“Stupid motherfucker,” she whispers.
It’s a disturbing, bloody video that shows a complete lack of conscience—and the cold ruthlessness of a killer.
Tomasetti turns off the cell, drops it in his pocket; then his eyes fasten to Gina. “When were you going to tell us about that?”
Gina stares at him, eyes wide, mouth open, and she motions toward his cell. “That did not happen. I don’t know where you got it, but it did not happen. Not like that.”
“For God’s sake.” Tomasetti throws up his hands in exasperation. His eyes simmer with fury. “You had better start talking, because I’m an inch away from placing you under arrest. I will transport you to the Holmes County Sheriff’s Department, where you will be booked and put in a holding cell until we can figure out what the hell to do with you. Are you getting where I’m coming from?”
She opens her mouth, closes it without speaking, takes a moment to compose herself. “I can’t explain something I’ve never seen. All I can tell you is that it did not happen. Not like that. Not even close. I don’t know how they got that video, but that is not the way it went down.”
“Who’s the man in the video?” I ask.
“Eddie Cysco.” She snaps the name, but her face has gone pale. “The one they murdered.”
“They?” Stepping forward, Tomasetti takes the mug from her hand, spilling coffee in the process, and tosses it into the sink. “Sit down.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she snarls.
“I’m the dumbass trying to save someone who by all indications isn’t worth the effort.” He points to the chair. “Sit the fuck down.”
Glaring at him, more fight than flight in her eyes, she goes to the chair, hesitates, then sinks into it. “I do not have an explanation for that video. I recognize parts of it. The badge number is mine. But that did not happen.”
“So you’ve said,” Tomasetti says in a low voice. “Here’s a news flash for you, Colorosa. Bodycam footage doesn’t lie.” He all but snarls the words. “I can’t say the same for you.”
She starts to stand, but he sets his hand on her shoulder, presses her back into the chair. “Did you shoot Eddie Cysco?” he asks.
“No. He was my CI,” she tells him.” “I arrested him several times over the years. He never resisted and there was never a shot fired.”
“That’s you in the video,” he says. “Your Sig.”
She looks down, her brows furrowing. “I don’t know what that is. I can’t explain it.”
“Maybe you don’t want to,” he growls.
I watch the exchange, hold my ground at the door, give Tomasetti the room he needs. A knot of tension pulls taut between my shoulders. Is it possible she’s been lying to us all along? That she’s as corrupt and dishonest as the cops she’s accused of the same and simply trying to save herself? Am I so blinded by my past relationship with her that I didn’t see it?
Gina leans back in the chair, looks from Tomasetti to me. “That video is doctored.”
Tomasetti laughs. “Do you have any idea how impossible it is to alter bodycam footage? Especially when it’s from an officer in a large metropolitan police department?”
“I know how it sounds.” Tightening her mouth, she shakes her head. “But that’s the only explanation that makes sense. I arrested Eddie Cysco. I was there, and I’m telling you that did not happen.”
“You realize I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth,” he says.
Leaning forward, she puts her elbows on the table, stares down at the tablecloth. “They altered the footage. They leaked it to the media. Dear God, they’re going to fry me.”
I turn my attention to Gina. “You arrested Cysco at some point?”
“I arrested him half a dozen times. He was small-time, but connected. He knew the big dogs. That particular arrest, the part of it on that video, happened about a year ago,” she replies. “It was a simple arrest. Cysco violated his parole. Minor thing that would normally be overlooked. But I needed him. I’d had eyes on him for a while because I wanted him as a CI, and I knew he was just desperate enough to cooperate. So I went after him and made the arrest. When he agreed to cooperate, I went to bat for him. The DA was willing to negotiate—no jail time as long as Cysco told me what I needed to know.”
She motions toward Tomasetti’s cell phone with her eyes. “Part of that footage is from one of my arrests of Cysco.” Her brows knit. “The rest … It’s like someone used footage from an unrelated arrest I made two years ago.”
“Did you fire your weapon?”
“No.” She chokes out a sound of frustration. “I don’t know where that footage came from. It’s like some weird collage.”
“So you’re saying part of that video shows you arresting Eddie Cysco. What about the rest of it?”
“I think it’s an arrest I made of a deadbeat by the name of Lee Kilpatrick.”
“That can be verified.” He thumbs the name into his cell. “Someone leaked that footage to the media,” he tells her. “The department is being accused of keeping it under wraps to protect a bad cop: you.”
“Complete bullshit,” she snarls.
He’s standing a few feet away, his arms crossed at his chest, looking at Gina as if she’s a handful of sludge he’s pulled out of a clogged gutter. I think about the video, about everything that’s been said, and I realize that either she’s a master liar or there’s a hell of a lot more going on than any of us realized.
“Is it seriously even possible to alter bodycam footage?” I ask.
Tomasetti glares at me. “It’s damn unlikely,” he says with disgust. “Think about it, Kate. Anyone who even views the video leaves a digital footprint. There are layers upon layers of security.”
Here in Painters Mill, we don’t have the budget for bodycams. The subject has arisen in town council meetings on several occasions. While most people believe bodycams protect the officers, the county attorney was quick to point out the drawbacks. For example, the invasion-of-privacy issues for the general public. And for the officers, having to take the time to turn them on—an instant that could distract them during an emergency situation.
I look at Tomasetti. “What’s the typical chain of custody on bodycam footage?”
He shakes his head. “Departments differ, but in most cases the officer uploads the footage at the end of his shift. From there it goes to a database that’s managed by the city or county’s information technology department or else it’s contracted out. Anyone who needs to look at the footage—for example, if the officer needs to ensure his or her report is correct—has to sign in.” He grimaces. “I’ve been involved in several cases in which either bodycam or dashcam footage was evidence. In all the years I’ve been with BCI, I’ve never heard of or encountered footage being altered in any way. There are too many people involved and a lot of checks and balances.”
“That video is a complete fabrication,” Gina snaps.
Tomasetti ignores her.