by Jenna Baker
I sat in the back of Reid’s car trying to pretend that I didn’t notice the smell that was clearly emanating off my body. I knew I had to stay in producer mode, but I felt gross and wanted to go home. Up front, the guys were silent. We were about to tell a woman that her son was dead.
We pulled into a small apartment complex and Foxy cut the lights. The building was beige stucco and had two stories. On the side of the building it read “Versailles” in script lettering. It was common in LA for apartment complexes to have names that had absolutely nothing to do with their actual appearance. It was approaching ten o’clock, and I imagined this was the knock on the door in the middle of the night that every mother dreaded.
Mac and Manny pulled up behind us, and Manny quickly swapped out the battery pack on the cops’ microphones.
“She’s on the second floor – two-oh-six,” Reid reported.
“Okay, let’s just take a minute and discuss our plan,” I said. “This woman might be very emotional and I don’t want her to feel overwhelmed by the cameras, okay? So Manny I don’t think we should use the boom. Why don’t you stay outside, and we can pick up the audio on the camera mic and the lavs.”
“The sound isn’t going to be clean,” Manny said.
“I don’t care – this woman’s son just died. Reid and Foxy, try to get close to her if you can so we can get the audio off your mics, okay?”
They nodded.
“Mac, you stay behind the cops as they knock on the door and try to capture the mother’s reaction. We can get cutaways of these guys later. I need to get a release from her, but I’ll worry about that later too.”
Reid started at me. “You want a tip?”
I stared at him and braced myself for a smart-ass remark. “Go ahead.”
“Until they prove otherwise, everyone is a suspect. Breaking the news to the family is never easy, but you also have to watch their reaction, because you never know what it may reveal.”
I smiled. “So what you’re saying is that we may actually be helpful? I mean we can play her reaction back for you in case you missed something, right?”
“Sharpe, when I think of you and your cameras, the word ‘helpful’ doesn’t really come to mind. ‘Hindrance’ is more appropriate. Come on, let’s go.”
I let his comment roll off my back; I was getting pretty good at doing that. We headed up the outdoor stairs to Mrs. Walter’s apartment. It was the last in the row of a motel-style rooms. Reid and Foxy stood in front of the door while Mac stood behind them holding the camera. I was in the background armed with my PD-150. Reid knocked, and after a little while, a woman came to the door.
She was probably in her fifties and very thin. She was wearing a bathrobe and slippers and had a burning cigarette in her hand. “What the hell is this?” She looked at the camera. “Did I win the lotto or some crap?”
Foxy turned to me and flinched. She was expecting dollars, and instead, we were delivering death. “My name is Detective Reid and this is Detective Flanagan. Can we come in?” Reid asked.
“Oh no, what’s he done? What’s that little shit done now?” she said.
“Ma’am, can we come in?” Reid asked.
She stepped back from the door and motioned for us to come in. She watched Mac and me carefully. I decided this was as good a moment as any and presented her with the release. She was hesitant about it, so I offered her fifty dollars to sign. I knew it was despicable, but I needed to capture this on tape. She took the bait and signed while Reid glared at me, shaking his head.
The woman identified herself as Vera Walters and invited the cops to sit on her couch while Mac and I held back, filming. The apartment was decorated with lots of tacky furniture from the seventies. The couches had clear plastic covers on them, and there were several ashtrays scattered around the room overflowing with ash and cigarette butts. Mac managed to drop a small mic on the side table next to Vera without her noticing. We didn’t call him MacGyver for nothing.
“All right, so talk already,” Vera began. “I don’t got all night.” She was tough and uncensored and clearly came from humble means. Some of her teeth were missing and I could only imagine what her lungs looked like.
Foxy leaned in, looking compassionate. “We have some unfortunate news to tell you about your son.”
“I don’t have a son,” Vera spit back.
The cops exchanged glances. “Jonathan Walters – is he your son?”
“What are you here for? He’s either dead or arrested – which is it?”
“Dead,” Foxy said flatly.
There was a brief moment of silence as everyone turned to look at Foxy – not a whole lot of decorum there. He looked at me and shrugged.
I could tell Reid was studying Vera’s face but she didn’t seem to care much. She looked down at the floor and thought for a minute. “How did it happen?”
“We believe it was a hit-and-run,” Foxy explained. “Do you know if your son had any enemies or anyone who would want to hurt him?”
“I don’t know crap about his life. All he cared about was race cars and that whore girlfriend of his.”
“When did you last speak with him?” Foxy asked.
“Um, maybe two months ago or so – he wanted to tell me about how much money he had. I figured he was gonna pay me for the TV he stole from me a year ago, but he just wanted to go braggin’. I exploded on him like a fire cracker up a monkey’s butt, but he didn’t give two shits. All he cared about was racing and that whore girlfriend.”
