Interest of Justice

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Lara punched him on the arm with her fist. “You little shit.” Then she started laughing. Rickerson began laughing and neither of them could stop. Their laughter echoed in the canyon below and returned to surround them. Tears started rolling down Lara’s face, but still she couldn’t stop. She was the sophisticated judge. He was the street cop. And the man had completely seduced her, set it all up every inch of the way. All these days she had wanted him and thought she couldn’t have him. “You know, lying to me could be considered perjury.”

  “Not hardly,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you the other night that you could be had?”

  She was still laughing. She knew he was only joking. Besides, he was right. She had been ripe for the taking. The irony was that she had actually planned to seduce him. He had just been smarter and quicker.

  “Let’s go,” he said once they both stopped laughing.

  She stepped up to him, gazed into his eyes, and again he took her in his arms. He was so big; she was so small. While the chilly air whipped around them, they stood there together in silence. For those few moments, time stood still. “I think I love you too,” Lara finally said.

  “You think? You don’t know for sure?”

  “No,” she said. “Not yet.”

  He yanked her arm playfully and she stumbled along behind him to the car. He opened the door and she stepped inside. “You’ll know soon,” he said, closing the door.

  Once he was in the driver’s seat, they headed down the hill.

  On the ride home, Lara fell asleep. At first she faked it, leaning back and closing her eyes, wanted to savor everything that had happened and commit it to memory, sort through her thoughts. Then exhaustion overtook her and she fell into a deep slumber, slipping even farther down in the seat, her head rolling to the side against the window. Rickerson turned the volume on the police radio up where he could hear it, glanced to see if Lara would awaken, but she was oblivious to anything now.

  He listened to the dispatcher. They were dispatching an officer on a barking dog. Having been out of patrol for years, he couldn’t imagine sending officers out on such stupid calls. But that was part of the job, like it or not. He’d done his time, handled the family fights, the loud parties, the neighborhood squabbles. It wasn’t all action and excitement. He kept glancing at the woman next to him. Her hair was tousled, her makeup smeared. He felt exhilarated.

  Then he heard something that made his hair stand on end. An officer came on the air, screaming, his siren blasting in the background. You could even hear the roar of his unit’s big engine as he raced through the night. He was in pursuit.

  The car he was chasing was Frank Door’s Corvette.

  Rickerson, almost in Santa Ana, looked quickly at the freeway off ramps. He wasn’t that far away.

  Lara had no idea where they were when she opened her eyes. The car was barreling down the road, Rickerson sitting up close to the steering wheel, gripping it with both hands. The police radio was blasting, the volume turned all the way up.

  “Seat belt on?” he asked Lara, having to yell over the radio. She nodded, rubbing her eyes. Then the detective slapped the steering wheel and almost lost control of the speeding car. “I should have never left the freeway. Fuck. I think we’ve lost him now.”

  Lara was dazed, just trying to figure out what he was all excited about. He cut through a dirt lot, dust churning in clouds, the unit bouncing up and down like a jeep, the windows rattling and shaking. “What the hell?” Lara screamed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Shut up,” he barked. “Just hold on…”

  “Shut up? You stop this car…”

  Out of the dirt now, he flew over the curb, the front fender scraping against the road, fishtailed onto a side street, and again he stepped on the accelerator. “There,” he said, “see it—there it is. Got the sucker. Hot damn. Snuck right up on him.”

  About two car lengths ahead of him was a blue Corvette with dark tinted windows. “My God, the car,” Lara said, grabbing the dashboard and seeing if she could make out the plate. “That’s it,” she yelled, her heart beating faster and harder. “It was 347PJG. That’s it. How did you find it?”

  Rickerson was closing the distance. “I didn’t find it,” he screamed. “Another officer spotted it and went in pursuit Then he lost him and we were nearby. I found him. Good thing I drove the police unit tonight.”

