by Justice
“You mean Prop one-eighty-seven,” Decker remarked.
“Not only the illegals. Affirmative action is under fire. And Whitman’s team is going to zero in on it. And if the blacks riot, we all know that, unlike other groups, the Mafia isn’t afraid to take anyone on. We could have a real disaster here.”
“We had a legitimate confession from Whitman, our prime suspect. At that time, it didn’t seem necessary to look for other possibilities.”
“It didn’t seem necessary then? So you explain to me why you reopened your own case three months later.”
“I was curious about certain things.”
“And you think that answer will satisfy America’s top crime boss? Not to mention how that’s going to play to the blacks…or the media.”
“I realize my actions could be misconstrued.”
“I like that, Decker.” Strapp made a teepee with his fingertips. “Your actions could be misconstrued. Reopening your own case looks like you were bought off by Donatti.”
Decker kept his face flat. “Lieutenant Davidson, as lead investigator on the case, made a choice, sir. He followed one avenue before another. Given what we knew at the time, it was a logical decision.”
“But it wasn’t the right decision. You proved that yourself.”
“What can I say, Captain? If I had had the final say-so in the Diggs case, I would have checked everything out before taking it to the DA. That’s the way I work. But that doesn’t mean we screwed up. We had Whitman’s confession.”
“I’ve reread his confession, Sergeant,” Strapp said. “He never said he did it. He simply expressed a willingness to concede that he might have done it. He stated specifically that he didn’t remember one way or another.”
“But he copped a Man One plea. Everything that was agreed upon was done without coercion and of his own volition.”
“Granted.” Strapp paused. “Still, Whitman’s lawyers could file a motion to invalidate the confession because the defense wasn’t ever made aware of the conflicting evidence. Furthermore, our current case against Ashala is heavily predicated on his confession—”
“Now that was all done by the book.”
“That doesn’t matter, Sergeant. He can claim coercion. He talked without representation.”
“He waived his rights to representation.”
“He didn’t understand them, Decker. You know how it works. Besides, there’s a funny gap in the tape. Know anything about that?”
Decker shrugged ignorance. “We’ve got solid evidence against Kalil to back up the confession.”
“True,” Strapp admitted.
Decker said, “So what’s his lawyer asking for?”
“He’ll give us Diggs and turn State’s witness against his sister, Fatima, in the Green case, if we give him something in return. That being the case…if he gives us Diggs in a deal…we can maneuver Whitman quietly.”
“What are you giving him in return?”
“Man One on Diggs and Trupp, nothing on Green—”
“You can’t be serious—”
“If it prevents a race riot, yes, I am serious. Decker, if Ashala doesn’t give us Diggs, we can’t do Whitman without the press catching on. The whole thing could blow up in our faces.”
“The bastard murdered three people. Son of a bitch tried to shoot me.”
Strapp didn’t speak.
Decker said, “I don’t believe this.”
“Cool your indignation. You did it to yourself. If you had a problem with the way Davidson was handling things, you should have come to me immediately.”
Decker held his temper and said nothing.
“I know,” Strapp said. “You didn’t want to go above a superior. I respect that. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have problems. Namely, your own chain of events regarding Kalil Ashala could be shot down with a single arrow. You found out about Ashala through a drawing from Whitman.”
“I didn’t find out about Deanna Green through Whitman’s drawing. I discovered her through police work—the Crime Analysis Detail. Both Diggs and Green were strangled and bound in the same manner. That’s why we have the comparative service.”
“Whitman also bound women in that same manner.”
“But Whitman wasn’t associated with both Diggs and Deanna Green. Kalil Ashala was!”
“Sergeant, between these walls, Ashala did both of them. But we’ve got political overtones that could disrupt. If we think Ashala did Diggs, then we owe it morally to Whitman to get him out of jail without blowing up the city. Nothing’s carved in stone yet. Let me think about this for a few days…what to do with Whitman. In the meantime, you have plenty of other paperwork to keep you busy.”
This was true. Decker said, “Yes, sir.”
“Did you put in the papers for your overtime?”
“I was doing this on my own time, so…no, I didn’t.”
“Go ahead and do it. I’ll authorize the hours for you.”
“Thank you, sir. I’d also like to see that Officer Wanda Bontemps in Wilshire gets her overtime as well.”
“Not a problem. We’ll talk later. Anything else?”
Decker paused for a long time. Strapp wasn’t the only one who thought before he spoke.
“Sergeant?” Strapp said.
“No, sir,” Decker said, “there’s nothing else.”
Softly, Rina closed the door to Hannah’s nursery. She came back to the dinner table and noticed her husband’s untouched plate. Peter was staring at his food; his eyes were moving back and forth as if he were following a tennis match. He drummed a teaspoon against his dinner napkin, creating a beat for his rolling eyes.
The rest of the table was devoid of people. It was very late, the boys having gone to sleep hours ago. Peter sat alone, engrossed in his rhythm, his thoughts, and his meat loaf. Rina sat down, but he didn’t notice. She stood back up, went around from behind, and placed her hands on her husband’s shoulders.
