He picked up his books and stepped away from the table while keeping his head down.
Milo said, “Hey, c’mon, stay. I’m an easy grader.”
The man stopped, began to lower himself, then he threw the books at Milo and made a rush for the door.
I stepped in front of him, locking my hands in a double-arm block.
He shouldered me full-force. The impact slammed me against the door and pushed it open.
I fell backward onto the cement, landing hard and feeling my tailbone hum. Reaching out, I grabbed two handfuls of silk. He was on top of me, clawing and punching and spraying sweat.
Milo pulled him off, hit him very fast in the face and the belly and shoved him hard against the bungalow. The man struggled. Milo kidney-punched him, hard, and cuffed him as he sank, groaning.
Milo forced him down on the ground and put one foot on the small of his back.
A pat-down produced a wad of cash, a flick-knife with a black handle, a vial of pills, and a cheap plastic billfold stamped RENO: NEVADA’S PLAYGROUND. Milo pulled three different driver’s licenses out of the fold.
“Well, well, well, what have we here? Sobran comma Karl with a K, Sebring comma Carl with a C, and … Ramsey comma Clark Edward. Which one’s real, turkey, or are you suffering from multiple personality syndrome?”
The man said nothing.
Milo nudged one of the black shoes with a toe.
“Good old prison clumpers. County or state?”
No answer.
“You need new heels, genius.”
The man’s back muscles moved under his shirt.
Milo turned to me. “Find a phone and call the Devonshire substation. Tell them we’ve got a suspect on a Central Division homicide and give them Dawn Herbert’s full name.”
The man on the ground said, “Bullshit.” His voice was deep and muddy.
One of the young students came out onto the stairs. Twenty or twenty-one, short blond pageboy, sleeveless white dress, Mary Pickford face.
She said, “Kristie’s pretty upset,” in a very timid voice.
“Tell her I’ll be with her in a minute,” said Milo.
“Um … sure. What did Karl do?”
“Sloppy homework,” said Milo.
The man on the ground growled and the girl looked startled.
Milo kept his knee on the man’s back and said, “Shut up.”
The blond girl gripped the doorjamb.
Softening his voice, Milo said, “It’s okay—nothing to worry about. Just go inside and wait.”
“This isn’t some kind of experiment or anything, is it?”
“Experiment?”
“A role-play. You know? Professor Jones likes to use them to raise our awareness.”
“Bet he does. No, miss, this is real. Sociology in action. Take a good look—it’ll be on the final.”
36
The envelope arrived by messenger at 7:00 P.M., just before Robin got home. I put it aside and tried to have a normal evening with her. After she went to sleep, I took it to the library. Turned on all the lights and read.
TRANSCRIPT OF INTERROGATION
DR# 102—789 793
DR# 64—458 990
DR# 135—935 827
PLACE: T/DATE: L.A.C. JAIL, BLOCK: HIGH-POWER
6/1/89, 7:30 P.M.
SUSPECT: JONES, CHARLES LYMAN III, MW, 6′3″
BRO, BLU
AGE: 38
DEF ATTORNEY: TOKARIK, ANTHONY M., ESQ.
LAPD: MILO B. STURGIS #15994, WLA
(SPEC, ASSIGNMENT)
STEPHEN MARTINEZ, #26782, DEVSHR.
DET. STURGIS: This is video-audiotape session number two with Suspect Charles Lyman Jones the Third. Suspect was informed of his rights at the time of arrest for attempted murder. Miranda warning was repeated and taped at a previous session, eleven A.M. June 1, 1989, and transcribed on that day at two P.M. Said session was terminated on advice of suspect’s counsel, Mr. Anthony Tokarik, Esquire. This session represents resumption of interview at request of Mr. Tokarik. Do I need to re-Mirandize him, Counselor, or does that second warning hold for this session?
MR. TOKARIK: It will hold, unless Professor Jones requests re-Mirandization. Do you want to be warned again, Chip?
MR. JONES: NO. Let’s get on with this.
MR. TOKARIK: Go ahead.
DET. STURGIS: Evening, Chip.
MR. TOKARIK: I’d prefer that you address my client respectfully, Detective.
DET. STURGIS: Professor be okay?
MR. TOKARIK: Yes. However, if that’s too difficult for you, “Mr. Jones” would suffice.
DET. STURGIS: You just called him Chip.
MR. TOKARIK: I’m his lawyer.
