I checked my voice mail.
Koby came in and saw it instantly in my face. I don’t know who felt worse.
I checked my watch. It was quarter to ten. I didn’t start work until three. “They want me at the station in an hour . . . by eleven.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I rolled my shoulders. “Last time I spoke to the Loo from our Detectives bureau, he mentioned something about the guy I arrested filing an excessive-force complaint.”
“Shit.” Koby came over to me, took my shoulders, and looked me square in the eye. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, Koby, of course not. I’ll be okay.” A weak smile. “It’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I couldn’t be more positive.”
“Whatever it is, Cynthia, I’m here for you. Call me when it’s over. Focused mind, loose body. Never let them see you sweat.”
∇
Brill closed the door to the interview room. Stone was there, so was the deputy DA—a slight man with an Ivy League haircut and tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose. He appeared to be around thirty and wore an olive green suit with a yellow shirt and patterned tie, the predominant color in it being red.
This wasn’t good.
I sat down at the table, Detective Brill and Lieutenant Stone on either side of me. The DA had elected to stand. He introduced himself: Geoffrey—with aG —Adamson.
“We’ve got a problem,” the DA began. “It might be hard to prove that the bust wasn’t staged.”
I waited for him to continue.
“Not that I think you staged it.”
Thanks for the vote of confidence.
I didn’t speak until I was sure my voice was clear. Then I said, “I never touched that bag. Officer Bader found it on El Paso when he patted him down. If you can get prints off the plastic—”
“All that means, Officer Decker, is that you wore gloves.”
I felt myself go rigid.Loose. I made myself slouch.
“And the fact that you sent your friend away makes it look really bad.”
I was silent.
“Why did you send him away?” Geoffrey with aG persisted.
“At the time, I didn’t think I’d need him to vouch for my honesty.” I made hard eye contact. “I sent him home because he had been working for four days straight and he was falling off his feet.”
Adamson took in my words as if they were profound. He walked as he talked. “So how long between the time you sent him away and the first cruiser arrived?”
“Around thirty seconds. He pulled out of his parking space just as the cruiser came down the street.”
“Not a lot of time, but that doesn’t really help much.”
“So why did you bring it up?” Stone said. “Look, Geoff, you and your people can think what you’d like. I know she didn’t plant the bag. She’s willing to take a lie detector test—”
“That doesn’t impress me.”
“Well, it impresses me,” Stone insisted.
“We don’t want the case to go to trial. And any PD will threaten trial because we’ve all got Rampart hanging over our heads. Another scandal real or imaginary will make all of us look bad.”
“So you’re ignoring a bag of X because no one was there to snap my picture when I took him down?” I asked him.
“You weren’t in uniform, Officer Decker,” Adamson told me.
“I know. I’ve been doing this on my own time.”
“And that makes you look like a hot dog.”
At this point, I shut up.
Stone shook his head. “Damn amateur videographers are never there when you need them.”
I smiled.
“What’s the upshot?” Stone said. “You take the bag away and give him four months in County for the traffic warrant?”
“That’s about it.”
Brill said, “The thing is, Decker, now El Paso has no motivation for nailing his two compadres for the Sarah Sanders rape.”
“Fedek and Renaldes,” I said.
“Yes, them,” Brill said. “El Paso’s not going to flip to avoid a four-month County stint. So unless we have something on Fedek and Renaldes now, like an outstanding warrant, DA’s office says they’re off-limits.”
“El Paso admitted he was at the scene of the rape,” I said. “Can’t we use that?”
“But before that, he had asked for an attorney and you didn’t give him one,” Adamson said. “That conversation has to be disregarded.”
I held my hands tightly in my lap . . . caught myself tensing and unfurled my hands.
“Can’t I have Sarah Sanders look through a six-pack and see if she can pick out El Paso? I gotthat information from someone else.”
Stone said, “You got information saying that El Paso was at the rape or just that he was a gang banger?”
I sighed. “The latter.”
“Unfortunately, Officer Decker, that won’t work.”
He was being nice. I didn’t want to try his patience. “Sir, would it be okay if I brought Sarah Sanders down and had her look at mug books?”
“Yeah, sure,” Stone said. “As long as you start with theA ’s and don’t do anything to show prejudice.”
“This is the developmentally disabled girl?” Adamson said.
“Yes,” I answered.
“The one who abandoned her infant baby.”
“Yes.”
The DA said, “Considering her mental capacity and it’s a six-month-old rape case, her testimony isn’t going to hold much weight.”
“How about if it’s independently corroborated?”
“By whom?”
“By the boy she was with. By the boy who was assaulted while she was being gang-raped. His name is David Tyler.”
“Decker, the boy is missing,” Brill pointed out.
“What if I could find him? Then what if I gave them both mug books and independently they picked out the same people. Would that work?”
Adamson shrugged. “It would make a stronger case. Do you know where the boy is?”
