“Having these rights in mind, do you want to give them up and talk to me about your arrest?”
“Yeah, Miss Edwards, I want to tell my side.”
“Okay, here is a printed copy of the rights I just read; look them over and sign at the bottom if you want to answer questions.” She slid the form across the table along with a pen. Londy read, signed, and slid it back to her. Carly clicked on the voice recorder. “I’m taping this conversation.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of him. She found herself leaning back reflexively, surprised by his eagerness to talk. Because of this eagerness, she saw no reason to start anywhere other than with the facts and with Arnie’s advice.
“Did you kill Mayor Burke?”
“No! No, no, no. I couldn’t; I wouldn’t.”
“Then what happened? If you didn’t kill the mayor, what were you doing driving her car around? Her car with her body in the trunk.”
His eyes misted. “Man, I know I messed up. I know I shoulda never got in that car, but I didn’t kill that lady. I never even looked in the trunk until the officers showed me.”
“Londy, I want the truth. You’ve been to jail before and you know how things work. It’s always easier if you tell the truth; it’s easier to stick to your story and remember what you’ve said. You were driving the car, you ran from the police, and you expect me to believe you had no idea there was a body in the trunk?”
Londy looked down at his hands and shook his head. “Miss Edwards, I ain’t gonna lie. I’m a Christian now, but I knew Darryl from before.”
The word Christian pinched Carly and she sat up straighter. Try to snow me, kid, like you snowed my mom, and I’ll bury you.
“He came and got me last night. He said he just bought the car. He got a job down at the harbor and he’s always got money, so I thought he was saying the truth. We were just driving around listening to music—the car was a fine ride. And then Darryl brought out some weed. I knew I shouldn’t, but I been good for so long, I just had to smoke some. When I saw the police, I thought I was in trouble for the weed, so I ran. I didn’t want Mama to know. I swear I didn’t know nothing about that lady. I done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I could never kill nobody.”
“What kind of job does Darryl have that he’d have the money for a Lexus?”
“I don’t know. He does something with the big ships, gets paid in cash. Lately he’s always waving money around.”
“Londy, do you really think a judge will believe the story you’re telling me? A street-smart kid like you would believe that Darryl could buy himself a car like that?”
“Miss Edwards, it’s the truth. I can’t lie. I won’t lie. I let my mama down and your mama down by smoking that weed, but most of all I let Jesus down. Maybe I thought Darryl jacked that car, and I shouldn’t have got in, and I did. But I didn’t kill that lady.” The boy looked across the table with such earnestness it made Carly shift uncomfortably in her chair. She tacitly ignored all his references to Jesus and God. They only served to annoy and irritate.
Okay, time for the hammer. You want to dump that church and God junk on me, I’m gonna dump on you.
“You thought Darryl jacked the car, and you still hopped in?”
Londy’s face scrunched as if he’d just bitten a lemon. “I did; I shouldn’t’ve, but I did.”
“You smoked weed with Darryl?”
“I did—I won’t lie.”
“Then you tried to run from the police, right?”
His gaze dropped and his lowered head moved slowly from side to side. “I did. I’m sorry, I got scared.”
“All those are things thugs and liars do. How can I believe you aren’t a murderer as well?”
His head shot back up. “No, no, I didn’t kill that lady.”
Carly kept at it, angry that the kid persisted in denial and angrier still she was beginning to believe him. He exuded none of the uneasy body language so evident with liars. At the hardest questions he looked her right in the eye calmly, no challenge or evasion present.
She continued questioning, threatened a little, and stretched the truth some about what Darryl had to say. Still Londy denied. And surprisingly, he never blamed Darryl, something Carly expected him to do before he finally caved and admitted his guilt. She switched from hammering to being his best friend, concerned about his fate in jail. Nothing worked; his story stayed the same.
When I looked at everything at the crime scene, she thought, I was certain I had a murderer. Now, I’m just not sure.
She drummed on the table and studied him in silence for a moment before smacking the recorder off in frustration and then asking one final question.