DET. STURGIS: Uh-huh … okay … sure. Hey, I’d even call him “Doctor,” but he never finished his Ph.D., did you, Chip—Mr. Jones? What’s that? Can’t hear you.
MR. JONES: (unintelligible)
DET. STURGIS: Got to speak up, Mr. Jones. Grunts don’t make it.
MR. TOKARIK: Hold on, Detective. Unless the tone of this interview changes, I’m going to call a halt to it immediately.
DET. STURGIS: Suit yourself—your loss. I just thought you guys might want to hear some of the evidence we’ve compiled against old Chip, here. ’Scuse me—Mister Jones.
MR. TOKARIK: I can get anything you have from the district attorney under the rules of recovery, Detective.
DET. STURGIS: Fine. Then wait till the trial. Let’s go, Steve.
DET. MARTINEZ: Sure.
MR. JONES: Hold on. (unintelligible)
MR. TOKARIK: Wait, Chip, (unintelligible) I’d like to confer with my client privately, if you don’t mind.
DET. STURGIS: If it doesn’t take too long.
Tape off: 7:39 P.M.
Tape on: 7:51 P.M.
MR. TOKARIK: Go ahead, show us what you’ve got.
DET. STURGIS: Yeah, sure, but is Mr. Jones going to be answering questions or is it gonna be a one-way show-and-tell?
MR. TOKARIK: I reserve my client’s right to refuse to answer any questions. Proceed if you wish, Detective.
DET. STURGIS: What do you think, Steve?
DET. MARTINEZ: I don’t know.
MR. TOKARIK: Decision, gentlemen?
DET. STURGIS: Yeah, okay … Well, Chip—Mr. Jones—I’m glad you’ve got yourself a high-priced lawyer like Mr. Tokarik here, ’cause you’re sure gonna—
MR. TOKARIK: This is definitely getting off on the wrong foot. My fees have nothing to—
DET. STURGIS: What are we doing here, Counselor, interrogating a suspect or critiquing my style?
MR. TOKARIK: I strenuously object to your—
DET. STURGIS: Object all you want. This isn’t court.
MR. TOKARIK: I request another conference with my client.
DET. STURGIS: NO way. Let’s split, Steve.
DET. MARTINEZ: You bet.
MR. JONES: Hold on. Sit down.
DET. STURGIS: You ordering me around, Junior?
MR. TOKARIK: I object to—
DET. STURGIS: Come on, Steve, we’re outa here.
MR. JONES: Hold on!
MR. TOKARIK: Chip, it’s—
MR. JONES: Shut up!
MR. TOKARIK: Chip—
MR. JONES: Shut up!
DET. STURGIS: Uh-uh, no way do I proceed with this kind of friction going on between the two of you. Then he complains he wasn’t represented by counsel of choice? No way.
MR. TOKARIK: Don’t play lawyer with me, Detective.
MR. JONES: Just shut the hell up, Tony! This whole thing is preposterous!
DET. STURGIS: What is, Professor Jones?
MR. JONES: Your supposed case.
DET. STURGIS: You didn’t attempt to inject your daughter, Cassandra Brooks, with insulin?
MR. JONES: Of course not. I found the needle in Cindy’s purse, got upset because it confirmed my suspicions about her, and was trying to see if she’d already—
MR. TOKARIK: Chip—
MR. JONES: … jected it into Cassie’s I.V. Stop giving me looks, Tony—it’s my future at stake here. I want to hear what kind of folderol they think they’ve got, so I can clear it up once and for all.
DET. STURGIS: Folderol?
MR. TOKARIK: Chip—
DET. STURGIS: I don’t want to continue if—
MR. JONES: He’s my attorney of choice, okay? Go on.
DET. STURGIS: You’re sure?
MR. JONES: (unintelligible)
DET. STURGIS: Speak right into that mike over there.
MR. JONES: Get on with it. I want out of here, posthaste.
DET. STURGIS: Yes, sir, massah sir.
MR. TOKARIK: Detecti—
MR. JONES: Shut up, Tony.
DET. STURGIS: Everyone ready? Okay. First of all, we’ve got you on videotape, trying to shoot insulin into—
MR. JONES: Wrong. I told you what that was about. I was just trying to see what Cindy was up to.