“I’m working on it.”Relax, relax. “Now maybe I’ll work a little harder.”
Adamson checked his watch. “Give me a call when you’ve found him. In the meantime you don’t say Germando El Paso and the rape in the same breath—especially not to Sarah Sanders.”
“I understand,” I told him. “I’m not happy, but I understand.”
“Next time, don’t send your witnesses home,” the DA added.
“I’ll try to remember that, sir.”
Then the little prick had the nerve to wink at me as he left. I turned to the lieutenant. “That’s sexual harassment.”
“It’s a tic, Decker.” Stone laid his hand on my shoulder. “You did a good job. It’s a shame that some rotten apples got in the way of a righteous bust. But I understand his position. Now go get some lunch before your shift starts.”
I remembered my manners. “Thank you, sir, for your support.”
He smiled at me. “You’re welcome.”
Brill said, “I’m still on the hit-and-run from a couple of weeks ago, Cindy. You okay from that?”
“An occasional street dream. No big deal. Thanks for asking, Justice.” I turned to the lieutenant. “Can I go?”
“Absolutely.”
I stood, and before I reached for the doorknob, I gave a nice little feminine wave. As soon as I was alone, I called Koby and had him paged. He picked up the line five minutes later.
I said, “It’s okay. I’m okay. A little disappointed, but I’m not in any trouble.”
“Baruch Hashem.” He sounded genuinely relieved. “What was it?”
“I’m on a cell phone, Koby. We’ll talk later. What time do you get off?”
“I’m doing a twelve-hour rotation. More money, and we’re off at the same time. Shall we meet at home?”
“Yourhome, you mean?”
“No, Cindy, I mean just plainhome. ”
&nb
sp; That was sweet and I told him so. I told him that I’d see him later.
I was sweating. Whether they saw it or not, I don’t know.
33
Work came,work went. A routine week and I liked it that way. The following Sunday, Koby and I finally managed that romantic dinner, driving down Pacific Coast Highway just as the sun was sinking over the horizon, the sky bursting with fireworks in a palette of hot pinks, regal purples, and flaming reds. When we turned right onto Malibu Canyon Road, the mountains were bathed in reflected light, turning the surface mossy green and rust orange. The moon could be seen swimming in the pale gray sky of dusk. It was a wonderful moment, an incredibly delicious evening, and I was giddy even before sipping my first glass of wine. We shared food while we cracked wise, the banter eventually turning into a series of racy innuendos. By the time we hit the road, we couldn’t wait. So we checked into an old Malibu beach motel—a series of tiny, private cottages with beds the size of coffee tables, foam rubber mattresses, and scratchy sheets. No view of the ocean, but that didn’t matter. It was all lightning and thunder, and when it was over, the shower worked.
I felt as if I were finally living those glorified high school days that had eluded me as an adolescent. It was nice to walk on air andreally nice that the guy involved was incredible in bed. It was too early in the relationship to feel this way and I knew that the carpet could be yanked from under my feet at any moment. Still, I had carried Koby’s key and he hadn’t asked for it back. In fact, the only thing he had asked for was my key in return.
It was just past midnight when we made it back to the city. I had fallen asleep in the car, but I awoke around Sunset and La Brea, about twenty minutes from Koby’s house. I roused myself and rubbed my eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Nice nap?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Need me to drive?”
“No.”
“You’re not tired?”
“Not tired at all. Too aroused.”
“Aroused like inup aroused or aroused like in sex—”
“That one.”
I was amazed. “How can you be horny?”
“Because I fantasize while you sleep.”
“You’re an animal.”
“No, Cindy, I’m a guy. We are simple: cars, sports, and sex. At this hour, not many cars on the road and no game is on . . . I think about sex.”
I gave him the eye. “Was I in your fantasy at least?”
He grinned. “Youwere the fantasy.”
I hit his shoulder. “Liar!”
He laughed. “No, no, I prove it to you when we get home. I act it out for you.”
Again, I slugged him. “Would you like me to de-arouse you?”
“Not particularly.”
Silence.
“What?” Koby asked.
“I told my mother about you,” I said.
Koby’s hands gripped the wheel, but he didn’t answer.
I said, “Did it work?”
“Very much. It has died a sudden and pitiable death. What did she say?”
“She asked if it was serious.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I said I’ve known you only about a month and serious was still a relative concept. I told her I like you very much. She wants to meet you.”
He smiled. “You like me very much?”
“No, I think you’re a bum.”
“I work too hard to be a bum.”
“That’s true. You must have worked like a dog to afford the down payment on your house.”
“No, a dog has a better life.” He laughed at his joke. “The house has a story. I have a friend who had a start-up in the late ’90s. Usually I am cautious, but I don’t know. I gave him a couple of thousand that quickly turned into twenty—eight months maybe. The house came up, I took out my profit. A year later, the company went under. Pure luck.”
“The secret was you weren’t greedy.”
