He remained silent for a moment and from the look on his face I knew it was bad news. “I’m Sgt. Coleman,” he said. “Roberts tried to escape. Must’ve heard us coming. Tried to beat it out the back of the hotel. My officer said he was armed. There was a shooting…”
CHAPTER 33
“A shooting? What do you mean a shooting?”
But I knew what he meant: Al Roberts had been shot. I turned quickly to Kathie, who still sat in the car. Then I looked back at the cop. I heard a car door slam, and Kathie came running. She must’ve seen the look on my face and realized that something bad had happened.
The cop droned on about how the shooting was justified. “Roberts had been warned. He didn’t stop. He was running down the beach, and when he turned he had a gun in his hand. My officer had no choice-”
“What happened?” Kathie, now at my side, screamed.
“Roberts has been shot,” I told her. “They say he had a gun.”
“It happened about an hour ago, ma’am. They’ve taken him to Hoag.”
“How bad is he?”
“Can’t say, but when they took him away he didn’t look too good.”
Kathie tugged on my jacket sleeve. “Jimmy, let’s go!”
“Wait, Kathie. One second.” I turned back to the cop. “What kind of gun did he have? Where is it?”
If Roberts had a gun and it turned out to be the same one that had been used to kill Ida Hathaway, then his murder trial would be lost before it even began. He'd be convicted, and the only thing I could do for him would be to plead with the judge for mercy at the time of sentencing.
“We…uh, haven't found it yet.”
“What? What kind of horseshit is that? Either he had a gun or he didn't.”
“When he was hit he kept running. He ran behind some rocks at the curve in the shoreline. He was out of sight of the officer for a few moments. He could have tossed the gun in the ocean or buried it somewhere. When the officer caught up with Roberts, he was down, unconscious and bleeding-”
He stopped in midsentence. An urgent call came over the police radio in his car. With the door open, Sgt. Coleman grabbed his mike. I could hear both sides of the transmission.
“Sarge, the hospital called. If you want to interview Roberts, head on over to Hoag pronto. He’s coming out of surgery now.”
Coleman replied, “On my way.”
Hearing the news about Roberts gave me chills, but I still had a job to do. “Hold it. Nobody talks to my client without me being there.”
“I take my orders from the lieutenant. He says interview him, that’s what I do. You got a problem with that, talk to the brass when we get to the hospital.”
“I want to see him, right now!” Kathie said.
“Then follow me. I’ll get us there fast.”
Kathie and I ran to the Mercedes. “I’ll drive,” I said. “Used to be a cop. We’re gonna be moving. He’ll be running code three, red lights and siren.”
Kathie nodded. “Keys are in it.”
Sgt. George Coleman, driving a black-and-white with sirens blaring, led the way north to the hospital. With Kathie hanging on for dear life in the passenger seat, we followed in his wake. Upscale restaurants, art galleries, and yacht brokers’ offices were a blur as we raced through downtown Laguna, Corona Del Mar, and then the commercial district of Newport Beach. We drove without slowing or stopping at red lights.
From the hotel it was exactly 11.4 miles to Hoag Hospital, located on the edge of a bluff overlooking Balboa Bay, resplendent with million-dollar homes lining the shore, their multi-colored lights sparkling in the night. It was a straight run on the quiet nighttime highway and we made it to the hospital in nine minutes flat.
Only a few people were present in the hospital lobby when we arrived, one or two who looked like they had been there a while. A couple of uniformed cops hung around, drinking coffee. They must’ve been there to guard the prisoner.
We checked in with the receptionist, a middle-aged woman wearing a blazer with the hospital logo on it. “Sorry, but you’ll have to wait. The patient is being moved from surgery to intensive care, but the surgeon…” She glanced at her records. “…Dr. Hendricks, will be with you as soon as possible.”
“We’ll wait,” Coleman said.
“How bad is he?” Kathie asked.
“I’m sorry but I don’t have that information.” She smiled warmly. “Dr. Hendricks will fill you in.”