DET. STURGIS: Like I said, we’ve got you on videotape, trying to shoot insulin into your daughter’s intravenous line. Plus video logs of the cameras at the entrance to Western Pediatric Medical Center confirming that you didn’t enter the hospital through the front door. One of the keys on your ring has been identified as a hospital master. You probably used it to sneak in through the—
MR. TOKARIK: I obj—
MR. JONES: Tony.
MR. TOKARIK: I request a brief conference with my—
MR. JONES: Cut it out, Tony. I’m not one of your idiot sociopaths. Go on with your fairy tale, Detective. And you’re right, I did use one of Dad’s keys. So what? Whenever I go to that place I avoid the front door. I try to be inconspicuous. Is discretion an egregious felony?
DET. STURGIS: Let’s go on. You bought two cups of coffee from a hospital machine, then took the stairs up to the fifth floor. We’ve got you on video up there too. Out in the hall where Five East meets Chappell Ward, carrying the coffee and looking through a crack in the door. What it looks like to me is you’re waiting until the nurse on duty goes into a back room. Then you go into room 505 West where you stay for fifty-five minutes until I come in and find you jabbing that needle into your daughter’s I.V. line. We’re going to show you all those videotapes now, okay?
MR. JONES: Seems eminently superfluous, but suit yourself.
DET. STURGIS: Action, camera.
Tape off: 8:22 P.M.
Tape on: 9:10 P.M.
DET. STURGIS: Okay. Any comments?
MR. JONES: Godard it’s not.
DET. STURGIS: No? I thought it had a lot of vérité.
MR. JONES: Are you a fan of cinéma vérité, Detective?
DET. STURGIS: Not really, Mr. Jones. Too much like work.
MR. JONES: Hah, I like that.
MR. TOKARIK: IS that it? That’s your evidence, in toto?
DET. STURGIS: In toto? Hardly. Okay, so now we’ve got you jabbing that needle—
MR. JONES: I told you what that was about—I was testing it. Checking the I.V. inlet to see if Cindy’d already injected Cassie.
DET. STURGIS: Why?
MR. JONES: Why? To protect my child!
DET. STURGIS: Why did you suspect your wife of harming Cassie?
MR. JONES: Circumstances. The data at hand.
DET. STURGIS: The data.
MR. JONES: Exactly.
DET. STURGIS: Want to tell me more about the data?
MR. JONES: Her personality—things I noticed. She’d been acting strange—elusive. And Cassie always seemed to fall ill after she’d spent time with her mother.
DET. STURGIS: Okay … We’ve also got a puncture wound in the fleshy part of Cassie’s armpit.
MR. JONES: NO doubt you do, but I didn’t put it there.
DET. STURGIS: Aha … what about the Valium you put in your wife’s coffee?
MR. JONES: I explained it in the room, Detective. I didn’t give it to her. It was for her nerves, remember. She’s been really on edge—been taking it for a while. If she denies that, she’s lying.
DET. STURGIS: She does indeed deny it. She says she was never aware you were dosing her up.
MR. JONES: She lies habitually—that’s the point. Accusing me based purely on what she says is like constructing a syllogism based on totally false premises. Do you understand what I mean by that?
DET. STURGIS: Sure, Prof. Valium tablets were found in one of Cassie’s toys—a stuffed bunny.
MR. JONES: There you go. How would I know anything about that?
DET. STURGIS: Your wife says you bought several of them for Cassie.
MR. JONES: I bought Cassie all sorts of toys. Other people bought LuvBunnies too. A nurse named Bottomley—very iffy personality. Why don’t you check her out, see if she’s involved.
DET. STURGIS: Why should she be?
MR. JONES: She and Cindy seem awfully close—too close, I always thought. I wanted her transferred off the case, but Cindy refused. Check her out—she’s strange, believe me.
DET. STURGIS: We did. She’s passed a polygraph and every other test we threw at her.
MR. JONES: Polygraphs are inadmissible in court.
DET. STURGIS: Would you take one?
MR. TOKARIK: Chip, don’t—
MR. JONES: I don’t see any reason to. This whole thing is preposterous.
DET. STURGIS: Onward. Did you have a prescription for the Valium we found at your campus office?
MR. JONES: (laughs) No. Is that a crime?
DET. STURGIS: AS a matter of fact, it is. Where’d you get it?
MR. JONES: Somewhere—I don’t remember.
DET. STURGIS: One of your students?
MR. JONES: Of course not.
