Heroine: California Dreamin' (27 page)

Until Pete drove his car onto the parking lot behind his apartment building I kept talking with Kate and finally actually managed that she was laughing again.

I took another shower in Pete’s apartment only to be helped again by my friend. But this time he was less dedicated than before. He must have felt that I was nervous.

I put on skirt and blouse again and exchanged the sneakers with pumps. The repair shop greeted Pete with great enthusiasm. They had actually checked my Chevy and put in new brake pads. I got my car keys and paid the bill.

Before I showed up at Irene I needed to change my blouse; so I first took the turn to the mall. That was an expensive day as I noted subsequently in resignation. Not much more could be happening or they would freeze my credit card. And with some bad luck I might still have to come up with another ten thousand dollars.

My emotions swayed between angst and sadness. Only soon to be accompanied by guilt feelings because I was rather joyous about the shooting victim’s demise. Just another crazy day. Hopefully things would quiet down soon.

Irene was happy to see me. She was very much concerned about me after she had learned about the shooting at midday today. After I didn’t answer my phone she had called all police stations in question because she was afraid that I had been arrested again.

“We need to go to San Francisco again. Police wants to question you. I’ll call them right away to get an appointment.”

It was already late in the afternoon but the cops would be awaiting us, as I learned. During the short trip we talked a bit and I told Irene how I experienced the entire scene. It calmed her down when she heard that I was only a participant on the outside.

Then I changed the subject to Kate’s problems. Irene listened to my opinion on the injustice that had been done to Kate without showing any emotions. Totally the professional attorney. She promised me to look into the whole thing the next day. It was different from two days ago stepping into the gray high-rise building of the police shortly thereafter.

“I thought we must appear at the FBI again?” I inquired with uncertainty. Police headquarters were still giving me the creeps.

“They still fight with police about their jurisdiction. It very much depends on your statements who will process the case.” A uniformed official approached us and took us from the reception area into an enclosed room that was only illuminated by neon light.

That awakened some unpleasant memories in me. Two men and one woman in civil clothing greeted us. They were a lieutenant and a sergeant from the police in San Francisco as well as a female FBI agent dressed in a black costume. They first took my personal data and then I had to describe the incident whereas they interrupted my narrative often with questions.

“We would like to know from you if you knew the man who was shot. You must identify the dead body. We now show you some photos and after that we go to the mortuary.” I flinched.

“Do I really have to? Aren’t the photos sufficient? Perhaps I don’t even know that man?!” I didn’t want to see that dead body. I was afraid of it.

“We’re sorry but in this case it is necessary. You’ll soon see, why.” He opened a file folder and showed me several pics. I knew the guy quite well. I knew him so well that my mouth stood open in my flustered state.

“That is this Joe. The guy who had raped me in the Prado jail”, I stammered.

The three officers looked at one another.

“Then it looks like it is our case”, said the FBI agent dryly. Disgruntled the lieutenant banged his folder on the table.

“If you would follow us, please”, he asked us grim-faced. “Then all we have to do now is to identify the dead body.”

“Sweetie, you can go through with that by yourself”, I heard Irene’s voice. “That is not for me. I’m waiting here for you.” That’s just what I needed! We took the elevator down. Behind a heavy door a large room opened featuring many metallic cabinets along the walls. A man in a white coat brought us into an adjacent room where it was so freezing that I felt terribly cold. The dead body lied on a metal table that was very much similar to the one I had seen in the temple of the crazy people in Watsonville. At the lower end the feet of the body stuck out from the corpse’s cover. They had attached a large white piece of paper with a number on it attached to one toe.
‘Now this is how it all ends. In the end you are a number’
I thought to myself.

When the man in the white coat started to toll up the cover from below up to the head I asked the sergeant beside me to hold me tight. My knees trembled and despite of the cold I started to perspire. It was Joe, no doubt about it. His muscular arms and the tattoos. I noticed that there, where one expected the contours of his face, the cover laid flat. There was no more head. I felt sick.

