Sins of the Fathers

by James Scott Bell

  “What is it?”

  “It involves the police,” Lindy said. “And I need help.”

  “Come in.” Greene led Lindy and Roxy through the house to the outside balcony. He left the sliding door open. The curtains floated on the soft breeze. Lindy could hear the nearby ocean, encased in a bubble of heavy mist. Greene sat down. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

  Lindy took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Let’s start with Darren DiCinni. His mother is a prostitute, someone Drake DiCinni, using a different name, has taken an interest in. Whether Darren is really his son or not, we can’t really determine right now, but for some reason Drake gets it into his head that Darren isn’t his. And he kills the mother.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I’ve got several sources. I just want you to tell me if you think I’m crazy.”

  “I know you’re not crazy, Lindy.”

  Lindy paused, then said, “Drake comes out here to start a new life, bringing his son along. Only he doesn’t treat him like a son. He brutalizes him. But not without purpose. He wants his son to literally think he, Drake, is God.”

  The judge nodded. “I think I know where you’re going. Drake is the one who actually put his son up to the killings.”

  “Yes.”

  “So when Darren said God told him to do it, in his own mind that’s what he believed.”

  “That’s exactly what he believed,” Roxy said.

  “Question,” Greene said. “What was the motive? Why would Drake DiCinni want Darren to kill a bunch of innocent kids? Was it his way of getting rid of Darren? That seems an awfully complicated way to do it. Besides, what if Darren eventually implicated him?”

  “That much he could probably cover. He could say—and in fact he did—that Darren was always a troubled kid, and even all the discipline he meted out couldn’t keep him in control.”

  “Why the kids then?”

  “It wasn’t the kids at all,” Lindy said.

  “What?”

  “The kids were just cover. Darren was really going after one man, the one adult who got shot, Dorai.”

  Greene frowned. “How do you figure?”

  “I saw the uncut version of the videotape. On the first few shots, Darren was clearly aiming his rifle at the third-base side, where Dorai was coaching and was the first to go down.”

  “So somebody altered the videotape?”

  “Exactly. Because they didn’t want anyone to know Dorai was the target.”

  “Why do you suppose Dorai was the target?”

  “Dorai was a conspiracy nut. He had his own Web site dedicated to this stuff. He updated it daily. One of his theories involved a conspiracy within the Los Angeles Police Department, a small group that didn’t care about civil liberties or inconvenient things like the Constitution. They just wanted to get rid of bad people. Dorai was actively soliciting people to email him with any information. I emailed him, but of course I never heard back. I did, however, get run off the road one dark night on Topanga.”

  “Run off? You didn’t have an accident?”

  “That’s what I wanted people to think.”

  “I’ve got to tell you,”Greene said finally, “this is about the wildest story I’ve ever heard.”

  “But it’s true,” Roxy said.

  Greene shook his head. “Then we are in a lot of trouble.”

  Lindy saw something move behind the curtains. Immediately the movement became a shadow, the shadow became a body, and the body held a gun.

  She looked up at the face silhouetted by the back lighting. She knew that face.

  Drake DiCinni held the gun calmly, pointed directly at her.

  3.

  Mona’s thoughts were not her thoughts.

  She knew this. She was in a hospital room—tomb her mind said. Her stomach, they said something about the lining, her insides churning and acidic.

  She had collapsed, or something like it. Where? She had a vague memory of arms reaching out, hers, and arms reaching for her.

  George Mahoney’s arms.

  That was it. He had kissed her. Hard. And then she must have blacked out, the pain and the confusion and the ugliness of it, too much.

  She had failed Matthew.

  Yes failed yes failed yes failed. And there was no turning back, no rewind option.

  Oh Matthew, forgive me, I let you down, I failed, I am no good foranyone—

  She stopped, hearing voices—small, scattered voices agreeing with her. One of them sounded like Matthew’s.

  No! Oh God, no. Don’t let that be him, God. Not Matthew. He would never have said that to her. He couldn’t be saying that to her now. No no no.

  Voices. The killer had heard a voice like this, hadn’t he? Heard the voice of God, they said, the lawyers said, some doctor said. God telling him what to do. And they said his father had hurt him, made him insane . . .

  Insane.

  Was she insane? Was this what it was like? To have no thoughts certain, nothing to trust in, to never know any peace, ever again?

  Was this what it was like to be the killer?

  God, please don’t let it be.

  Jesus, please don’t let it be.

  “Jesus.” She said it out loud, heard the name and for a brief moment there were no voices in her head, there was no torment.

  And in that moment of stillness there was a knowing.

  4.

  Lindy thought, We’re all dead.

  How had DiCinni found them? Did he follow her all the way from the Valley? Was he the one who had been watching her?

  He’ll kill us all. Roxy was behind her, at the balcony rail. The judge was in a chair. They were all sitting ducks.

  DiCinni’s eyes were calm as he looked at Lindy. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? That’s too bad.”

  Lindy expected the gun to blast. But then Judge Greene spoke with a firm, measured tone. “Put the gun down, DiCinni. I’ll handle this.”