  Rickerson grabbed the microphone. “Station One, this is 654. I have the vehicle. I repeat, I have the vehicle in sight. We’re northbound on…” He paused, looking frantically at the street signs. “We’re on Harbor…passing Orangewood. Get me a backup. Advise them to take the Harbor exit off the freeway.”

  The Corvette was exceeding the speed limit, but still wasn’t aware they were following him. Then when they were practically on his bumper, the Corvette took off in a burst of speed, making a sharp right turn down a side street.

  “Hurry,” Lara screamed, totally into it now. “Get him. Get the bastard.”

  “I need a backup,” Rickerson screamed into the radio again. “I have a civilian in the unit.” He gripped the steering wheel and turned to Lara. “Shit, that ‘Vette is souped. There’s no telling what’s under the hood.”

  He glanced at the speedometer. They were flying down a residential street at about eighty-five miles per hour, Rickerson desperately trying not to hit the parked cars in front of the houses and get them killed, maybe even run over some poor soul crossing the street in the dark.

  Down another street they raced, this one a divided roadway with two lanes. Rickerson kept trying to pull up alongside the man on the left. While Lara’s eyes were peeled on the road in front of them, he yanked his gun out of his shoulder holster and steered the car with one hand. “Get down in the seat,” he ordered her. “And don’t get up, no matter what happens.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move.

  He yelled again, “Get down.” Then he shifted the gun to his left hand and shoved her head down with his right. The engine roared, the car vibrated. “Here it is,” he yelled. “Put your face into the upholstery. Hold on.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than the car jerked violently to the left and smashed into the other car, metal jarring metal with a loud metallic crunch. Then the police unit started spinning out of control, making a complete circle backward at tremendous speed. Rickerson wrestled with the steering wheel, trying to steer into the skid and bring the car to a stop. Lara dug her fingernails into the seat and screamed.

  The car stopped.

  Rickerson bailed out, leaving the door standing open. She could hear him yelling, “Police. Stop right there, you mother fucker. I’d just love to blow you away.”

  Lara unfastened her seat belt and crawled to the passenger window, only her eyes and the top of her head showing as she peered out at the scene. The detective had a gun trained on a man on the ground. The Corvette was upside down and the wheels were spinning, the engine still running, steam and smoke rising from the hood. Keeping her head down, she cracked open the car door and yelled, “Can I get out?”

  “You okay?” he said, never taking his eyes off the man.

  “I think so,” Lara said, standing. Her legs were wobbling and her knees knocking, but she didn’t think she was injured. “I’m fine. Is it him?”

  “Take a look,” Rickerson said, stepping closer to the man. He was on his face on the asphalt. Rickerson kicked him with his foot, and the man rolled onto his side. Blood was streaming from a cut on his chin, and his arm was bent at an unnatural angle.

  “My fucking arm’s broken,” the man said. Then he spat on the sidewalk. His mouth was full of blood.

  Since he didn’t appear to be armed, Lara took a few steps closer. “That’s him,” she said. He didn’t look as menacing without the stocking, but she knew it was him. He was tall and thin; his legs looked like stilts. She recognized the black polyester pants. They were about two inches too short.

  “You bastard,” she hissed at him. “
You fucking bastard. I should shoot you myself.”

  “Want to rough him up?” the detective said, his shoulder twitching, the strain of holding the gun in front of him causing it to move up and down in his hand. He hadn’t even brought a set of cuffs. He’d gone out to a concert, not expecting to end up in a pursuit. “You’ve earned it,” he urged her. “Go ahead. Kick him or something. Kick him in the balls.”

  Lara froze.

  She’d never purposely hurt another human being in her life. He was vile and contemptible, but she couldn’t do it. She just stared at him, watching the blood drip from the cut on his chin. He started laughing at her. A few seconds later he was coughing and hacking, then rolling over and spitting up more blood.

  “I’m fucking dying, man,” he said. “My arm…my arm.”