“Oh, God, Jimmy…” Kathie’s eyes searched mine looking for answers that I didn’t have.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the woman at the desk said, “but this is a formality. Does Mr. Roberts have any family members that should be notified?”
“No, not really,” I said. “But I’m closer to him than any relative. I’m his lawyer.”
She looked around at the cops in the room. “I understand.”
With Kathie clinging to my arm, I turned to Sgt. Coleman. I made it clear that if the doctor allowed Roberts to have visitors, then I’d be the first one to see him. If he wanted to make a statement, I’d allow it, but there would be no interrogation.
The cop nodded. “Okay by me. I was just supposed to ask him a few questions about the shooting. As you probably know, the Los Angeles DA’s office issued the arrest warrant. You won’t be dealing with us down here in Orange County on the murder charge. As soon as the doc gives the okay, Roberts will be transferred out of our jurisdiction. He’ll be turned over to the LAPD and moved to the jail hospital in L.A.”
A guy with a weathered complexion who looked like he’d just climbed out of bed and hurriedly tossed on his clothes entered the lobby. He marched up and introduced himself as Captain John Russo, adding that he’d be investigating the officer-involved shooting. He turned to Coleman. “Instead of taking Roberts to jail,” he said. “I wish they were taking the murdering bastard to the morgue.”
Kathie gazed up at me, her eyes filled with tears. “He’s got to pull through. Jesus, he’s got to make it!” She looked at Russo. “Goddamn you, he’s innocent.”
“You’d better pray he lives,” I told Russo. “Because if he dies I’ll file the biggest goddamn lawsuit you ever saw. I’ll name the city, the police department, and the cop who fired the shots. I’ll name everyone that had anything to do with this.”
Okay, so maybe I overreacted, but I didn’t like the way the scene was playing out. If the cop involved did in fact shoot an unarmed man, then it would be easy to sweep the whole affair under the rug. Why make a big hullabaloo about a bad shooting if the victim was a murder suspect with no family or friends? And a convict on top of that. Who’d give a damn?
I wanted it on the record that someone did care about Roberts, someone who knew the score, someone who wouldn’t let up until the truth came out.
Russo looked at me as if I were something the dog had left on his lawn. “You’d better hold on, O’Brien.”
I felt the blood rushing to my face. “No, you hold on-!”
“You want to know what happened, then hear me out.”
“Fine, talk to me.”
“Roberts was a murderer on the run with a warrant out. Officer Bochar-a rookie-identified himself as a police officer and commanded Roberts to stop. I just talked to Bochar back at the station. He’s shook up, said your client was armed. He fired his weapon in self-defense. I believe him. But we’ll still do a complete investigation.”
“Roberts wasn’t armed. He was shot in cold blood.”
“He had a gun and we’ll find it.” His voice bore a tone of finality.
“Everyone’s been pinning crap on Al Roberts for the last twenty-nine years. You won’t find anything, because he didn’t have a weapon. I think the rookie got scared, panicked, and started blasting away. And I think you know it.”
His face went through a series of contortions, settling on one that looked like the ugly countenance of a dyspeptic gorilla. Russo was obviously a man accustomed to getting his way, with everyone kissing his ass. “O’Br
ien, I’m in charge around here and I said we’ll do a goddamn investigation. In Laguna we do it right, we don’t screw around. Listen up, wise guy; I was on the job when you were a brat with shit in your diapers, sucking at your mama’s tit!”
Though totally pissed off I fought to maintain my composure, but the sanctimonious asshole was getting to me. “Yeah sure, you’ll find a weapon,” I said. “I was a cop once. I know how it goes. All of a sudden one of your men will find a gun with no serial numbers buried on the beach somewhere behind the rocks.”