“Are you done?” she asked. “Or did you even start?”
“Huh?” Decker looked up. “Uh, no, I didn’t start. I was waiting for you.” He loaded his fork with meat loaf. “Great. Wonderful.” He tossed her a phony smile. “You want any wine, darlin’? I’d like a glass.” He stood suddenly. “Sit down, Rina. I’ll pour.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. His cheeriness had all the gaiety of a comedian laying a bomb. “Just a few quick…damn, the cork fell in the bottle. You can’t get a decent hold on it with this contraption. I don’t make a fortune, but I think we can spring for a real corkscrew.”
“Relax. A little dead matter never hurt anyone. Sit down, Peter. You’re making me nervous.”
Decker poured the wine, cork and all, then sat.
Rina said, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s bothering you?”
“Oh, that.” Decker smiled. “No big deal. I’ll handle it. How’s Hannah’s cold?”
“She’s snorting like a warthog, but she’ll survive.” Rina nibbled on a green bean. “The question is, will you?”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“But you’re not. You’re not eating. I’d like to think it’s because ‘something’s on your mind’ rather than ‘you don’t like my meat loaf.’”
“Your meat loaf is delicious.” Decker took three quick forkfuls. “I love it.”
“If you won’t talk to me, at least talk to someone—”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone. Besides, sometimes talking does more harm than good.” Decker sipped wine. “Sometimes it can even get you fired.”
Rina paused with her fork in the air. “It’s that bad?”
“Put it this way,” Decker said. “You keep it inside, it burns your hide. You let it out, everybody thinks you’re a whistle-blower or a political butt-kisser.”
Rina put her fork down and touched her hand to her mouth. Decker looked at her expres
sion, then felt his stomach sink. He silently cursed his big mouth.
“See! That’s why I don’t like to talk. I just overstated myself. Forget about it! Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
“Peter, you did what you thought was right,” Rina said. “That’s all that matters.”
“After I screwed up in the first place by listening to Davidson.”
“Did you have a choice?”
“You always have a choice.”
“So you made what you considered the wrong choice first time out. But you corrected yourself, which shows integrity—”
“Call me Saint Peter.”
“Jews don’t believe in saints.”
“Neither do I.”
“Peter, we’ve all made bad decisions. It doesn’t mean we’re incompetent at our jobs or that we’re bad people—”
“Rah, rah, sis boom bah!”
“I can’t stand to see you flagellating yourself.”
“I love it when you use words like flagellating.”
“You’re hopeless.” Rina took a sip of wine. “By the way, before I forget, Detective Martinez from Van Nuys called the house.”
Decker looked up. “He called the house?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you call him back and ask him? I left the number on the kitchen counter.”
Decker started to rise, then caught himself. “After dinner. How was your day, darlin’?”
Rina gave him a disgusted look. “Peter, go ahead and make the call.”
He smiled, genuinely this time. “I know. You want to get rid of me. I’m about as useful as a lump of butter.”
“Actually, I have use for butter.”
Decker laughed and went into the kitchen to make his call.
The conversation was a quick one, not more than five minutes and a dozen sentences on both sides. But the exchange was more than enough to jolt Decker into action. He told Martinez he’d come down right away. After he hung up the phone, he grabbed his jacket and car keys, kissing his wife hard on the mouth as he raced out the door.
Rina was definitely right. Sometimes it does help to talk things out. It just has to be talk with the right person.
42
The lieutenant’s office was not a big one, but it did have its own walls and it did have privacy. Decker wondered what Davidson was thinking as he stared from across his desk. A formidable figure of a man with a solid history of police work to back him up.
The lieutenant said, “Are you drawing me a line in the sand, Sergeant? Is this the purpose of this little secret get-together? You going to warn me off your ass?”
He leaned over his desktop.
“Let me tell you something, Decker. You think you did the right thing by spitting in my face and going on your own? You know what you did, Sergeant? You fucked up. It may have worked out for you this one time. But no one upstairs…and I mean no one…will ever trust you again. Nobody here respects a snitch who cozies up to the Mafia.”
Davidson’s eyes held Decker’s.
“Sergeant, I hope you like your rank. Because that’s as high as you’re ever going to get.”
Decker said nothing.
“So if you think you did the right thing by going over my head, think again,” Davidson continued. “And if you called this meeting with me to try and smooth things over, really think again. Because it ain’t going to work. Everyone knows who really screwed up.”
“I’m not going to make excuses for me. But I’m not going to make excuses for you, either. I came here to do you a favor, Loo. To give you some dignity by allowing you to resign quietly.”
Davidson’s eyes narrowed. But he didn’t talk.
Did he know? Decker wondered.
“I screwed up,” Decker said. “I’ll say it to anyone who asks me. But you screwed up, too—”
“After what happened to our city with the King verdict, I did what I thought was best. If you didn’t agree, tough shit. I’ve had many more years than you, Decker. That’s why I’m your superior.”
“And that’s why I listened to you, Loo. You had a good point, you had a good rep, and I honestly thought you were handling the investigation to the best of your ability—”
“You have a punch line, Decker?”