“We’re sorry, ma’am”, said the cop beside me who had interpreted my reaction correctly. “He’d received two bullets to the back of his head yesterday. They ripped away his face. Therefore you must identify him.” I had enough. I didn’t need to know all these details.

“Do you recognize that man?” they asked. I nodded.

“That is Joe. He worked as a guard in the Prado jail.” They looked at one another. Something was wrong.

“Joe and what else? Do you know his last name?” I declined.

“That is good enough. We have his fingerprints and there is no need to torment Miss Noula any further”, the FBI agent filled in. I looked at her with gratitude. We drove back up to the interrogation room via elevator where Irene took me into her arms. She was terrified about my appearance.

After I had signed several papers we were dismissed. My friend wanted to go out and have dinner at all costs but my stomach turned inside out with the sheer thought about food. Therefore she let me get out of the car at Market Street. I wanted to walk through town for a bit in order to catch my composure again. An hour later she collected me again together with some full shopping bags. The shopping was good for my soul. When I fell into the light upholstery of the passenger seat I remembered Kate. Startled I turned to Irene.

“What do we do about Kate? I had promised her to get her out of jail.” I was aware that we had missed the appointment for today to talk to the courts. Irene sighed and promised me to take care of it the next morning. I was still interested in learning why FBI and police had fought over jurisdiction in that case and I wanted to know what had actually happened yesterday.

“Didn’t they tell you?” she asked back. I said no.

“This guy Joseph Cramer was not an unknown to the police. He had been convicted twice for pimping. He got out of prison two years ago, then he vanished from their radar screen. A few weeks ago he attacked a woman and wanted to force her into prostitution. Ever since then his name reappeared on the most wanted list. Why he actually ran over that policeman nobody knows for sure. Presumably he wanted to flee because this time he would have gone to prison for good. That’s what police say. However, the FBI presumes that it had something to do with your abduction. Police on the other hand investigate because he had assaulted a police officer. They believe that he had monitored you because he wanted you for himself. Nothing else. If he weren’t dead already the judge would have sentenced him to die for murdering the officer yesterday.”

“Did the policeman, he had run over, die?” I was totally struck. She nodded sadly.

“He was hurt so bad that the doctors couldn’t help him anymore.” For a few seconds I couldn’t utter another word. What have I done now? When I had come to again I still wanted to know how it was possible that this Joseph was able to work in the Prado jail as guard.

“Julie, I am sorry to have to tell you that in this way. But they do not believe you. Not the police nor the FBI. The female agent considered that you had met already
Joe before your incarceration. But they also believe that he had cooperated with this lieutenant Gutierrez. They have evidence for that. The latter must be kept a secret because the FBI doesn’t want police mingle in their affairs, in particular this case.

Police had interrogated all officials once more who were on duty in the Prado jail during the night in question. Nobody except for the female guards and two supervising officials were in the block. To be honest, slowly I have also my doubts in your version. Are you sure the whole thing didn’t just happen in your imagination?”

The bastard had raped me. That is a fact. But it is enough to drive you mad! How could this pimp get into this jail in a uniform of a guard? I had enough for this day. The story I had stumbled in made less and less sense. Perhaps it was good that we would leave the country even though I would be missing a lot. I decided to inform Irene that I would be returning to Europe in a few months. She pondered for a while then she commented on the information I had given her.

“Julie, I liked being with you and I enjoyed every second of it. But facing the dangers that you are still exposed to it is probably to your best that you are leaving the country. The people who had abducted you probably will never let go of you. They either want to take revenge on you because they believe that you have spied on them by order of the FBI or they want to get you because you have conned them. Regardless, they still have an account to be settled with you. This type of criminals never gives up. And the FBI could really be tempted to deploy you further as a decoy. Then it would become impossible for me to protect you any longer. The authorities don’t want me to interfere any longer as an independent attorney.”

We finished the drive in silence. It became clear to me that I had become a burden for Irene. She had lost her trust in me and only her loyalty prevented her writing me off. The relationship to her had come to an end. I felt absolutely miserable. She seemed to sense that because she put her hands on my knee in consolation.

