Free Bum Rap by Paul Levine

yes.”
    “If the state finds her, she’ll testify that your guy pulled the trigger, and it’s lights out for Solomon.”
    “That’s one possibility. Or maybe she’ll testify she pulled the trigger standing her ground, then hightailed it with Gorev’s gun. As my guy says.”
    “Why should she do that? She’ll risk being prosecuted for the robbery.”
    I laughed my big-time know-it-all trial lawyer laugh. “Meaning that if she testifies for the prosecution, it’s only because the state gives her immunity for both the shooting and the robbery. Which is fine with me. I love cross-examining immunized witnesses. ‘Isn’t it true you robbed the safe, Ms. Delova, and that the state agreed to drop those charges if you would identify my client as the gunman?’ ”
    “What I really called you for is this. State Attorney Pincher wants you to know there’s a rumor around town that someone’s put out a hit on Nadia.”
    “Why tell me?”
    Barrios was silent.
    “You saying Pincher thinks I’m behind it? What bullshit!”
    Barrios shrugged. “I told him that was crap. But he thinks you don’t want to find her and you really don’t want us to find her. That you’re afraid she’ll torpedo your defense . . . if she’s alive to do it. He wanted to warn you to keep clear of that sort of thing.”
    “If Ray Pincher wasn’t such an asshole, I’d be insulted.”
    “I told him that wasn’t your style, Jake. But you know . . .”
    Yeah, I did. Pincher had that disease prevalent among prosecutors. He thought defense lawyers were pond scum.
    “Appreciate the warning, George, and I got something for you in return.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Some guy named Benny is looking for Nadia. Maybe he’s your man.”
    “Benny? That’s all you’ve got.”
    “Hey, this ain’t NCIS . In real life, evidence comes in dribs and drabs. Whoever he is, Benny’s offering fifty thousand to whoever can deliver Nadia.”
    That raised Barrios’s eyebrows. He took out his little cop notebook and wrote, BENNY . Then he polished off his guava pastelito, which made me hungry, so I ordered one of my own, along with a beef empanada that had just come out of the oven; the aroma of the pastry filled the small café. Pastry and meat. Breakfast of champions.
    “In return, George, I got a couple questions for you.”
    “Ah, what you shysters call a quid pro quo.”
    “What can you tell me about the gun used to shoot Gorev?”
    “File your discovery papers with Pincher’s office. He’ll tell you all about it.”
    “You just did, George. If the gun had any connection to Solomon, you’d be dancing on the table.”
    He shrugged. “It’s a Glock 17, older-model nine-millimeter semiautomatic. Solomon could have concealed it inside his suit coat.”
    “Or his purse,” I said. “Oh, wait. That would be Nadia’s purse.”
    “The Glock was purchased lawfully from a shop in Houston by a guy from South Orange, New Jersey. Name of Littlejohn. Guy owns a courier business. No criminal record. Told us one of his drivers lost the gun on a trip to Kentucky.”
    “Like I said, you can’t tie the gun to Solomon.”
    “Solomon had it in his hand when the cops broke in, and he admits shooting into the door with it. His prints are on it. I’m pretty happy with the connection.”
    “We’ll fight about that in court.”
    “You said you had two questions.”
    “Right. I subpoenaed the city for all police records on Nadia Delova, and I haven’t gotten a document of any kind. Not even a parking ticket or a reply that you don’t have anything.”
    “City’s written reply is being vetted by Pincher’s office.”
    “Bad sign. C’mon, George. You can’t stonewall on discovery.”
    He reached into a slim briefcase and took out a single piece of paper, which he slid across the table.
    A booking photo of Nadia Delova.
    Date of birth, January 16, 1986, Saint Petersburg, Russia.
    Charge: grand larceny, to wit, one Rolex Submariner, black matte