“Whatever it was, I don’t question, I just say thank you. When you want, I will meet your mother.”
“How about this weekend?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a sport, Koby.” I pulled down the passenger vanity mirror on the sun visor and began to play with my hair. “We usually have lunch on Saturday. I told her that wasn’t good for you because ofShabbat. I think the fact that you’re traditional aboutShabbat bothers her more than your complexion.”
He made a face. “Why?”
I smoothed back a strand of bothersome locks. “My dad’s wife is very religious.”
“Ah. So I’m identified with the enemy camp.”
“More or less . . . although my mother remarried before my father.”
“Do you get along with your stepfather?”
“Yeah, Alan’s all right.” I took out a tube of lipstick and touched up my mouth. “I don’t see him a whole lot. I usually meet my mother alone, so I only see him when they have parties. They have quite a few of those—about six a year.”
I narrowed my eyes and studied the traffic behind us.
Koby said, “So what day did you pick for us to meet?”
The seconds ticked by.
“Cindy?”
“Next Sunday . . . hold on a moment.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Hold on!” I glanced in the side mirror. “Don’t do anything, Koby. Don’t look in the mirror, don’t pick up your pace. Just keep driving. I think we’re being followed.”
He didn’t speak. But once again, he gripped the wheel. It must be something he did when he was nervous. He had reason to be.
“Bronze Chevy Nova,” I said. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while. Primer on the left side. The windows have been darkened. That’s illegal, but right now it’s beside the point. I can’t make out the driver’s face this far back. He’s just a shape right now.”
“Should I slow?”
“No. I told you, just keep driving.”
He swallowed. “Is it the guy I whacked in the back?”
“Maybe. Although I thought he was still locked up in County.”
“The hit-and-run driver from the accident?”
“Could be. We’re driving in the same car. Whyanyone’s following us is up for grabs.”
“And you can’t see him?”
“No.”
Koby was quiet. It suddenly dawned on me that he wasn’t a fellow cop. It was up to me to guide us both through this. “I’m a little tense. Sorry if I’m short. It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s fine, Cindy. Just tell me what to do.”
I patted his knee. “Just keep driving, all right? It’s no big deal. We’re on a major boulevard and there’s still enough traffic.”
“Why don’t you call 911?”
“Because I want to make sure I’m right. What I wouldn’t give to get his license number. There’s no front plate. You know, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll call that in and let some cruiser stop him.”
I took out my cell phone.
The battery was dead.
It had been a long evening.
“Does your cell work?” I asked him.
“I don’t have it with me. I didn’t want intrusions tonight.”
“Sweet thought but unfortunate, because we have a big intrusion. Okay. Time for Plan B. How do you feel about driving in this situation?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know . . . sudden turns . . . screeching tires . . .”
“This car doesn’t have so much pickup.”
“You know, there’s a way to pop the clutch and press the gas at the same time. It’ll push it to the max.”
“Maybe you should drive.”
“Then miss the next light and we’ll switch places.”
He did. It was hard getting over the gearshift without bodily harm, but we succeeded. With the wheel in my hand, I felt better. I adjusted the rearview mirror. I plunked my purse onto his lap. “Ever hold a gun?”
“I was in the army.”
“Yes, I have shot a handgun.”
“Are you a good shot?”
“I was a decent shot, but it’s been over ten years. I’m sure I’m rusty.”
“I’ve got a nine-millimeter Beretta semiautomatic standard police issue in my purse. You can take it out.”
He retrieved it, studying its features. “Do you have the magazine?”
“It’s not loaded?”
“No, Cynthia, it is not loaded.”
“Check my purse. If I don’t have one in there, we’re out of luck.”
Rummaging through my purse, he fished out a magazine and shoved it into the chamber. “We’re in luck.”
“Okay. This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to turn right in two blocks, floor it, pull over, and cut the lights. I’m going to park on the wrong side of the street. The driver’s more likely to miss me that way. Then as the Nova passes, I’m going to try to read off the license plate on the back. Stay low in case they decide to shoot.”
“Maybe I should read the license plate while you cover me? I have no doubt that you’re a better shot. And if you’re on the wrong side of the street, I’ll be on the correct side to read the numbers.”
“Except if they start shooting at us, you’ll be closer.”
“A comforting thought.”
“Koby, I am so sorry!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll handle this.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m psyched.”
“Ready?”
“Go.”
I made a quick right and punched the accelerator as I jammed the gears. The car bucked backward, then shot forward with surprising speed. I cut the lights, pulled over, switched off the ignition, and ducked. The Nova sped by, but even so, I got most of the plate and what I didn’t get, Koby filled in. I turned the car’s ignition, did a U-turn without lights, then headed back into traffic.
Apparently not soon enough. The Nova had other ideas. It must have been souped up, because within moments it was kissing the Toyota’s rear bumper. I pulled a sharp left into a darkened residential area.
Street Dreams Page 26