Russo was, to put it mildly, appalled at my assertion. He jabbed his finger in my chest. “Don’t you ever accuse me of compromising an investigation! Down here we play it strictly by the book. I don’t care how they handle shit up there in big bad L.A. County.” He looked down his nose at me. “We don’t need to plant a gun. Roberts had one and we’ll find it, even if we have to dredge the whole goddamn Pacific Ocean.”
I walked away from Russo, taking Kathie with me. We stood at a window at the far end of the lobby and looked out at the black sea beyond the edge of shimmering lights. Putting my arm gently around her shoulders I said, “Al Roberts will make it. He’s too damn stubborn to die.”
She glanced up at me. “What will I tell my mother? I won’t know what to say. It will kill her if something happens to Al.”
“Tell her the truth. Treat her like a human being for once. It seems to me everyone has been dealing with her like she’s some kind of biological unit that must be fed, watered, and stowed away out of sight. First, your father used her as a sex object. Then he got tired of her and threw her out. Then it was…” Slow down, O’Brien, I told myself. You’re attacking this girl’s family and it’s none of your business.
I felt Kathie’s back stiffen. But she said nothing and continued to stare out the window.
“I’m sorry, Kathie. I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”
“I just don’t know what to do. I’m so confused,” she whispered, more to herself than to me.
“Maybe after your mother hit bottom, just maybe, if she had been given proper care she might’ve been cured a long time ago. She might’ve had a decent life.”
Her eyes flared. “How dare you? You have no idea what I’ve been through. All my life knowing my own mother had been a junkie and a whore. Left for dead in a gutter-”
“You have to understand, I’m not talking about you. You were just a kid when it all started and you came to the situation as an adult not all that long ago. I’m talking about Jerome, your grandparents, the doctors, and those damn trust fund trustees. You know what I’m saying.”
She put her face in her hands and leaned forward. With my arm still around her shoulders I could feel her silent, racking sobs.
Maybe it wasn’t the best time or place, but I had to speak my mind, get out what I felt inside. “Listen to me, Kathie. Back in 1945, your mother was a young, immature girl with stars in her eyes. She came to California with hopes and dreams. When she got here, she was used, abused, and tossed aside like a broken porcelain doll. Her only fault was that she was a beautiful young woman. You told me yourself about the change that came over her when, in just a few short days, Roberts showed her a little respect and attention. But even more than that he gave her his greatest gift-his love.”
She looked up at me again. “Oh, Jimmy. I know it’s been awful the way they’ve treated my mother. I wanted to help, and she was improving… but now, without Al Roberts… The shock alone…”
I squeezed her shoulder tighter. “This is important, Kathie. Regardless of what happens with Roberts, get your mother off the drugs, get her out of Vista Del Muerto, and give her a life, for chrissakes. She’s still young enough-”
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned. The surgeon stood behind me, still wearing his light green scrubs. He looked both drawn and serious. Captain Russo and Sgt. Coleman stood off to the side, watching us.
“Excuse me, but the receptionist pointed you out. You’re Mr. O’Brien, the lawyer.”
“How’d it go in surgery? Is he gonna live, doctor?”
“He’s awake, just barely. We told him that you were waiting. He wants to see you. Normally we wouldn’t allow visitors this soon after a major operation, but…”
“But what?”
“It doesn’t look good. He might not make it through the night.”
CHAPTER 34
A nurse escorted me along a semi-dark hallway. Only a few of the fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling were shining at that time of night, and a powerful antiseptic smell cut through the cool hospital air as we followed the signs directing us to the ICU.
On the way, I had second thoughts about the cops waiting in the lobby. Maybe my response had been way overboard when I practically accused Russo of planning to perpetrate a cover-up. The shock from news of the shooting, and the tension that had been building within me since the day I had taken on the Roberts case, had more than likely caused the explosive reaction. But cops and criminal defense lawyers were never on comfortable terms. It was only natural, since we operated at different ends of the legal spectrum.