“Do you know the name of his girlfriend by any chance or have her contact information?” Foxy asked, taking out his trusty notebook.
“Now why in shit would I have the number of a whore?” she asked.
Reid interrupted. “Ma’am, when you say ‘whore’ do you mean she was a professional escort or just …easy?”
I cracked a smile but quickly dropped my head so no one would see.
“She was a whore because every time I saw her she had on them goddamn booty shorts and titty tops. She was always touching Johnny or touching those perky titties of hers – she probably screwed half the guys in this town.”
“Right, okay,” Reid said. “You said he liked to race cars – do you know where he raced?”
“There’s a track up in Oxnard or some snot – I don’t know where.”
I was starting to think I had wasted fifty bucks. This was not the reaction I had expected, and with the amount of expletives this woman was using, I wasn’t sure if any of her words would make air. The cops continued with the questioning, but they didn’t get much more information out of her. Vera didn’t know where Johnny worked or how he got his money. I found it hard to stomach the idea that a mother wouldn’t even care that her son was dead, but she certainly didn’t seem to. The cops wrapped up the interview, but before they left, I requested to speak with Vera privately.
I spoke to her in a hushed tone. “Vera, I’m not sure if you realize this but we are filming a television show, and your reaction is going to possibly be played on the air.”
“I know,” Vera said.
“Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure because you didn’t seem that upset about the news and it might make you seem a little…uncaring.”
“Oh shit, you’re right! Oh damn, can I get a redo? I don’t want my friends to think I’m no heartless bitch – even though they know what a shithead Johnny is…was.”
“Sure,” I said. “Why don’t you take a seat and Mac can get the camera set.”
Mac stepped outside and motioned Manny to come in. I approached Reid and Foxy. “Mrs. Walters wasn’t happy with her reaction to the news, so she would like to provide you with a new one. Would you mind if we started this over from the beginning?”
Foxy let out a squeal of laughter while Reid glared at me. “You’re shitting me, right? First you bribe her, which is illegal by the way, now you want us to redo her interview?”
“She doesn’t want to come off as heartless on TV,” I whispered.
“Wel
l, that’s what she is,” Foxy said.
“Come on guys – this will be quick,” I said.
“Get the hell out of here,” Reid barked. “I’ve had enough of your games for one evening. Let’s go.” He motioned to Foxy and the two walked out of the apartment.
I had foolishly thought I was making some headway with Detective Reid, but his inner asshole had once again emerged. For the record, I knew this was unethical and not proper journalism – but I never said I was a journalist. I was a producer, and my job was to “produce” the footage the show needed. Besides, I didn’t think that portraying Vera Walters as a woman with some compassion in her heart was such a bad thing.
“We don’t need them,” I told my crew. “Let’s do this.”
I played the role of Foxy and broke the news to Vera that her son was dead. She took a while, but then she really got into character. “What – no! God no!” She wailed and started flailing around in her chair. She even managed to summon real tears. “Oh no – not my baby. I’m supposed to go first – oh Lord!”
She was a little melodramatic, but at least I had options. Plus, if she turned out to be the killer, this kind of overacting would really work. Then again, unless she was the best actress in history, she didn’t kill Johnny Walters.
We finished up half an hour later and I was pleased with how the interview turned out. I told myself that I was allowing her to release her real emotions while hiding behind the façade of “acting.” This line of thinking also allowed me to justify the extra fifty bucks that she demanded as I was walking out the door.
The cops were long gone when we got outside, so I flipped open my cell phone and called Foxy. He was hesitant to talk to me but finally revealed that they had gone back to the crime scene to get the victim’s cell phone. Now they were headed to see the girlfriend. He gave me the address, and we agree to meet at her place.
The girlfriend, who was named Rosario, lived in Van Nuys, which was one town over from where I lived in North Hollywood. I asked Mac to drive fast so we could swing by my place and get some fresh clothes. We also realized all at once how starving we were. It was approaching eleven thirty and the appetizers we’d eaten earlier weren’t cutting it. Mac dropped me off and then headed two streets over to grab some burgers.
I ran into my apartment and peeled off my clothes. I grabbed a pair of khaki pants and a blue and white striped button down shirt. I threw a navy blue blazer over it and looked in the mirror. I looked a little like I was going out sailing, but I was about to tell someone that her boyfriend was dead and I thought I should dress the part. My hope was that Johnny Walter’s girlfriend might actually give a damn that he was dead and give me the reaction I needed.
As I stepped outside Mac pulled up. “Aye aye, captain.”
I ignored him and jumped into the back seat. Manny looked at me and shook his head. “Chica, you’re never gonna meet a man if you don’t learn how to dress.”
“I’m not trying to meet anyone, Manny. I’m trying to tell a woman her boyfriend is dead. Now give me my burger.”
