asked.
“Certainly, officer. I’m Gabriella West. Is this about Jim?”
“Yes, it is. I’m afraid I have to ask you to come with me.”
“Why? I told the police everything I knew when they interviewed me in the lab. What’s this all about?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. They’ve ordered me to pick you up and bring you to the station. I’ll try to be gentle, but your cooperation will aid immensely. Please turn around while I cuff you.”
I could fight her. No. Unwise. Best to go peacefully.
“I’m being arrested? For what? Do you think I killed Jim? View the security tapes. I wasn’t even in the lab at the time of his murder. What’s going on?”
“It’s all for the court to decide, ma’am,” the officer said as she cuffed Gabriella behind her back, frisked her, and led her to the waiting police car.
“Where are you taking me? Do I get a phone call?”
“You’ll get several chances to use a telephone. I’m taking you to the Criminal Courts building.” The officer decided she liked Gabriella and shared more information with her. “Once there, you will be processed-in and spend some time in the pens in the Tombs, waiting to see a judge. You’ll be there a while before you see a judge. He or she will charge you at your arraignment.”
The police car threaded through the city traffic and arrived at the Criminal Courts Building. Steel security gate slid open, and the patrol car drove into the alley between Centre and Baxter Street. The gate rumbled closed. A duty officer led Gabriella inside and turned her over to the Department of Correction.
The police officer sitting at the high initial processing desk took down her name, address, and where she worked. A second correction officer correlated what Gabriela was saying against her ID cards.
“Okay, ma’am, let’s get you fingerprinted. The guard here will take you down.”
“Can I get these handcuffs taken off, then?”
“Cute, lady. No. Absolutely not! They will only come off during the actual printing process and when you get to your holding pen. Officer, she’s ready. You can take her.”
The fingerprinting room was smaller than Gabriella had imagined. There was scarcely enough room for an officer’s desk, a small Livescan digital fingerprinting machine, and a chair for the arrestee. The room was glass-walled. An officer rolled Gabriella’s fingertips over the small scanning window. He explained they would send the digital prints to the central database in Albany, where they would check them against all the prints on file in the corrections database.
“I have no arrest record,” Gabriella said. “Nothing will come up on your scan.”
“In that case, the scan may take a couple of hours to validate you are not in the system. It really doesn’t matter. There’s no rush. You have no place to go.”
Gabriella raised an eyebrow. “No rush! I’d like to have this thing over as soon as possible.”
“Lady, this really is your first time, isn’t it? Most people are here for a few days before they even get to see the judge. There are a lot of people to process. Judges can only see so many people in one day. Plan on at least a day or two before you’re arraigned.”
“When can I make a phone call? I have to arrange for an attorney and to let people know I am here.”
“You can make several calls from the pen. It shouldn’t be a problem. Guard, would you escort Ms. West to Interrogation?”
“Interrogation? I thought the next stop was the holding pen. Why interrogation?”
“Guard!”
They cuffed Gabriella behind her back. A matronly guard held her by her upper arm and guided her through the maze of hallways to the interrogation room. The small, dirty room was brightly lit by the shielded fluorescent light overhead. Its walls were the dull, green-gray, which was once considered conducive to keeping prisoners calm. Paint was worn off the floor, except for dirty gray patches in the corners. The only break in the featureless walls was the single door with a small window. Two small video cameras blinked monotonously from opposite corners of the ceiling. Four metal chairs surrounded a small metal table in the center of the room. The table was bolted to the floor.
The guard asked Gabriella to sit, and when seated, removed her handcuffs. Gabriella rubbed her wrists.
“What happens now?” Gabriella asked.
“Now we wait for the officers to come in and ask you questions. Lots and lots of questions. Your first time is it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You look nice. My advice to you is to be courteous and answer their questions without causing any trouble for them. They are doing their job. Yesterday, we had a smart-mouthed woman in here. She gave the officers a lot of attitude. She was in this room for almost eight hours. It doesn’t have to take that long. Be nice, okay? They may try to get you frustrated on purpose, but it’s also part of their job. Stay cool.”