  Rickerson looked back at Lara. “Do it. Do it now. Kick his arm and see how he likes it. See how he likes to be on the receiving end.”

  Lara continued to stand motionless. She finally took a few steps forward. Every second of that horrible night in the garage returned and she moved her foot around, started to pull it back and kick him. She was breathing hard. This was her chance for revenge. She could hurt him. She could kick in his face, kick him in his balls.

  “Go on,” Rickerson said. “We haven’t got all night.”

  Stepping close to the detective, she whispered, “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “Didn’t think so,” he said, smiling. “To be honest, I’m not into that type of thing myself, but thought I’d offer.”

  “I’m in pain, man,” Frank Door screamed.

  “Go to the phone and make certain they’re sending a black-and-white. The radio’s disabled.” He looked around, trying to spot a street sign. “Take your purse and the gun. This isn’t the best area. Check the street sign on the corner and give them the cross streets. Hurry.” He paused and then added, “I guess you better get an ambulance too.” He yelled at the man on the ground. “That is, unless you want to make a run for it, asshole, and let me put a hole in your fucking back.”

  Lara grabbed her purse and started jogging down the street toward the street light. On the opposite corner was a Stop ‘n’ Go. They should have a phone.

  Lara stayed with Rickerson while they waited for a tow truck and then had to go to the police station to give her statement and make a positive ID that Door was the man who had attacked her. Rickerson still had to complete his report and transport Frank Door to the county jail. He arranged to have a patrol unit drive her home. Having consumed about five cups of black coffee, he was wide awake and wired. Before Lara left, he snuck her into the captain’s empty office and closed the door. He kissed her, held her.

  “Tonight was probably one of the best nights of my life,” he told her. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  “You’re not going to let me go, Ted,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “But I do have a trial tomorrow. I have to get a few hours’ sleep.” She started for the door and he jerked her back.

  “I could make love to you again—right here, right now.”

  “No, Ted,” she said, pulling away forcefully. “Not here. Don’t worry, I’m not going to disappear. Believe me, this meant as much to me as it did to you. Next time we’ll try a bed. I’m a little too old for the backseat of a car.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said. His eyes tracked her as she left the room, leaving him standing there in the dark.

  A few seconds later, she stuck her head back inside and whispered, “Tomorrow. Better rest up.”

  Then she found the patrol officer and he took her home.

  It was four in the morning before Lara fell into bed. Josh had slept on the floor at Emmet’s in his sleeping bag. When she didn’t get up in time after he’d returned, dressed, and had his breakfast, he went and woke her. “Are you sick?” he said, concerned that she was still in bed.

  “No,” she told him, forcing herself to put her feet on the floor by the bed. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

  They walked to the parking lot together, her mind replaying the events of last night. They’d certainly chopped Frank Door down to size. In a way it had been quite gratifying, even if she didn’t have the gumption to kick his face or rupture his balls. Just seeing him bleed had been worth it. She thought of Ted Rickerson. Just thinking about their lovemaking on the bluff gave her a warm, satisfied glow. Everything was a little brighter, sharper: the sun, the smell of the flowers planted near the front of the complex, the soft, warm air on her face.

  She drove Josh to school. There was no reason to tell him what had really transpired last night with Frank Door. Josh didn’t even know about the assault in the garage. She glanced in the rearview mirror, checking her face. The bruise on her forehead was fading, and she had covered it with makeup.

  Frank Door was safely in jail; he’d refused to waive his rights and had demanded an attorney. Unless the D.A. offered him a deal, Rickerson doubted he’d ever talk. Was it really Leo Evergreen behind her sister’s death? With Josh’s ID, they now had a connection between Packy and the murders. Evergreen had told her to release him. Additionally, Evergreen’s son was in one of the obscene photos. Even though she found the whole thing incomprehensible, she had to admit the evidence was beginning to stack up. The one thing that kept appearing in her mind was the court order to release Frank Door. She couldn’t see Leo sneaking into her office and figuring out how to produce and transmit that document. He could have had another secretary or clerk do it for him, she thought, even though that would have put him at risk of exposure.

