Final Jeopardy by Linda Fairstein

Final Jeopardy by Linda Fairstein

Author:Linda Fairstein [Fairstein, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General
ISBN: 9780743490207
Google: kSS7XAS-hccC
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 1997-05-31T22:00:00+00:00


“Where to?” he asked again as we began our descent in the elevator.

“The University Club. Tap Room. Lights and sirens, please, Detective Chapman.”

Mike pulled out of the driveway and headed west till we reached Fifth Avenue, where he turned left at my direction to go south to the “U‘ Club.

“You belong there? I mean, are you a member of this place?”

“No.”

“ No broads?“

“Yeah. They admitted women a few years ago, but it’s not for me. Jed’s a member, though. Likes to breakfast there or have lunch in the Grill, drink at the end of the day, use the pool and squash courts. The old guys the sixty- and seventy-year-olds most of them voted to let women in when the first lawsuits started. The thirty- and forty-year-olds you know, the ones who are a bit threatened by skirts they tried to keep women out. Male bonding, Mike. Doesn’t it move you?“

“What street?”

“Corner of Fifty-fourth and Fifth.”

As we crossed the intersection of Fifty-seventh Street - a caravan of Daily News trucks lumbering eastbound with their first load of morning papers for the all-night newsstands - I groaned as I leaned my head onto the seat back.

“Oh no. Don’t even let me think that this story’s going to be another tabloid headline.”

“You can go to the bank on that one, Coop. You better hope somebody goes through the front door of Carder’s tonight with an atomic blowtorch and walks out with the Hope diamond. Otherwise, if it’s a slow news day, you and Jed could be right on the front pages. I can see them in the newsroom now Post goes with single-word header in all caps: ”BETRAYED“ News uses ”SEX PROSECUTOR IN DEADLY LOVE TRIANGLE.“

“I’m not a ”sex prosecutor,“ dammit. That’s the same thing they tried to write when Iz was killed. I prosecute crimes of sexual assault, not sex.”

“That’s a healthy approach, blondie the semantics. Don’t worry about what the headlines say, it’s how they say it.”

“I don’t know who I feel worse about Battaglia, my mother, or me.”

“Good thing you got an alibi for the middle of the afternoon when Lascar was killed. You can bet that Pat McKinney will be in there telling Battaglia that you had the best motive to knock off your fair-weather friend for playing with your man behind your back.”

I was silent as I thought of the endless rounds of gossip this case would now generate in the office, where I had always worked to maintain a healthy distance between my personal and professional lives. Chills ran through me as I tried to make a mental list of my friends and my enemies, but I would have a chance to see them all by the end of the next day before I could ever attempt to parse up the groupings in my head.

Mike had gone around the block and come up directly in front of the club building at One West Fifty-fourth Street, defying the “NO PARKING‘ sign by sticking his laminated NYPD vehicle identification



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