“You want to take a lie detector test?”
“Yes, please, I’ll take it. I’m telling the truth.” Again, the eyes were so earnest.
Biting back a petulant rejoinder because she’d struck out completely, Carly nodded. “I’ll talk to the homicide guys and try to set one up.” She stood up to lead Londy back to detention.
“What’s gonna happen tonight? Am I going to the Hall?” Londy asked.
“Yep, you’ll be leaving in a couple of hours.”
“Do you believe me? That I didn’t kill that lady?”
The question caught Carly by surprise. “I don’t know. All I know right now is that all the evidence isn’t in. Everything you told me will go to the homicide detectives.”
Londy nodded. “I understand. Can I call my mama?”
“Yeah.” Carly took him back to the detention area and set him up with a phone before leaving him with the security officer. Back in her office, it was time to call homicide.
Without a confession.
Grasping for any straws, Carly pulled Londy’s complete arrest jacket and scanned the pages. After a few minutes she slammed the file shut and pushed it away. The act of rubbing her forehead with her fingers couldn’t erase what was going on in her head.
I believe the kid—I hate to admit it, but there it is. I’ve seen a lot of liars in my time on this job, and if Londy is lying, he’s the best. No wonder my mother believes him.
The phone call to homicide could not be avoided.
Karl Drake answered. “Hey, what did the kid tell you?”
“Not much. He’s a complete denial.” Carly outlined the interview for Drake. “He wants a lie detector test; he’s very eager to take one. I hate to say it, Karl, but he’s not sweating like a liar, and he freely admits to the joyride and the pot. I guess my gut is telling me he’s not a killer. He didn’t even try to point the finger at Darryl. I’m thinking that he really knows nothing about the mayor.”
Drake let out a derisive snort. “We were really hoping you could get something out of the kid.” He sounded disappointed and tired. “There’s a lot of pressure on this case, Carly. The chief—heck, the city. I just got the third degree from the grieving widower.”
“I don’t know what to say, Karl. I tried. Out of curiosity I pulled Londy’s arrest jacket. He’s never been arrested for a violent crime. He may boost cars and draw graffiti, but he’s never been a violent kid.” Carly surprised herself the minute the words were out of her mouth.
“What about ‘Once a dirtbag, always a dirtbag’? You know as well as I do that most crimes are crimes of opportunity. These two punks jacked a car and a woman was in the way, so they killed her. He’ll get his lie detector test.” The phone clicked off.
As much as she wanted to get back into everyone’s good graces, Carly couldn’t suppress her own gut feelings.
Drake is just tired and frustrated, she thought. With such a high-profile case, a quick closure in black and white would be preferable to something long and drawn out with shades of gray. If she was wrong and Londy was guilty, or if she was right and he was innocent, either way Drake and Harris had a lot of work to do, and they’d have to do it in the crucible of press scrutiny. But she didn’t doubt that they’d dig for the truth.
Sighing, she set about transcribing her interview. When she finished, she left her office and set it in front of Altman for his review and signature.
“I can tell by the look on your face this didn’t go well,” he said as he picked up the transcript.
“What can I say? The kid swears he didn’t do it.” She poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Ain’t it a shame. And thumbscrews are out of style.” Altman chuckled. “All the evidence isn’t in yet. Guilt is determined by what can be proved in court, and most of the time there is no confession.” He gave her his wise, knowing supervisor look.
She took her coffee out to the front desk area and sat sipping and brooding. Even if Londy was innocent, the tangential involvement of her mother bugged her. Kay believed she could change troubled kids. I have to find a way to make her understand that she needs to be more careful about the strays she picks up.
When the day shift ended at four, Arnie and the other day detectives filed out. Altman finished his review of her interview shortly after that. Though he was her supervisor, he was alternating early days and late days, covering for a day sergeant who was on vacation. Today was an early day, and he’d leave Carly on her own until her EOW at 2:00 a.m.
“You did a good job. Don’t fault your interview,” he said when he packed up to leave. “Remember, cases are won without confessions.” He held up her interview packet. “I’ll drop this downstairs on my way out.”