“I listened to you, Davidson, because I thought you were doing what was in the city’s best interest. In reality, you didn’t give a good goddamn about the city. You were trying to save your own ass and you used me in the process! And that really pisses me off!”
“You’re demented, Decker—”
“And you deliberately mishandled the investigation, pushing me and Oliver and everyone else involved toward a quick conviction on Whitman. Not because you believed he was guilty, you just wanted a stooge—”
“Get out of—”
“You were fucking her, Davidson! We found pictures, for chrissakes!”
The room fell cemetery quiet, the only sound heard was the ticks from the clock.
Decker couldn’t look at Davidson’s face. He averted his eyes and talked quietly. “Did you really think that no one would find out about it?” A pause. “I guess that’s exactly what you thought. And for a while it worked.”
Decker rubbed his tired eyes. He finally managed a quick glance at his superior, then looked away. Davidson’s complexion had turned waxen.
“Why didn’t you just come out with it in the first place, Loo? Strapp would have handled it. He could have gotten you out of here with a sideways promotion.”
Davidson remained silent. Decker wiped his forehead.
“You think politically, sir. Thinking that way, you know what your indiscretion could have done to this department. If I hadn’t gotten a confession from Whitman, I would have been forced to go back and look around. You know what would have happened if I had caught you second time out. You would have been one of our prime suspects.”
Decker finally managed to look at Davidson’s face.
“Did you ever think about what might have happened had Whitman’s lawyers found out? Whole mess would have blown up in our faces!”
Davidson didn’t respond, his eyes staring but not seeing.
Decker spoke quietly. “Not only did you shut me down, you had Detective Bert Martinez from Van Nuys shut down as well. You know, for just a moment, I entertained fantasies about you whacking Henry Trupp—”
“I had nothing to do—”
“I know that,” Decker interrupted. “That was Ashala, too. But once I found out about the videotapes, I thought maybe you had something to do with Trupp’s death.”
Davidson paled immediately. “Videotapes? You said pictures—”
“I meant videotapes.”
The lieutenant’s cheeks took on a greenish tinge. “You have videotapes of Cheryl and me…”
Decker nodded.
Davidson broke into a sweat. “Cheryl took secret videotapes?”
“Not Cheryl,” Decker said, “Henry Trupp. He had hidden video cameras in the rooms. Used to watch people screwing for kicks. If he came across someone big, he’d dabble in blackmail.”
Davidson stumbled with his words. “He never called me.”
“Obviously he didn’t know who you were. He probably thought you were just one of Cheryl’s regular nobody johns. She did some hooking on the side.”
Davidson looked away.
“It was Martinez who recognized the official badge in one of the tapes. It was blurred…buried off to the side. Lucky for you Martinez had a good eye.”
Davidson buried his head in his hands. “I got a wife and kids.”
For just a second, Decker felt pity for the man.
Davidson asked, “Who has the tapes?”
“Martinez. After we arrested Ashala, he got the go-ahead on the Trupp investigation. He went back to Trupp’s house to look for further evidence that could tie Ashala to Trupp’s murder. That’s where he found the videotapes.”
“Why’d
he look at them?”
“Because we both knew that Trupp videotaped the rooms on prom night. We thought that maybe we’d be lucky and find a video of Ashala strangling Diggs. No cigar. Ashala probably tossed Trupp’s place long ago. If there ever was a video, Kalil probably destroyed it.”
“The remaining videos…” Davidson’s voice was a ghost whisper. “They’ve been bagged and filed as evidence?”
“You mean your video, Lieutenant? Rather, videohs?”
Davidson was quiet.
Decker sighed. “Martinez pulled them all as soon as he saw the badge. He doesn’t know who the cop is, just that it’s someone in my department. Because he saw the look on my face when he showed me the videos.”
“What does Martinez want?”
“Nothing. He’s leaving it up to me. And I’m giving you this choice. You can either retire…or you can fight me and take your chances. But I’m not going to bury this. Not because I care what you do in bed…even though she was only seventeen—”
“Eighteen. We were consenting adults, Decker.”
“She was barely eighteen when she died, Davidson.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
“Loo, for godsakes, hookers aren’t known for their honesty…or their discretion. Diggs had a big mouth, sir. Matter of fact, she actually told Whitman she was doing a cop—”
“And you believed that little psychopath?”
“He didn’t say she was doing you…just that she was doing a cop. And yes, I believed him. Damn lucky for you, Whitman didn’t give Cheryl much thought. Otherwise…if he had put two and two together…”
Decker exhaled forcefully.
“Davidson, you let your personal problems get in the way of your police work. Even so, I’m giving you an out. Martinez is giving you an out. Because we all make mistakes. Sometimes we make bad mistakes. And we have to correct them, look like friggin’ idiots. Anyway, it’s up to you how you handle it.”
Softly the lieutenant said, “How about what you suggested in the beginning? How about a sideways promotion?”
Decker shook his head no. “You’ve got over twenty-five years. You’ve got a good pension—”
“Deck, how do I explain it to my wife?”