  Lindy’s heart dropped inside her, a dead weight. Her mouth went dry when she looked at Greene.

  “Tell her,” DiCinni said with a wicked smile.

  Greene looked at Lindy. “I didn’t know anything about the attempt on your life. You have to believe me. You have to understand the whole.”

  No. There could be no understanding, no whole.

  “After the federal consent decree, crime went up,” Greene explained. “It’s brutal out there. Good people, good cops, getting killed because we can’t bring killers down. We know who they are, but our hands are tied.”

  “So you plant evidence?”

  “Not always.”

  “Against Marcel Lee?”

  “Lindy, please try to see the big picture.”

  “And this guy, Dorai, caught on. That was why you had him killed. And Drake DiCinni works for you?”

  Greene sighed. “In a war against the devil, you can’t always use angels.”

  Lindy felt the world swirling like a crazy kaleidoscope. “And you picked me to defend Darren because you thought I didn’t have much fight left in me.”

  “I didn’t want you to get dragged into this thing,” Roger Greene said.

  “You thought”—she almost choked—“you thought I’d just roll over. You wanted a lawyer who wouldn’t push too hard. You thought I couldn’t handle another Marcel Lee case.”

  Greene nodded slowly. “It would have been best, and you know that.”

  “How deep does it go?”

  “What goes deep,” Greene said, “is evil. Evil in this city. Allowed to prosper because the city sold out to the Justice Department on police reform, because politicians don’t have to sit in a courtroom day after day and look at victims’ faces, or the faces of the families of dead people. Listen, Lindy, Rampart was—”

  “You were on the council.” Lindy’s mind clicked pieces into place. “You were opposed to the reforms. You were the angry one who resigned.”

  “It was a kangaroo commission. It was a farce.”


  “So you organized your own Rampart division. You were the one behind Marcel, weren’t you?”

  “You know Marcel Lee is guilty as sin.”

  She shook her head. “Not unless he is found guilty by a jury in a trial without lies.”

  “The city is better off with him in prison.”

  “It’s wrong.”

  “We’re in an awkward situation here, Lindy,” Greene sighed.

  “Awkward? ”

  She looked at Drake DiCinni, who just stood there, gun in hand.

  “But why him?” Lindy said.

  Greene opened his mouth to speak, but DiCinni cut him off.

  “That’s enough,” DiCinni said.

  He shot Roger Greene in the chest.

  5.

  Leon Colby looked out the window of his apartment, at the lights of Ventura Boulevard below. The reds and greens and blues of the street signs and restaurants gave the night a celebrative glow.

  What was there to celebrate in this town anymore?

  What was wrong with his ambitions? Where did they go all of a sudden? It was strange and unsettling. Ever since he could remember he had been charging, always going forward, head down, with all his might.

  Had he ever identified what he was charging toward?

  Darren DiCinni heard voices in his head, telling him to do bad things. Were they any different from the voice of ambition in Leon’s own head? An ambition that got him to turn a blind eye sometimes, to cut corners, to justify?

  How different?

  He let the curtain go and sat in a chair, putting his head back in the darkness. This is what life is like for so many people. Darkness. Youkeep moving because you’re afraid something might be sneaking up onyou.

  What was sneaking up on him?

  He flicked on the lamp.

  Pills, prayer. How his father had believed in prayer. How he could preach about it.

  Colby remembered something. In his bookcase. Where was it? He searched the bottom right shelf and found it. The Bible his father had given him when Leon was in high school.

  It had his name in gold letters on the cover.

  But it showed little sign of use.

  Colby took it back to the chair and sat with it on his lap. He had known this book as a kid, as a star of vacation Bible school. Even then he wanted to be the best. He had memorized all the books in order and could recite fifty verses.

  They started coming back to him in random order.

  Trust in the LORDwith all thine heart; and lean not unto thine ownunderstanding.

  In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earthwas without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said,Let there be light: and there was light.

  Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

  Colby put his hand on the Bible. It had been a long time, a long time since he was nine years old, at his father’s old church in Inglewood, coming forward to be baptized.

  A long time.

  Another verse his father had taught him came to him again. If anyof you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally,and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith,nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea drivenwith the wind and tossed. For let not that man think that he shall receiveanything of the Lord.

  Colby opened the Bible to James, found the verses in chapter one. Yep. Just like he remembered them.

  6.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  Lindy moved. She pivoted, getting between Roxy and DiCinni.

  She heard a shot, felt a hot fist in her side. The impact knocked her forward. She went down on top of Roxy. Then another shot.

  She tried to move, was weighted down, splayed oddly. There would be no getting away.

  She heard two heavy steps behind her.

  Oh God.

  Bullets to the head.

  God help us.

  Lindy’s side burned and she felt the oozing of blood. She kept Roxy under her, protecting her.

  Something heavy fell on the deck.

  Lindy turned her head. A body.

  Drake DiCinni. His eyes were wide, shocked. And, Lindy realized in a second, dead.

  What?

  Then a hand was on her shoulder, and a voice called her name.

  7.

  Mona put her left hand on her stomach and with her right she reached out for the phone. Where was it?

  There.

