Flipping Out (31 page)

'I think when
the jury hears the connection between you and all those people walking around
with illegal kidneys, they're not going to say, 'What about that cop over there?'
You're the one they'll convict, not Tony,' I said. 'As much as we'd like to
nail him for chaperoning all these unsuspecting people into your organ factory,
we have nothing on him. Tony will walk.'

'Actually,'
Terry said. 'You'll walk too. But after a few weeks in prison, a good-looking
dude like yourself will walk real funny.'

Jameson's lips
quivered.

'Of course, if
you help us convict Tony, he can watch over you in prison. Even better, the DA
is willing to cut a deal,' I said, hoping Anna DeRoy would back me up. 'If you
confess your involvement in Esteban's death, she'll give you a break.'

'And I'm no
shrink,' Terry said, 'but I hear confession is good for the soul.'

Jameson didn't
say a word.

'Dr Jameson,' I
said, 'I look at all these degrees on your wall, and I say to myself, 'This is
a smart man.' But Tony Dominguez, that little Mexican kid you helped raise, may
have outsmarted you.'

I dropped my
business card on his desk. 'We can't put him away without your help.'

'I don't know
what you think I can tell you about Tony, but whatever it is, I have to stand
behind doctor-patient confidentiality.'

'In that case
you'll also be standing behind bars in San Q,' Terry said.

I nodded to
Terry, and we both stood up. 'Think about it, doc,' I said, if you don't talk,
Tony walks.'

'Y'know, there's
a bright side to all this,' Terry said. 'I mean, you being a psychiatrist and
all. These maximum security prisons, they just never seem to run out of crazy
people. I'm sure you'll make more than your share of new friends.'

We started for
the door.

'Wait,' he said.

We turned around
and waited.

'I'm not an
impetuous person,' Jameson said. 'I don't like being intimidated into doing
things I haven't yet thought through. I need a little time to weigh my
options.'

'A little time
is all we'll give you,' Terry said.

'You'll know my
decision sometime tomorrow morning,'
he said. 'How
early do you get to work?'

'We'll be at the
office by seven,' I said. 'Plus my cell number is on the card. You won't have
any trouble finding us.'

We left the
house, got into the car, and drove off. Then we doubled back and parked a block
away. 'If he calls Tony,' I said, 'Tony won't talk on the phone. He'll insist
on talking face to face, someplace safe.'

We watched the
house for the next three hours, but Jameson never left, and Tony never showed
up.

'Well,' Terry
said, when we finally headed home. 'If Jameson is planning on doing something
stupid, I can tell you this. He's gonna do it on his own.'

I barely slept. It
was 12:07 when I took my last look at the digital clock, and 3:14 when I woke
up again. Not enough sleep for a middle-aged cop putting in eighteen- hour
days.

Tony Dominguez
had fooled us all, but I couldn't prove it. Jameson could help, but I didn't know
if he'd hide behind doctor-patient confidentiality, hire an expensive lawyer,
or call Tony and warn him.

Helen Ryan's
testimony might help. Or she could be chewed up and spit out by a carnivorous
defence attorney. For the first time in my life I wished I were a lawyer. I
might have some idea of what would actually stick in court.

Your
honour, the prosecution calls our star blind eyewitness to the stand.

And then the
jury would have to believe that sweet Helen, cowering under a table, scared
shitless and feeding her cat, was able to make an accurate mental recording of
the gunshots coming from next door.

It's
safe to say you were terrified, correct, Ms Ryan?

Very.

So
then was that pop, bam, bam, bam, or maybe it was pop, pop, pop, meow, meow,
meow?

The jury would
laugh, the prosecution would object, but Helen's credibility would suffer.

I felt Diana's
hand on my shoulder.

'What are you
doing up in the middle of the night?' she said.

'Worrying.'

'About what?'

'What if I told
you that maybe the guy who killed all of Marilyn's partners is still on the
loose?'

'Then I'd tell
you to get that cop car back in front of this house right now. Is that true?'

'Nothing I can
prove,' I said. 'It's this damn system we've got about innocent until proven
guilty.'

'Can I help?'

'Not unless you
went to law school.'

'Do you think
Big Jim can help?' she said.

'Why the hell
would you say that?'

'Because you
were mumbling
pop, pop, pop
before.'

'It wasn't that
kind of pop. It was gunshots, like pop, pop, pop, bam, bam, bam.'

'Well, when you
get to hug, hug, hug, kiss, kiss, kiss, roll over,' she said. 'I picked up a
few interesting sleep aid techniques in nursing school.'

I rolled over.
The sex helped. I still couldn't sleep, but it was a lot more fun being awake.

Three hours
later Terry and I were in the office waiting for the phone to ring.

Kilcullen was
already there. Tony Dominguez's homecoming was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., and the
boss left nothing to chance. He told one of the civilian clerks to order
coffee, bagels, and Danish for breakfast.

'And make sure
there's tomato juice,' he said. 'Deputy Mayor Berger will be here. He drinks
tomato juice.'

By eight
forty-five, Kilcullen had gathered a small welcoming committee upstairs in the
roll call room. Langer and Sutula, Eliot Ganek and Bob Kanarick from auto,
Steve Venokur from burglary, and a handful of others who had better things to
do, but who, in the great tradition of law enforcement officers everywhere,
could be enticed by the sweet smell of fresh pastry.