  A thought flashed into her mind. If Evergreen was the game man, he’d be proficient in computers. Then another thought surfaced. Phillip loved video games.

  Several times she had walked into her office and found him playing games on his terminal. Phillip could be the game man.

  Clearing her mind of these thoughts, she made an attempt to converse with Josh.

  All he talked about now was Emmet. Lara really felt she could have moved back into the house in Irvine several days ago, but she had stalled, hating to take Josh away from Emmet. They had bonded, became fast friends. In many ways they had merged into something similar to a family. And Lara knew Josh needed this companionship—to be surrounded by people. As far as she was concerned, Emmet had done more for the child than Dr. Werner could have done in a hundred sessions. He was talking more. He wasn’t hurling insults at her. She was beginning to see the fine young man that he really was surface—the angry young man was finally fading away.

  “Emmet’s so smart,” Josh said. “He’s a genius. And he never complains. I mean, he never complains about anything.”

  Lara reached over and clasped his hand. “You don’t complain a lot yourself, Josh. Guess you and Emmet have a lot in common. Neither one of you has had a lot of breaks in life, but you’re a fine young man.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes clouding over, his fingers tightening on Lara’s. “Way I see it, you have to take whatever comes along and make the best of it. That’s what Emmet says. Did you know his mother dumped him when he was diagnosed? She just up and left. He hasn’t seen or heard from her since.”

  Lara sighed. She hadn’t known. In reality, she wasn’t even certain how old Emmet was. From what he’d told her, she estimated his age in his late twenties or early thirties. He’d graduated from MIT. Then he’d gone on to get a master’s degree at Long Beach State. But the way Josh was talking, she might be mistaken. Emmet might be only in his early twenties. He was probably a child prodigy who had gone to college at fourteen. In many ways the little man seemed ageless.

  One moment he seemed like a child, almost helpless, and another he seemed to know all there was to know in the universe.

  “Emmet says he gets scared sometimes,” Josh continued. “He’s afraid he’s going to die alone. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he told me, he wakes up and thinks about it—about what happens when you die. You know what Emmet believes? He believes he will come back
after he dies in a different body, a healthy body. Because God has made him suffer so much in this life, he thinks he will have a much better life next time. But his mother?…How could she leave him like that?”

  “Well, Josh, some people can’t handle illness. Some people are weak, but that doesn’t mean they’re bad. Possibly it’s because they haven’t had enough love or people have hurt them. I don’t know.”

  “Is that what happened to my mother?” Josh said in a soft voice, his eyes turned to Lara. They were exiting the freeway, almost in San Clemente.

  “No, no, your mother was very loved, at least before she married Sam. Our parents were loving people and your father certainly loved her. But she was insecure, afraid. She wasn’t that sophisticated, and I think sometimes the world was too complex for her, had too many sharp edges. But she was a good person, Josh. No matter what happened, what she did there at the end, she loved you very much.”

  He was silent. He turned the radio on and tuned in a rock station. Then he started talking again over the noise. “I hope Emmet is right,” he said.

  Lara turned to him. They were stopped at a light, almost at the school. “About what?”

  “About people coming back when they die. I hope my mom comes back in a new body—that she’s happy now.”

  “I do too, Josh,” Lara said. “I do too.”

  “Some people at school said some nasty things to me.”

  Lara gasped, locking her fingers on the steering wheel. She had been afraid of this, but until now Josh had sworn everything was okay at school. “What did they say?”

  “That my mother was a dirty whore and I was a bastard.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She pulled up in front of the school and parked. “Honey, whoever said that is the one with the problem. They have to make other people feel small so they can feel big.” She paused. “Can you handle it? If it persists, I can go to the principal. Or we could change your school. We’ll probably transfer you anyway once we move back to the house in Irvine.”