“Don’t lose too much sleep over it. Until you are leaving you can come to me at any time. I also want you to finish the work you’ve started.” So, not everything was kaput. She still liked me although she had put some distance between her and me on the inside. I could sense the latter very clearly. My heart ached and only with great efforts I could hold back my tears. Later I let them flow freely – when I drove home alone in my car.

Daniel wasn’t home yet although it was already ten o’clock at night. Therefore I sounded off the day in a bar in a small side street. Anybody who’d behaved like a spy would be too obvious. In the night I had dreams about the incident where this man in his white sports car was shot today. The images repeated themselves and were awfully realistic. Several times I woke up drenched in sweat and I asked myself why I was all aroused despite of my angst. It was as if the man’s demise had stimulated my sexuality. Rather confused I tried to understand the connection between sex and death. I didn’t succeed.

The next morning I was already sitting somewhat gloomy beside Irene at eight o’clock in the morning. Irene kept her promise and called her friend at the prosecution in Prado. Her talk lasted a long time because they small-talked extensively about their acquaintances. I was surprised that Irene exchanged even intimate details with her friend freely despite my presence. Among other things I learned that Stanley had ended his relationship with Irene. She finally hung up and turned towards me. She looked quite sincere.

“She had them bring Kate’s file to her while we were talking. Therefore it took so long. It is correct that the judge had set her bail to ten thousand dollars. And he’s in the right with that. Your cellmate isn’t apparently as innocent as she pretends to be. She had already been convicted of shop lifting in three states. Most of the time she got away with a few days of social work and later with short prison sentences. Therefore the judge had to set her bail so high. For repeat offenders this is the defined amount.” I was speechless.

“What was with the drugs? Kate told me that police had found weed in her car.”

“That made the situation even more difficult. Normally the sheriff releases those offenders whose bail had been set to fifteen thousand dollars or less already after one night. It is possible that the judge didn’t want that because she does not have a permanent residence.” I didn’t understand the connections and I didn’t want to understand them. I just wanted to get Kate out of jail. She had consoled me and helped me unselfishly in a situation that was extremely difficult for me. She had probably even saved my life. I owed it to her.

“Then I must find some ten thousand dollars somewhere”, I sighed. It was clear to me where the money would come from. But thinking about plundering Robert’s depot caused me a bellyache. The money belonged to the women which he had forced to work for him. But Kate was also a woman who was in danger. I would return the amount when her court hearing was over. It was only bail that was paid back after the hearing. In that respect taking the money out was only a loan.

“Irene, I’ve saved up some money since I came over here. But I think I made a mistake – I exchanged the cash with gold. Only small coins because I never wanted to invest a lot all in once. But now I want to change them back. Could you tell me where I find a bank that doesn’t rip me off?”

Irene’s look changed. First she looked quite dumbfounded, then she frowned her eyebrows. Immediately it dawned on me that I had committed another capital error. For Irene my fortune could only come from one source: prostitution. In her view I had fooled her for the whole time. I just presented her with the last piece of puzzle to complete this picture. All indications were far too obvious for her as an attorney. My heartaches increased significantly. Irene was silent for an eternity of time then she replied to me.

“There is a bank in San Francisco that exchanges gold for cash. And they do not charge excessive bank fees as far as I remember.” The tone of her voice had become somewhat cold. I finished the simple office work as soon as possible and asked her then if she still needed me. She only shook her head and I left her house. She didn’t accompany me to the door and take me into her arms as usual. I didn’t need to come back here. In the car I cried like a helpless child.

Despite my angst I drove home and pulled the papers of Robert’s depot out of their hiding-place. I couldn’t waste any time and wrote myself a paper with power of attorney for Mr. Rodriguez’ depot.

Then I looked up in the Internet how much one of the small gold bars would be worth. It was less than I expected. I would need twenty five of them. I was happy when I sat in my Chevy again. Meanwhile my car had become something like a safe-haven for me.