Sullivan's Law

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  Ann Brookings gave a warm smile. “Frontal wound.”

  Back in the BMW, Rebecca turned to her mother. “At least I won’t have to worry about my homework,” she said. “I did most of it in the car. You know, while you and John were fighting.”

  “We weren’t fighting,” Carolyn said, inserting the key in the ignition. “We had a disagreement, that’s all.”

  “Humph,” Rebecca said, fastening her seat belt. “Sure looked like a fight to me. Where are you taking me now? To the morgue or something? And is a bunch of bad guys really chasing us, or are you having a nervous breakdown?”

  Her mother took several deep breaths before answering. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” She gunned the engine, then instead of putting the car into reverse, she drove forward and struck the concrete divider. Getting out, she felt as if her children had suddenly turned into monsters. The chrome bumper of Paul Leighton’s BMW was dented. Now she’d have to pay to have it repaired. She couldn’t count on her insurance, as she had a thousand-dollar deductible. She glanced up at a large tree, expecting it to come crashing down on her head.

  “You want to know where we’re going?” she said once she was in the driver’s seat again. “The first thing we’re going to do is rent a car.”

  “A little food would help,” Rebecca told her. “If you feed me, I might not be so grumpy.”

  “Touché,” her mother said, patting her hand. She saw a Carl’s Junior on the corner, and steered the car toward the drive-through.

  Once they picked up their hamburgers, fries, and milk-shakes, her mother pulled into a parking spot. Rebecca asked her, “I thought a touché was something women use on their private parts.”

  Carolyn’s tension disappeared as she burst out laughing. When you were ready to dump your kids out on the nearest street corner, you remembered how dull life would be without them. “Are you talking about a douche?”

  “Yeah,” the girl said, taking a bite out of her hamburger. “It’s called Messenger or something. They advertise it in all the magazines. Allison’s mother has boxes of that stuff in her bathroom. One is called Baby Powder Fresh. Since you don’t use it until you grow up, why would you want your private parts to smell like baby powder?”

  Her mother attempted to answer, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

  “It’s not funny, Mother,” Rebecca said. “When you get married, does your husband sniff your butt like a dog? That’s disgusting. I’m never going to get married.”

  “The word I used starts with a T,” Carolyn told her. “Touché is a French word, honey. It’s associated with the sport of fencing. When a person scores a point against their opponent, they called it a touché. I think the company who makes the product your friend’s mother uses is called Massengill, not Messenger. We’ll have a long talk about these types of things when I get some free time.”

  Carolyn steered the BMW out of the parking lot. Girls Rebecca’s age seemed so sophisticated compared to those from her own era. She’d assumed that her daughter knew whatever there was to know regarding the facts of life. As usual, she’d been mistaken. The girl was far more naive than she’d realized. Overall, however, Rebecca’s innocence was reassuring.

  They spent the next hour at Hertz filling out the necessary paperwork to rent a car, Carolyn having to use her position as a probation officer to convince the rental agency to let her take a car without a credit card. They required a thousand-dollar deposit, so she wrote a check and hoped she had sufficient funds in her checking account to cover it.

  “Do you have Professor Leighton’s phone number?” she asked Rebecca as they searched through a row of cars in the Hertz lot. “I wrote it down, but I left it in the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know what to do about his car,” Carolyn answered. “I need to return it before something else happens.”

  Her daughter reached into her backpack and pulled out a flower covered address book, opening it to the page where she’d jotted down Lucy Leighton’s number. “I like Lucy,” she said, handing the open book to her mother. “She’s nice and she has all kinds of cool stuff. She even has a TV and DVD player in her bedroom. She probably won’t talk to me now that you wrecked her father’s car.”

  “I didn’t wreck it,” Carolyn told her. “I only dented the fender.” She finally saw the bronze Toyota Camry parked in slot twenty-two, and gestured for her daughter to get inside. Before they left, though, she called Paul Leighton, explaining what had occurred.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I think that dent was already there. As far as picking up the car goes, I can come and get it now. Have you eaten? Why don’t you let me buy you dinner?”