Gabriella nodded her head in agreement.
The door to the interrogation room opened. Two plainclothes police officers walked in. They thanked the guard and told her they would take it from here. The guard thanked them and left the room. She stood outside the door.
“Hello, my name is Officer Stanley,” said the woman, “and this is Officer Jones,” she added, gesturing to the male officer. ”We would like to ask you a few questions if it’s all right with you.”
“Certainly, whatever you need,” said Gabriella, and then added with a hint of sarcasm, “I don’t seem to have much on my calendar right now.”
The two officers looked at each other and gave slight shakes of their heads. “Lets, get on with it,” Officer Jones said. Miranda rights were recited to Gabriella. She said she understood and didn’t need an attorney present. The officers began asking the same questions. “What is your name? Who do you work for? Where do you live?” All the questions asked during in-processing were repeated. Gabriella answered them without complaint.
“Ms. West, where were you on the night of September 20th?”
“I was home alone, officer. I told the other officers the same thing, and no, there is no way to prove it to you. Listen, I don’t want to be rude, but why have I been arrested? The fact Jim is dead makes me feel terrible, but I had nothing to do with it. Why did you arrest me?”
“We aren’t at liberty to share the details with you, but we have enough hard evidence to convict you. Now, if you work with us, we may plead down to second-degree murder.”
“What! What evidence can you have? I was in my apartment all night.”
“It’s okay. If you want to play it like that, we will.” Officer Jones said. “It’s all the same to us. Officer Stanley, let’s grab some lunch. Ms. West, we will leave you here, and we’ll see you after lunch. Perhaps you’ll remember something by then.”
The officers opened the door to leave. Officer Stanley turned to Gabriella. “If you need anything, knock on the door. There will be a corrections guard on the other side. I can’t promise you will get what you ask for, but you can ask. Have a good afternoon.” The door closed with a solid latching sound.
Officer Stanley turned to Officer Jones and said her gut was telling her Gabriella was telling the truth. “I’ve interviewed enough people to get a sense of who is lying and who is telling the truth.”
Officer Jones reminded her there was a lot of hard evidence against Gabriella, and it is all damning. “We’ll see what a few hours alone in the interrogation room do to change her answers. Hank’s for lunch?”
“Sounds good. Beer is on me.”
Gabriella sat alone in the featureless room, wondering what evidence the police could have against her. She began hacking into the police mainframe. They spent the taxpayer’s money very well with the security interface here. Good job, guys. I’ll get in, though. No firewall is impregnable. Two hours passed without the interrogators returning. The delay gave Gabriella time to find a backdoor into the police computers.
She stared at the computer file evidence she saw in her head. This is impossible. They have security badge swipes and videos of me entering and leaving the lab around the time of Jim’s murder, but that’s impossible. It never happened! Where did this come from? I need to do some real digging to see whose programming fingerprints I can find.
The door to the room opened, and Officers Jones and Stanley entered the room. “Lunch was good. Did you need anything while we were gone?”
“No officers, I’ve been fine, thank you.”
“Do you need a bathroom break?”
“No. I have a great reserve. I can wait for a long time. It’s an acquired ability.”
“That’s a handy trait to have in jail. You’ll need it. Have you given any thought to editing your prior statement?”
“No officer. I’m telling you the whole truth. I had nothing to do with Jim’s murder and was in my apartment alone.”
“And you had no contact with Jim Arnold after you finished for the day on September 20?”
“He called me at six P.M. and asked to meet. I agreed, and we met for about five minutes.”
“Was it in the lab?”
“No. We met in front of the grill on West Fifty-Seventh and Seventh Avenue. We never even went inside.”
“And what did you talk about?”
“Truthfully, we were lovers. Jim got religion and decided he wanted to make things right in his marriage. I tried talking him out of breaking up. He wouldn’t hear of it. We ended it, kissed, and parted company. It was the last time I saw him alive. I went straight to my apartment for the night. That’s all.”
“Are you telling us the whole story?”
“Yes, I am. I don’t believe I’ve left anything out.”
