My daughter likes her. Anyway, she looks her age, is my point. But they kept working the case, even after they realized that they could've handed it off to precinct detectives. This case is under their skin. Any reluctance on the part of the Major Crimes Team to hand over a case to precinct detectives was understandable.
In theory, regular shift detectives are perfectly good investigators, but in reality, disappointed precinct detectives who were passed over for the elite MCT frequently drop the ball, deciding their cases must not be sufficiently "major" to warrant good investigations. I've never even handled an MCT case.
And I've been watching you since you got here, Kincaid.
You're good, and this could be a case for you to show what you can do when given the chance. I know an ego stroke when I see it. The truth was, he was right. I'd been eager to get my hands on a major trial.
It's a no-win situation: DVD cases aren't sexy enough to prove yourself to the guys running this place, yet you're supposed to prove yourself before you can try victim cases. Garcia was dangling a way for me to beat the system. Have someone call me? Garcia must've known he'd be able to work me.
He had told Detectives Jack Walker and Raymond Johnson to wait for us at the cafeteria in the basement of the federal building. Created to provide subsidized meals to low-level government workers, the cafeteria had found a cultlike following among the city's law enforcement crowd.
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A three-dollar tray of grease dished out by lunch ladies in hairnets had a certain retro appeal. I exercised some moderation and got a bowl of oatmeal while Garcia waited for his plate to be loaded up with bacon and home fries. After he'd paid for our meals, he led me to a corner table. I shook their hands. Jack Walker was a beefy man in his fifties, starting to lose his hair, with a full mustache.
His short-sleeved dress shirt stretched tight across his belly, the buttons pulling in front. His grip was almost painfully firm, and his palms were rough. He looked like a cop, through and through. Johnson was a different story altogether. He wore a collarless shirt with a three-button charcoal suit. His hair was close-cropped, and he wore a diamond stud in his left ear. He shook my hand and held it just a little longer than necessary, which was fine with me.
Jack Walker spoke first. I've been hearing a lot of good things about you from Tommy, here, and Chuck Forbes says you guys go way back. Suddenly, Johnson's handshake made a little more sense.
Judgment Calls - Samantha Kincaid Book 1 (Unabridged)
To say that Chuck Forbes and I go way back is to sanitize the situation considerably. I didn't think Chuck would tell all to his cop buddies, but I wouldn't be surprised if he had said something in a certain way with that grin of his that would clue a guy like Raymond Johnson in to the gist of his reminiscing. I hoped I wasn't blushing. A group of high school kids went out near Multnomah Falls to party.
They were all pretty drunk, and a couple of them hiked into the forest to get it on. The girl tripped over what she thought was a log. Turns out the log was Kendra Martin. He explained the facts in detail; I could see why he enjoyed a reputation among the DDAs as one of the bureau's best witnesses. No purse, no ID. Real beat up, finger marks on her neck, blood coming out of her bottom. Johnson continued. Looking at her, everyone assumed the worst. Her pulse was slow, she wasn't moving or talking, her face and body were covered with blood. We page O'Donnell and tell him what we have, and he says we don't need a DA to come out.
We don't have a suspect in custody yet, and the scene where we found the vic, even if it turns out to be the crime scene, is already fucked up by the high school kids. From the author of Missing Justice. Deputy District Attorney Samantha Kincaid walks into her office in Portland's Drug and Vice Division one morning to find the sergeant of the police bureau's vice unit waiting for her. A thirteen-year-old girl has been brutally attacked and left for dead on the city's outskirts.
Given the lack of evidence, most lawyers would settle for an assault charge; Samantha, unnerved by the viciousness of the crime, decides to go for attempted murder. But as she prepares for the trial, she uncovers a dangerous trail leading to an earlier high-profile death penalty case, a prostitution ring of underage girls, and a possible serial killer. In Samantha Kincaid, Alafair Burke has created a complex, appealing character. The prosecutor really wields an incredible amount of discretion," she says. The vast majority of criminal cases get pled out and nobody really looks at them.
A love of law and language runs deep as willow roots in the Burke family. Jim estimates there are five generations of lawyers in his bloodline going back to his great-grandfather, Robert Perry, a Louisiana judge whose Civil War adventures Burke chronicled in last year's White Doves at Morning. Burke himself studied pre-law before writing took a firm grip on him.
Judgment calls : a Samantha Kincaid mystery | Addison Public
Given the bayou setting of her father's Dave Robicheaux series, some may be surprised to find Alafair's work set in the Pacific Northwest. Paternal bragging rights aside, Professor Jim gives his straight-A daughter highest marks on her first book. One, it's very well written.
- Judgment Calls.
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The prose is extremely professional. The dialogue is good. It's a tight book. Alafair always wrote good prose, regardless of the medium.
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