  “God, no,” Carolyn answered. “I’ve caused you enough trouble.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said, laughing softly. “I’m sure Lucy will end up spending more time at your place than she does here. Trust me, she’s a handful. She takes after her mother.”

  “I’ll agree to let you pick up the car,” she told him. “But only if you promise you’ll let me take you out to dinner. Rebecca and I have already eaten tonight. Why don’t we plan on Saturday? That is, unless you have other plans, or something else goes wrong on this end. Oh,” she added, “I know you’re fibbing about the dent. I checked the car out before I drove it. I’ll make arrangements to have it repaired next week.”

  “Take your time,” Paul said, deciding it was useless to argue with her. “Don’t worry about how we’re going to get the car back. I’ll bring my housekeeper, Isobel. We’ll discuss the dent over dinner tomorrow evening. What time would you like me to pick you up?”

  Carolyn noticed Rebecca giving her a strange look. “Around seven, I guess.”

  “Sounds great,” he said. “Leave the keys to the BMW at the Hertz counter. Advise them we’ll pick up the car within the hour.”

  Carolyn closed the cover on the cell phone and slipped it into her purse. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked Rebecca. “We’ve been driving this poor man crazy. The least I can do is take him out for dinner.”

  “Are you going to have to buy douche now?”

  “No,” Carolyn said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. “We do need to have that talk, though.” She turned the key in the Camry and used caution navigating her way out of the lot, then stopped in front of the office to drop off the keys to the BMW.

  “Can’t we go home now?” Rebecca pleaded. “I’m tired.”

  “I need to stop at the store, honey,” Carolyn told her. “I broke the coffeepot the other day.”

  One of the girl’s barrettes had disappeared, and her hair was dangling over her right eye. “Why do you have to buy a stupid coffeepot tonight? Can’t you get it tomorrow?”

  “Because I want to stay awake,” Carolyn explained. She figured that whoever had shot Daniel was more than likely the same person who’d left the threatening note and damaged her car.

  “Why do you want to stay awake?” Rebecca asked. “All I want to do is go to bed.”

  Carolyn had her gun, but she needed to remain alert to protect herself and her daughter. “I have to catch up on my work for law school,” she lied, stopping in front of Von’s supermarket. “Getting my law degree means a lot to me.”

  A moving target was harder to find. Carolyn had tried not to remain in one spot for longer than thirty minutes. Changing cars had also been a priority. She’d considered staying at Neil’s house, or driving to her mother’s condominium in Camarillo. But law enforcement officers’ addresses weren’t listed in the computer systems at the department of motor vehicles, so either someone on the inside had given out her address, or someone had followed her. The last thing she wanted to do was lead them to her mother’s doorstep.

  Carolyn knew that Daniel Metroix’s shooting meant one of two things—the situation was either winding down or escalating. What she feared the most was that in the world of professional killers, everything up to this point had been no
thing more than foreplay.

  Chapter 14

  “I have bad news,” Brad Preston said, his anger sparking over the phone line. “The jail accidentally released Eddie Downly!”

  Carolyn was in the checkout line at Von’s supermarket. She dropped the box containing the coffeepot. The glass shattered inside as it struck the floor. Seizing Rebecca by the hand, she rushed out of the store.

  “You broke it, Mom,” the girl said. “You have to pay for it. We can’t—”

  “I’ll come back tomorrow,” her mother told her as they got back in the Camry and locked the doors. “Be quiet now, honey. This is an extremely important phone call.”

  Brad continued, “Okay, a man was arrested today named Edward James Downy. The computer assigned him the same booking number as Fast Eddie. The deputy on duty must have typed in the name wrong. Even the middle name was the same, and the prisoner had the same DOB as Downly. The sheriff is trying to say it was a computer glitch of some kind because their system is programmed not to assign the same number if a prisoner is already in custody.”