Anna DeRoy, the
lawyer I had wished for in the middle of the night, showed up early, and we
filled her in on everything we had.

'So this Ryan
woman heard the shooting,' DeRoy said, 'but she never actually saw it.'

'She can't see
anything,' Terry said. 'She's
blind.''

'A word I'm sure
the defence will repeat constantly,' DeRoy said. 'Let's try not to use it too
often ourselves.'

'How about we
refer to her as the crazy cat lady who was hiding under the table?' Terry said.
'You think that'll affect her credibility as a witness?'

At eight
fifty-five, the three of us went upstairs.

At nine on the
dot, Deputy Mayor Berger entered. He looked fresh, neat, and trim in a blue
suit, white shirt, yellow tie. 'I hope you don't mind,' he said to Kilcullen.
'I brought a photographer along. This is not just a proud day for LAPD, this is
a moment for everyone to share.'

The photographer
also had on a blue suit, but it looked like he bought it thirty pounds ago and
never invested in dry cleaning. He was anything but fresh, neat, and trim.

'Where's the man
of the hour?' Berger said, looking around the room.

'I just spoke to
the watch commander,' Kilcullen said. 'Detective Dominguez is in the building.
He's downstairs in ordnance signing for a new weapon. His gun was put into the
evidence chain after the shooting.'

'You mean after
the heroic capture of the man who had been terrorising the families of LA's
Finest,' Berger said. 'You have to learn to spin, Brendan, spin.'

'Good morning,
Mel,' Anna DeRoy said.

'Deputy DA
DeRoy,' Berger said. 'This is a surprise. What are you doing here?'

'This is an
important case. I want to make sure it's all buttoned up.'

'Well, thank you
for closing it,' Berger said. 'Good morning, Detective Lomax, Detective Biggs.'

We said hello,
but before we had a chance to say much else, Kilcullen quickly steered him to
the refreshments.

'Tomato juice,'
Berger said. 'Perfect.'

Ass-kissing is
learnt, not acquired. Kilcullen poured him some juice, and then we waited.

At ten after
nine Tony entered the room, and we all applauded.

His left arm was
still in a sling, but other than that, he looked fit and healthy, it's great to
be home,' he said. 'Sorry I'm late. I was downstairs signing for a service
revolver. I've been a cop a long time, so I've got to tell you, I was feeling a
little naked without it.'

'The important
thing is that you know how and when to use it,' Berger said. He tapped on his
juice glass. 'Let me just say a few words.'

Mel Berger is
the consummate politician. He needed no script. He hit all the high points. I'm
sure it was a dry run of the speech the mayor would deliver at the Medal of
Valour ceremony in the spring. He even charmed the room by saying a few things
in Spanish, which pleased Tony no end.

'Picture time,'
Berger finally announced. 'Let's get a couple of different shots. First me and
Tony.'

He set his glass
down, and the photographer started lining them up against a wall.

Terry's cell
phone rang.

'Take it
outside,' Kilcullen said.

'Yeah, yeah,'
Terry said. He left the room.

The photographer
clicked off a few shots.

'Now let's get
one with Lieutenant Kilcullen,' Berger said, retrieving his juice glass from
the table and taking another sip.

Suddenly the
door crashed open. I saw several cops instinctively go for their guns. But they
stopped when they saw it was only Terry.

'You
motherfucking son of a bitch,' Terry bellowed as he tore across the room and
headed straight for the Deputy Mayor.

Berger backed up
a few steps, but Terry charged him, grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him against
the wall. I'd seen my partner angry before, but never like this.

'They shot her.
They shot her,' he screamed into Berger's face. 'You were in such a fucking
hurry to wrap up the case. And now they shot her, you stupid, fucking political
hack bastard.'

By now Kilcullen
and three other cops were doing their best to pry Terry away from Berger.

'Biggs, are you
crazy?' Kilcullen said. 'What's going on? What happened? Who got shot?'

'My wife. They
killed my wife.' And then the rage in his face turned to grief, and he ran from
the room.

I looked around.
Everyone was in shock. Anna was sobbing. The last thing I saw before I ran
after Terry was Deputy Mayor Berger slouched in a chair, his blue suit, white
shirt, and yellow tie covered with tomato juice.

The photographer
was clicking away, preserving the moment for everyone to share.

Five minutes
after Terry and I bolted from the station, Kilcullen gave everyone in the room
the official report from the Sherman Oaks police. Marilyn had been shot in the
back of the head. She was pronounced dead on the scene.

As soon as he
heard the news, Tony Dominguez left. Thirty minutes later he raced down Rexford
Drive and pulled his car to a screeching stop in front of Ford Jameson's house.

It was mid-morning,
and the block was deserted, except for a cable repair truck and a crew of
Mexican gardeners armed with leaf blowers, who were noisily cleaning up the
fall foliage across the street on Carmelita.

Tony took the
front steps two at a time, rang the bell with his good right hand, then grabbed
the brass door knocker and banged it incessantly. Ford Jameson, dressed in a
tan V-neck sweater and cream-coloured slacks, opened the door halfway. Tony
barrelled in and stormed directly to the office with the doctor in tow. Jameson
shut the door and calmly took a seat behind his mahogany island of a desk.