I knew I’d have to cut Russo some slack. He was as hard as tempered steel, but he had a difficult job to do. For all I knew, he did it well. I had no reason to question his integrity. But that still didn’t mean I’d let him interrogate Roberts without me being present, and I wouldn’t let Al make a statement regarding anything that happened out there on the beach. He could still be charged with resisting arrest. A minor charge compared to the murder rap staring him in the face; but a criminal charge nonetheless, which would be just another reason to toss his butt back in the can.
There were almost two hundred separate municipalities located around Southern California. A number of these cities and towns had their own police departments, and more than a few had been tainted at one time or another. Throughout most of its early history even the illustrious LAPD had been riddled with corruption. And it remained that way until 1950 when the new chief, William H. Parker, took the reins and tossed out the political swindlers and outright crooks.
But from what I’d heard, the Laguna Beach PD had a sterling reputation. Never in its forty-seven year history had there been even the slightest hint of scandal. And somehow I knew the facts regarding the shooting, good or bad, would be made public. There would be no cover-up.
I also thought about Kathie and her dysfunctional family. I’d unloaded heavily on her as well. But I didn’t regret one word I’d said. Of course, I couldn’t blame her for her mother and father’s horrible behavior in the past, but someone-and that someone was me, I guess-had to open her eyes to the facts, even if I had to rub her face in it.
Maybe I got through to Kathie. And maybe, if nothing else, when this was all over, she’d finally take charge of the situation and lead her mother down that yellow brick road to happiness. It would be nice if Al Roberts were able to share that journey. However, at this moment there were two chances of that happening: slim and fat.
The nurse and I continued to walk in silence. This wasn’t the time for small talk, and I didn’t ask about Al. I figured she wouldn’t comment on his condition. That would be the doctor’s responsibility and he wouldn’t want anyone butting in on his territory.
At the end of the hallway we rounded a corner and came upon a brightly lit nurses’ station. A couple of women in whites worked behind the counter.
Another nurse sat at a workspace below the countertop. Her head bent, she appeared to be filling out charts, writing reports, or perhaps doodling; what did I know? She looked up when we approached.
“Marie,” my escort said, “this is Mr. O’Brien, here to see Mr. Roberts.”
Marie glanced over her shoulder and looked through a glass partition that offered a view of the ten or twelve beds behind her. Each bed held a patient partially covered by a tangled greenish sheet. They all had white tubes going up their noses and green tubes stuck in their arms and hands, hanging loose at the edge of the bed. The green ones we
re connected to oxygen outlets in the wall and the white ones to IV bottles hanging from a T-bar standing at the foot of the beds. The patients had electrical wires hooked up to them. The wires ran from their bodies out over the bedrail, and the ends were plugged into black boxes with dials and glowing numbers fastened to the wall behind the beds.
If one of those bizarre gizmos were present, the thing with two lightning rods sticking out of it and an electric spark buzzing like crazy and dancing back and forth between the tips, I would’ve thought I was staring at Dr. Frankenstein’s new high-tech lab, turning out monsters by the dozen.
Marie stood. “This is highly irregular,” she sighed, “but who am I to argue with the doctor? You’ll only be allowed to see him for one minute and that’s my rule.”
She came around from behind the counter and said, “Follow me.” I did, and she led me to Al’s bedside.
I wasn’t shocked by how he looked. When I was a cop, I’d seen a number of gunshot victims and he looked better than most. But of course, the majority of those I had seen were already dead.
I took his hand. His eyelids fluttered for a moment and remained open at half-mast. “Jimmy…” he uttered in a barely audible voice. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. Just get better.”
“They told me… I might… not make it… say my prayers… They’re… full of… shit.”
“Of course you’re going to make it. Hell, I’m not worried.” I glanced up at Marie. She tapped her watch with a finger. Not much time left before she’d throw me out. I had to get to the point. I leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Al, the doc said you wanted to talk to me. What do you want to tell me?”
“I need… a favor.”
“Sure.”
“Get… me… the fuck outta… here… I promised…”
“Promised what?”
“I promised… I’d take… her home.”
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