DET. STURGIS: A student named Kristie Marie Kirkash?
MR. JONES: Uh—absolutely not. I may have had it around from before.
DET. STURGIS: For yourself?
MR. JONES: Sure. From years ago—I was under some stress. Now that I think about it, I’m sure that’s what it was. Someone lent it to me—a faculty colleague.
DET. STURGIS: What’s this colleague’s name?
MR. JONES: I don’t remember. It wasn’t that significant. Valium’s like candy nowadays. I plead guilty to having it without a prescription, okay?
DET. STURGIS: Okay.
MR. TOKARIK: What did you just take out of your briefcase, Detective?
DET. STURGIS: Something for the record. I’m going to read it out loud—
MR. TOKARIK: I want a copy first. Two copies—for myself and for Professor Jones.
DET. STURGIS: Duly noted. We’ll get the Xerox going soon as we’re finished here.
MR. TOKARIK: No, I want it simultaneous with your—
MR. JONES: Stop obstructing, Tony. Let him read whatever it is. I want out of here today.
MR. TOKARIK: Chip, nothing’s of greater importance to me than your imminent release, but I—
MR. JONES: Quiet, Tony. Read, Detective.
MR. TOKARIK: Not at all. I’m unhappy with thi—
MR. JONES: Fine. Read, Detective.
DET. STURGIS: That settled? Sure? Okay. This is a transcript of an encoded computer floppy disk, 3M Brand, DS, DD, RH, double-sided, double-density, Q Mark. Further designated with Federal Bureau of Investigation Evidence Tag Number 133355678345 dash 452948. The disk was decoded by the cryptography division of the FBI National Crime Laboratory in Washington, D.C., and was received at Los Angeles Police Department Headquarters, this morning, 6:45 A.M., via government pouch. Once I start, I’m going to read it in its entirety, even if you choose to leave the room with your client, Counselor. In order to make it clear that this evidence was offered to you and you declined to hear it. Understood?
MR. TOKARIK: We exercise all of our rights without prejudice.
MR. JONES: Read on, Detective. I’m intrigued.
DET. STURGIS: Here goes:
I’m putting this in code to protect myself, but it’s not a complicated code, just a basic substitution—numbers for lette
rs with a couple of reversals, so you should be able to handle that, Ashmore. And if something’s happened to me, have fun with it.
Charles Lyman Jones the Third, known as Chip, is a monster.
He came to my high school as a volunteer tutor and seduced me sexually and emotionally. This was ten years ago. I was seventeen and a senior and in the honors program in math, but I needed help with English and Social Sciences because I found it boring. He was twenty-eight and a graduate student. He seduced me and we had sex repeatedly over a six-month period at his apartment and at the school, including activities that I found personally repulsive. He was frequently impotent and did sick things to me in order to arouse himself. Eventually, I got pregnant and he said he’d marry me. We never got married, just lived together in a dive near the University of Connecticut, at Storrs. Then it got worse.
1. He didn’t tell his family about me. He kept another apartment in town and went there whenever his father came to visit.
2. He started to act really crazy. Doing things to my body—putting drugs in my drinks and sticking me with needles when I was sleeping. At first I wasn’t sure what was happening, used to wake up with marks all over, feeling sore. He said I was anemic and it was petechiae—broken capillaries due to pregnancy. Since he told me he’d been premed at Yale, I believed him. Then one time I woke up and caught him trying to inject me with something brown and disgusting-looking—I’m sure now it was feces. Apparently he hadn’t given me enough dope to put me out, or maybe I’d become hooked and needed more to pass out. He explained the needle by saying it was all for my good—some kind of organic vitamin tonic.
I was young and I believed all his lies. Then it got too weird and I left and tried to live with my mother but she was drunk all the time and wouldn’t take me in. Also, I think he paid her off, because right around then she got lots of new clothes. So I went back to him and the more pregnant I got, the meaner and more vicious he got. One time he pulled a really hysterical fit and told me the baby would ruin everything between us and that it had to go. Then he claimed it wasn’t even his, which was ridiculous because I was a virgin when I met him and never fooled around with anyone else. Eventually, the stress he put me through made me miscarry. But that didn’t make him happy either, and he kept sneaking up on me when I was sleeping, shouting in my ear and sometimes sticking me. I was getting fevers and bad headaches and hearing voices and becoming dizzy. For a while I thought I was going crazy.
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