“So how did the breakup make you feel? Broken-hearted? Angry?”
“I was hurt and disappointed, but not broken-hearted or angry,” Gabriella lied.
“And you never went back to the lab?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then how do you suppose we have hard evidence linking you to the murder? Is there anything else you want to tell us?”
“Honest officers, I’ve told you everything. You don’t know me, but I don’t lie. It’s the whole truth.”
“Is that your final statement, then?”
“Yes, sir. It is.”
“If you think of anything else, please let us know. Guard! Please take Ms. West to the pen.”
The guard entered the room, handcuffed Gabriella, and led her through the dreary hallways to the pen.
“Okay, Officer Stanley, let’s file a video complaint with the D.A. He can fax the deposition for signing to us tonight. We can let the judge sort it all out. Coffee after we file?”
“Sure,” came the reply. “How about the Ridge Donut Cafe? Their apple fritters are killers.”
“Sounds good. I can use a bit of a snack.”
The pen was a fifteen by thirty-foot featureless cement-walled room. Thick bars were worn, dirty denim blue rising to the ceiling from the storm gray floor. Steel benches lined three walls. A single payphone hung on the wall next to the bars. It was in constant use as people called family and lawyers.
Frankie Hoyle stood next to the seated Gabriella and towered her erect six-foot frame over her. “So what sweet thing do we have here? What’s your name, little girl?” Gabriella felt Frankie playing with strands of her hair.
“Please don’t do that,” said Gabriella, brushing Frankie’s hand away.
“Spunky, but nice,” replied Frankie.
“Hey, Blondie, let Frankie do whatever she wants,” a woman five seats away advised. “It’s not healthy to push her away. Frankie gets what she wants. Just the way it is. Don’t mess with her.”
Frankie smiled and nodded toward the women. “I’d listen to her if I were you, Chickie.”
Gabriella gave a soft sigh and stood up to face Frankie toe to toe. She looked up into Frankie’s eyes. “I asked you not to do that. Please.”
“You don’t get how things work here, do you? What are you here for? Breaking a nail on the runway?” Frankie asked with a sarcastic laugh. She reached out to touch Gabriella’s hair again.
In an instant, Gabriella grabbed Frankie’s wrist and squeezed hard enough to hurt. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she tightened her grip. “I’m accused of jamming a screwdriver into my ex-lover's heart, twisting it, and watching him bleed to death at my feet. Now leave me alone, bitch!” Gabriella pushed Frankie hard enough to send her back several feet.
Frankie’s eyes widened as the look of shock spread across her face. She caught herself, rubbed her wrist, and smiled. “You’re all right, kid. Most people don’t stand up to me like you did. That takes either guts, or you’re stupid. You don’t look stupid, so I guess you have guts. You’re okay.” She turned, smiled at the other women, and went back to her seat. The regulars in the pen nodded at Gabriella, knowing there would be no more testing today.
One woman leaned over to Gabriella and said wryly, “Murder, huh? Well, I guess you won’t be getting an appearance ticket and released on bail. You’re home, girl, until the judge can see you. Don’t hold your breath, though. Some stay here almost a week ‘till the judge sees us.”
“I thought we had to see the judge within twenty-four hours? Why does it take longer?” said Gabriella.
“That’s funny. Look, honey, you may not have noticed, but this place is packed, and we aren’t exactly the highest rung on the social ladder. The judges see us when they can.”
“Great. So if I’m in here for a while, where do we sleep and wash up?”
“Girl, you sleep where you sit. Wash up? What’s wash up? Forget about it. Everyone gets pretty ripe by the time they get seen.” And said with a laugh, “That may help speed up the whole process, though. Who knows?”
“And so we wait,” said Gabriella. “I’d better queue up in line to make my phone call.” She stood at the back of the short phone line to wait for her turn. The women in front said there was no need to wait. She could be next on the phone. Gabriella said she could wait her turn, but the women explained she and Frankie were at the top of the pen pecking order now, and rank has its privileges. She graciously accepted and moved to the front of the line. Frankie nodded her approval. A woman handed Gabriella a quarter to start her call.