  Picked it up, laid the receiver on the pillow next to her ear. Punched in the number.

  Heard the first ring.

  Oh God, be there be there.

  A second ring.

  Oh God, let him pick up. God let him.

  A third. A fourth.

  Dear God, dear God, dear God, forgive me . . .

  “Hello?”

  His voice was soft, distant, empty.

  “Brad?”

  “Mona.” Surprise there now, longing.

  “Brad, come get me. I want to go home.”

  8.

  Travis Kellman held a revolver in one hand. “Are you hit?”

  Lindy was too stunned to answer.

  “You’re hit,” he said.

  Roxy stirred under her. “What’s happening?”

  Lindy had no idea. What was Kellman doing here? With a gun?

  Kellman put the gun down and helped Lindy get to her knees. Roxy scurried out. “Travis?”

  He was taking his shirt off.“We’ve got a bullet wound. Hold this on her, Rox.”

  Lindy saw him hand his shirt to Roxy, whose mouth was hanging open. “Why are you here?”

  “Followed you.”

  “But why—”

  Travis took Roxy’s hand and made her apply the shirt to Lindy’s side. “Keep it there. I’m calling 911.”

  Lindy’s head was light now, swirling. “How you doing?” Roxy whispered.

  “I’m totally confused, is how I’m doing.”

  She heard Travis talking to the 911 operator. And then she heard a groan.

  It wasn’t Drake DiCinni. He hadn’t moved. It was Greene, still in his chair, his arms out to the sides.

  She moved a few feet toward him. Roxy followed, still holding the shirt on her wound.

  “We have a shooting here,” Kellman said in the background. “A woman, early thirties has been hit, needs an ambulance.”

  “And a man, late fifties,” Lindy called over her shoulder.

  Greene looked up at her, his eyes obscured. He moved his mouth.

  Lindy put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say anything, Judge.”

  His lips moved again. “Lindy . . .” he said, barely loud enough for her to hear.

  So this is what it’s really like to lose a father, one you loved,trusted. Lost not to death or distance, but deceit. The enormity of it, the chasm of sadness inside her, threatened to swallow her. Her loss of blood was nothing. The loss of Greene, of trust, of certainty, that was everything.

  “Forgive me, Lindy . . .”

  She looked into the hurt and uncertainty of his eyes.

  Oh God, forgive us all.

  TWENTY

  1.

  Leon Colby got the message from reception at 8:37 a.m. A guy from Internal Affairs to see him on an urgent matter related to the DiCinni case.

  Which was on the calendar for nine.

  Colby did not know the man who introduced himself as Travis Kellman.

  “I thought I knew all the faces at IA,” Colby said, shaking his hand.

  “Special assignment,” Kellman said. “I’m from San Diego. It was undercover.”

  “Undercover? What for?”

  “Because it involved cops who didn’t need to know what I was looking at. By the way, Lindy Field was on to it.”

  Colby cocked his head. “What does Lindy have to do with it?”

  “She was shot last night, at the home of Judge Roger Greene.�
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  Colby stared at him in disbelief.

  “I followed her there. She was with her investigator, Roxanne Raymond. I was keeping an eye on them, mainly for protection. I was late getting into Greene’s house. Almost too late.”

  “How is Lindy?”

  “She’s going to be all right,” Kellman said. “The bullet took a chunk out of her side but didn’t do any permanent damage. But Greene is hanging on by a thread. He gave me a full statement at four this morning.”

  Colby was having trouble forming words. “Who shot who and why?”

  “Drake DiCinni shot Greene and Lindy. I shot DiCinni. DiCinni was hiding out at Greene’s house.”

  Colby’s mind failed to produce a complete picture. “How does Greene figure in this?”

  “He ran a network of rogue cops. A star chamber, if you will. Judge and jury and executioner rolled into one. I’ve got names, dates. Drake DiCinni was part of it. He worked out of Vegas originally. Got recruited by the DA there to do dirty work in order to avoid a murder charge. The DA had served with Greene in Vietnam. They had similar views, shall we say, of how the law should operate. The DA there actually sent DiCinni to work for Greene.”

  Colby looked at the clock on his wall. 8:40.

  “You might want to ask the judge for a continuance,” Kellman said. “Until you can talk to Greene.”

  “And Lindy. I’d like to see Lindy.”

  “Greene said it was George Mahoney who ran Lindy off Topanga. We’re picking him up now.”

  Leon almost asked how this could happen, but he knew how. With a sudden clarity he knew very well how it happened, and his part in it.

  The office door opened. Larry Lopez came in. “You ready to go? We got—” He stopped when he saw Kellman.

  “This is Larry Lopez,” Colby said, “my investigator.”

  “I know Mr. Lopez. Judge Greene mentioned his name.”

  “Greene?” Lopez said.

  Travis Kellman removed his gun and pointed it at Lopez. “Hands on your head, please.”

  Lopez stared. “What’s this?”

  “Now,” Kellman said.

  “Better do it, Larry,” Colby said.

  For a moment Lopez looked like he might bolt. But then a resignation swept his face. He put his hands on his head. “You sold me out, didn’t you, Leon?”