  “The same DOB!” Carolyn said, shaking her head in denial. “That’s too big of a coincidence. Something horrible is going on, Brad. I saw Downly myself. I ran into you after I left the jail. Do you remember what time it was?”

  “Around twelve,” Brad told her. “The other guy was booked thirty minutes later. The deputy you saw at the front desk took his lunch around then. He doesn’t handle bookings anyway.”

  Carolyn felt as if her head were spinning. “We’re talking a major conspiracy inside the criminal justice system.”

  Brad was calmer now that Carolyn appeared to be on the verge of hysteria. “Let’s not get carried away until we know all the facts. This happened twice last year. Not all coincidences mean there’s a conspiracy. The people I feel sorry for are the girl’s family.”

  Because her daughter was with her, Carolyn was making every attempt to control her emotions. She felt like putting her fist through the windshield. “Have you notified Hank?”

  “The jail did.”

  A despicable act had been committed that she might have prevented had she done her job more thoroughly. Now a violent rapist was back on the street. A man she thought was innocent after twenty-three years in prison had been shot—a crime that may have been contracted by the second-highest-ranking police officer in Los Angeles, Deputy Chief Charles Harrison. Who could she trust?

  “Listen,” she said. “Call Hank. If you can’t find him, call the captain, the lieutenant, or anyone else at the PD. I’m sure they’re broadcasting that Downly was mistakenly released. Tell them they have to go public with any evidence they have tying Downly to the rape. If Fast Eddie believes he has a chance to walk if the girl isn’t around to testify, he’ll try to kill her.”

  “Don’t you think the PD is aware of that?”

  “Metroix and Downly aren’t the only cases the PD is handling,” Carolyn argued. “Small town, small police department. They can’t forget about the robberies, burglaries, wife beatings, gang shootings, traffic accidents, or whatever might be happening right now or in the next few minutes.”

  “You’re right,” Brad said. “Calm down, okay? The PD even called out their reserves. They’ll catch the bastard. They caught him before.”

  “Who’s Edward James Downy?”

  “A guy with too many traffic tickets,” Brad told her. “He arranged to have a bail bondsman post his bail. Fast Eddie walked at one-fifteen. The jail didn’t discover the error until Downy started raising hell a few hours ago. That’s when they found out they’d released the wrong man.”

  Placing her head down on the steering wheel, Carolyn said, “I can’t talk about this anymore. Rebecca’s with me. I need to go home.”

  “I called the watch commander at the PD and instructed them to keep an eye on your house. What’s the status on Metroix? Is he out of surgery?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Call me later.” She started to end the call, then added, “Fast Eddie has a cousin who lives in Compton. He might try to hide out there until he gets enough money to get out of town.”

  “Is the cousin’s address in the file?”

  “Yes,” she said. “If I think of anything else, I’ll notify the PD.”

  “Keep telling yourself it’s just a job, baby,” Brad said. “You were right on something else. You should have been promoted instead of me.”

  Carolyn saw that Rebecca had fallen asleep, her head slumped against the passenger window. “Thanks,” she whispered, cupping her hand around the phone so she didn’t wake her.

  “Forget law school. We need you with us, not defending criminals. I miss you, Carolyn.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “I miss you too.”

  They were only a few blocks from the supermarket when Carolyn saw headlights in her rearview mirror and checked the speedometer to see if she’d been speeding. It wasn’t a traffic cop, she decided, as the vehicle didn’t have emergency lights. Whoever it was, they were tailgating.

  She searched her memory for anything she might not have noted in Downly’s file. She knew him better than anyone else. She’d seen the man once a month for three years. At present, however, her mind was mush.

  The vehicle behind her suddenly swerved to the left, gunned its engine, and pulled up alongside of her. Since she was traveling on a two-lane roadway, she assumed the driver was attempting to pass. The car was a black, late model Corvette with dark tinted windows.

  Carolyn reduced her speed, but the car continued to pace her instead of moving forward. It was only inches away from the Camry. She reached over and squeezed her daughter’s arm. “Get my gun out of my purse!” she shouted. “Hurry!”