“Thanks, Sarge. Have a good night.”
He stepped on the elevator and was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
“Cases are won without confessions.” Maybe so, but are careers resurrected?
She busied herself with the paperwork involved in sending Londy to juvenile hall. There was a long list of charges against him, homicide being the most serious and the one that would not stick without more evidence. She tried not to think about that as she typed the information juvenile hall would need at intake. When the phone rang, she contemplated letting it go to voice mail but picked it up after four rings.
“What took you so long to answer the phone?” Captain Garrison’s baritone assaulted her ears.
“Sorry, Captain; I’m by myself right now.”
“Never mind. I’m downstairs in the lobby, and the boy’s mother is here making a scene with the press. She wants to see her son. Set it up.”
“Captain, we don’t allow visiting; we don’t have any space for it. She’ll have to wait until he gets up to juvenile hall.”
“It wasn’t a question, Edwards. The woman is grandstanding and it looks bad. Set up a visitation.” The phone clicked.
Hung up on twice in a row. This day was going from bad to worse. Carly called the security officer and asked him to try to arrange for visiting as quickly as possible. The elevator doors opened, and off stepped Dora Akins. Surprised recognition flickered in her eyes. Carly nodded hello, a little chastened. The poor woman probably hadn’t thought her son’s jailer would be her best friend’s daughter.
“Hello, Carly. I’m here to talk to my son.”
“It’ll be a few minutes. The security officer is setting up a visitation area.”
An awkward silence followed. Dora took a deep breath and stepped away from the counter, looking around the reception area. Her back to Carly, she spoke again. “You know what they’re saying about my boy? They say he killed the mayor. They say he was high on drugs and he killed her for her car.” She turned and faced Carly, one tear sliding down her right cheek. “Did Londy tell you he did that?”
Carly was spared a response when the security officer poked his head out from the detention area and said everything was ready. Dora wiped her cheek, and Carly buzzed her in through the security door. They followed the officer back to the makeshift visitation area.
The original jail contained several visiting cubicles, or booths. The booths were converted to storage when the jail moved out. The security officer shoved some boxes out of one booth so Londy and Dora would have places to sit.
They were separated by a thick plastic partition yellowed with age. Doors to the booths had long since been removed. The visit couldn’t be unsupervised because there was no enclosure. The security officer stood a discreet distance behind Londy, and Carly stood behind Dora. Her spot was in the hallway, about ten feet back, where she leaned against the wall and tried to be unobtrusive.
Carly watched as Dora and Londy held their hands up to the plastic separating them. She looked away when they both started crying. She heard Dora begin to pray, and when she finished, Londy began a vehement protestation of innocence. Carly couldn’t help but hear the conversation. Dora is just like Mom, she thought, so sure God will sort everything out.
When the visit was over, Carly led Dora back out to the elevator and explained the next steps.
“He’ll be sent to Los Padrinos Juvenile Hall. Unless he’s certified to be tried as an adult, he’ll be charged in juvenile court separately from the nineteen-year-old he was arrested with.”
“Darryl Jackson,” Dora said. “There’s a worthless child. Londy never should have been near him.” Dora regained all of her composure. She stepped onto the elevator and fixed her gaze on Carly. “I have my faith, and that is a strong anchor. I will not stop praying. I believe all things happen for a reason. We may not see it right now, but Londy will be vindicated, and God will work all this out for the best.”
Carly said nothing, just watched Dora disappear as the elevator doors closed. Definitely just like my mother, she thought. Always talking about God and prayer.
Carly shook her head. Bible-thumping hadn’t kept Londy out of trouble. Dora said things happen for a reason. What possible reason could there be for a brutal, senseless murder?
6
By 11 p.m. Londy was gone, on his way to juvenile hall, and save for the hum of the elevator, silence shrouded the fourth floor. Carly assaulted the quiet by drumming on the counter with a couple of pens, alone with her not-so-pretty thoughts. Self-pity again took center stage. Tormented by the failed interview, she second-guessed every question she’d asked the boy. Should I have been tougher? Leaned harder? Threatened more?
Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Garrison will never release me now.
I thought I’d have a confession to bargain with, something—anything—to prove to Garrison I’m ready to go back to the field. I have nothing. I didn’t even get any helpful evidence from Londy.
It seemed to Carly that her instincts had betrayed her. An hour before the interview, she’d been ready to hang the kid. Now, explanations that might exonerate him sprang up in her mind like air-popped popcorn.
She tossed the pens across the counter, stood up, and stretched.
“I guess I’m stuck here awhile longer.” Her voice sounded as hollow as she felt in the quiet. She paced the small reception area to calm herself and fought the urge to chew on a thumbnail. San Quentin South was a well-deserved nickname; tonight the place was her jail cell. When the elevator doors opened, she stopped pacing and braced for another unpleasant surprise.
“Hey, partner!” Joe, just starting his graveyard shift, stepped off the elevator grinning, easing Carly’s angst and lifting her mood. “I heard you talked to a big fish today.”
“Joe, you are a welcome sight,” she said, happy to have something to smile about. “Yeah, I had a chance, but I’m afraid I didn’t get anything helpful. You want me to buzz you in?”
“No, I’ve got to get back downstairs. We had a warrant pickup right after the squad meeting. My partner tonight is a new guy, and he’s booking our prisoner. I thought I’d pop up and say hi. And I brought you a present.” From behind his back he brought out a drink container and set it on the counter. “To the victor, a chocolate milk shake. I didn’t get to buy you lunch, but I didn’t forget the shake.”
“You just made my night.” Carly’s smile stretched to a grin. She took the shake and enjoyed a deep pull on the straw. The cold, creamy chocolate sliding down her throat soothed a
lot of raw feelings. “This is great. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No thanks necessary; you earned it. Now, tell me about the kid.” He leaned over the reception counter to listen as Carly filled him in on the lofty goal she had set for the interview and how she’d crashed and burned.
“I can’t help it,” she admitted as she concluded. “I believe the kid. Maybe the adult killed the mayor and never let the kid in on it.”
“Drake and Harris will get to the bottom of it; don’t worry. And I hate to say it, but I still don’t think you’ll get sprung any sooner than when the litigation is over, no matter what you do. Or how many criminals you vanquish. So you didn’t mess anything up.”
“Okay, okay. Thanks again. You’re my best cheerleader. By the way, I forgot to ask you about Christy this morning. How is she?”
“She’s fat!” He held his hands out in front of his stomach for effect. Christy was Joe’s very-pregnant wife. “The baby is due next week, and as soon as she goes into labor, I’m off for a month. Right now I better get downstairs and make sure the rookie isn’t booking himself.” He punched the elevator call button.
“Tell Christy I said hello.”
“Will do.” The elevator doors opened and Joe paused. He cast a questioning glance at Carly as Nick stepped off the elevator. “Uh, hello, Nick.”
“Hello.” Nick nodded first to Joe and then to Carly.
Seeing her ex up close and personal was the cap on an altogether horrible day. Carly’s heart rate spiked and strength fled from her legs as swiftly as a teenage gangbanger running from a stolen car. She sank into a chair, Nick’s presence a heavy weight on her soul. There was no way to ignore him, no way to avoid a confrontation she didn’t want to have. She nodded good-bye to Joe.
“Call me if you need anything,” Joe said as he disappeared into the elevator, leaving Carly alone with her ex-husband, a man she hadn’t directly spoken to in a year. Speech escaped her and blood pounded in her temples.
Nick Anderson was teasingly referred to as the face of Las Playas PD, “The Face” for short. Tall with light-brown hair, piercing blue eyes, a smile with just the right amount of dimples, and the lean, muscular build of a triathlete, a few years ago he’d been chosen to pose for some department recruiting posters. Those posters garnered Nick his share of catcalls and ribbing. Carly had even joined in, in happier times, calling him her GQ hubby.
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