  The girl was half-asleep. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  “Do what I say,” her mother yelled, flooring the accelerator. “Open my purse and hand me the gun. It won’t go off. The safety’s on.”

  Rebecca grabbed her mother’s purse, but they were traveling at over eighty miles per hour now, and the handbag slipped off the seat onto the floorboard.

  “Keep your head down,” her mother said over the roar of the engine. “The minute you hand me the gun, call 911 on my cell phone. Tell the dispatcher we’re traveling east on California Street. We’ve already passed Elkwood. Someone’s trying to run us off the road. They may be armed. Once you get the police on the line, I’ll give you an update on our location.”

  “I don’t want to die,” Rebecca cried, pulling out the Ruger and handing it to her mother.

  Carolyn’s eyes darted from the car alongside her to the right side of the road. The Corvette was traveling on the wrong side of the street, in the direction of oncoming traffic. She tried to think clearly. She couldn’t turn right as they were approaching a large park and a bank of tall trees. At this speed, if they slammed into a tree, both she and Rebecca would be killed.

  Carolyn slid down in the seat, firmly gripping the steering wheel as the speedometer inched its way past ninety-five. She spotted the white reflective paint on a street sign. Before she could make the decision to turn, the sign was behind her. At this speed, the side streets were coming up too fast.

  “I can’t dial the phone,” Rebecca screamed, bent over at the waist in her seat. “You have to slow down.”

  “Sit up now!” Carolyn said, panting as she was forced onto the shoulder by the Corvette. She couldn’t wait. She had to turn off the main road and take her chances. “Use both your hands and feet to brace yourself against the dashboard.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Carolyn saw the passenger window of the Corvette opening. She couldn’t take her eyes off the road long enough to get a look at the people inside, yet she thought she saw the barrel of a gun.

  Removing her foot from the accelerator, Carolyn yanked the steering wheel to the right as soon as the next street sign appeared in her line of vision.

  The Camry fishtailed, the rear colliding with the front of the Corvette. The Corvette skidd
ed sideways, then began spinning. Rebecca was shrieking at the top of her lungs.

  They were in a residential neighborhood lined with parked cars. Carolyn spotted a vacant lot between two houses. She drove over the curb, across the grass, and between the houses, then slammed on the brakes.

  “Get out of the car!” Carolyn yelled to her daughter. “Start running.”

  Both of them leapt out at the same time. Carolyn raced over and grabbed Rebecca’s hand, pulling her along as she darted down the alley behind the homes. She could hear the Corvette’s engine in the distance. Whoever had been pursuing them had been a skilled driver, or the car would have rolled or failed to pull out of the spin.

  From the way the Camry had handled, Carolyn knew it must have incurred damage to the rear end. Thank God, she thought, the car had been driveable, or she was certain both she and her daughter would have been slain.

  Seeing an open garage door, Carolyn darted inside and slid under a pickup truck, pulling on the edge of Rebecca’s blouse until the child’s entire body was concealed. The garage was dark and she couldn’t tell if anyone was inside the house.

  “Please, Mom, I hurt my ankle.”

  Carolyn reached over and pressed her hand over her daughter’s mouth. “We can’t talk,” she whispered. “Be perfectly still until I tell you it’s safe.”

  She heard police sirens on a nearby street. She held her breath and listened for the sound of the Corvette’s engine. Her fear returned as the noise of the sirens receded. In her haste to get away, she’d left her gun, purse, and cell phone in the car. The police didn’t know their location as Rebecca hadn’t been able to complete the call. Someone had either reported the speeding vehicles, Carolyn decided, or the police were responding to another crime.

  She removed her hand from her daughter’s mouth. “Are you okay, honey?” she said, stroking the girl’s sweaty brow. “I’m sorry I had to do that to you. I couldn’t take a chance. I didn’t want you to make any noise.”

  “My ankle hurts really bad,” Rebecca told her, trying to keep her voice low. “Aren’t the men in the car gone now?”