by Tyler Dilts
Jen looked at her. She was sitting in a chair outside the lieutenant’s office, wearing a navy-blue sweatshirt and black workout pants, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Julia held her phone in her lap with both hands and looked down at it, as if waiting for it to ring.
“Can I get you anything?” Jen asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
None of us are fine, Jen thought. “How about a coffee? I’m going to get one for myself.”
“Okay.”
Jen went into the break room. There was half a pot on the machine. It had probably been there for hours. She poured two cups and realized she didn’t know how Julia liked it, so she grabbed a handful of sugar packets and little plastic creamer containers and put them in her jacket pocket.
She found Julia where she’d left her, sat down next to her, and handed her a cup.
“I brought some cream and sugar if you need it.”
“No, this is okay.”
They sat there sipping bad coffee for what seemed like hours.
When Julia finally finished her coffee, she looked into the empty cup and said, “It’s a good thing he has you.”
Jen thought about that. She knew it was true. “He’s been different the last few months, since you guys have been together.”
Julia looked at her but didn’t say anything.
“Since his injury, since Megan, he hasn’t really had anything but the job. But he’s different. Reminds me of how he used to be when we first partnered up. Before everything weighed him down.”
“Thank you,” Julia said.
Jen nodded.
When she heard Ruiz shout in the office, she couldn’t tell if it was good news or bad. She stood and turned to look. He waved her inside. Julia followed.
“They found him. He’s alive and on the way to Memorial.”
Jen rushed Julia downstairs and drove to the hospital. Ruiz followed in his own car.
Patrick was already there when they arrived. He told them I’d been found in the parking lot of a vacant warehouse near the harbor. That I was unconscious after suffering multiple blows to the head. A concussion was likely, and they were doing a CT scan to evaluate further possible damage.
I wanted to apologize to Jen again, but I held my tongue. She was exhausted. I could see it in her face, around her eyes, in the slump of her shoulders.
“What were you doing this morning?” I asked. “Julia told me you and Patrick left when the results from the scan came back.”
“A patrol unit found the van abandoned in a parking structure by the aquarium.”
“How do you know it’s the same one?”
“It was stolen, but the owner hadn’t realized it yet. Collected hairs and fibers in the back that we’re ninety percent sure will match you.”
“Did you get the guy on video at my house?”
“Only well enough for a rough physical description. He knew the cameras were there. Hid his face.”
“Patrick’s still working on the van?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Somebody had to take your statement. We rock-paper-scissored it.”
“You won?”
She shook her head. “Patrick did.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NIGHT COMES ON
“He said ‘Stay away from her,’” Jen repeated.
“Yeah, several times,” I said.
“And you had already made arrangements with Lucinda for the interview?”
“Yes. For this afternoon.” I was still in the hospital bed. The back had been raised so I was almost sitting up. I looked around for a clock and didn’t see one. “What time is it?”
Jen checked her wrist. “Ten thirty.”
“I’ve got to call her,” I said. “Reschedule.”
“No, you don’t. Ruiz wants me to take it.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You’ve got a concussion. It will be at least a few days before you can get back to work. You think we should let it sit that long?”
“No.” I knew Jen would handle the interview at least as well as I would have. It wasn’t that. The idea of being sidelined in the investigation was what frustrated me. I’d worked up a solid sense of momentum and I didn’t want to let it go, concussion or not. “I need to get you my notes. Think I came up with a pretty solid plan.”
“They’re on your dining table, right?”
I nodded.
“Run it down for me,” she said.
I told her what I’d planned about going after Lucy at an angle. I gave her the list of questions about Bill that I’d come up with to act as smoke screen for the few direct questions I’d ask about Joe. So with a bit of luck and some perceptive and delicate questioning, we’d get what we needed without tipping her off—and, by extension, Joe.
“That’s a solid plan,” Jen said when I finished explaining it to her. “How much does last night change things?”
I thought about it. My attacker knew about the interview and didn’t want it to happen. He made that clear when he told me to stay away from her. As far as I knew, the only person outside of the squad who was aware it was happening today was Lucinda herself. Joe had known I needed to talk to her, and she likely told him when we’d scheduled it for.
“Could it have been Joe who attacked you last night?”
The pillowcase over my head had made any solid ID impossible. And the fact that I was on the ground the whole time made it difficult to estimate even the attacker’s height and build. “I think I would have recognized Joe’s voice. And I can’t swear to it, but the guy last night seemed bigger than him.”
“Still, though, we’ve got to think the attacker is connected to either Joe or Lucy, right?”
“That seems like all we’ve got to go on.”
We sat there awhile. The silence was uncomfortable. She wanted me to think she was just angry. But there was more to it. The anger was there, but my stupid carelessness had hurt her, too. I knew how worried she had been, how afraid. And I knew I’d caused her that pain.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“What’s new?” There was neither anger nor sadness in her voice. Only a dull emptiness that made my chest hurt.
“There was some good news,” I said.
“What?”
“If he had really wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”
She leaned toward me, put her hand on the edge of the bed, gave me a sad smile, and said, “That is good news, Danny. It really is.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of sugar packets and coffee creamers. Then she got up, dropped them in the wastebasket, and left.
“Jen’s gone?” Julia said when she came back from the cafeteria.
I told her what we talked about, then apologized to her, too.
She held my hand and smiled at me much less ambiguously than Jen had. She looked tired. There were circles under her eyes.
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” I said.
“You sure? I don’t mind staying.”
“No, it’s okay. I should probably try to rest, too.”
She took my phone out of her bag. “Jen gave this to me last night. Asked me to hang on to it for you.”
“Did they check it?”
“She said there weren’t any fingerprints or anything. Is that what you mean?”
I nodded and took it.
After she left, and there wasn’t anything or anyone to focus my attention on, I realized how bad my head, and my whole body, really, were aching. I needed something to distract me, so I downloaded the first few episodes of the podcast Patrick had recommended to me, I Was There Too. At that point, I didn’t really care if the recommendation had been meant sincerely or as a dig. I just wanted something to listen to.
The first thing I noticed was the theme song. It had a synthy, poppy sound to it, and as soon as I heard it, I knew I would be stuck with an earworm for a while. But the lyrics were what really clicked
and lodged themselves in my brain.
Napalm smells best in the evening
It’s not worth believing what you’ve heard.
Soylent Green’s really just a Triscuit
Not a people-biscuit, take my word.
It’s been said you can’t handle the truth.
But that ain’t so.
How do I know?
I was there too.
Listening to the song four times in a row didn’t help.
The first episode had an actor and comedian named Paul F. Tompkins, who I only knew because he provided the voice of Mr. Peanutbutter on the Netflix show BoJack Horseman. He talked to the host, a guy named Matt Gourley, about a small part he had in There Will Be Blood. It was funny. Even more than the humor, though, I liked the way they were taking something familiar and looking at it from a different perspective. Each story was different, it reminded me, depending on who was telling it. I kept thinking about that line from Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” where Prufrock observes that he is not Prince Hamlet, but merely an attendant lord, there to swell a scene or two. David Copperfield wondering whether he would be the hero of his own life came to mind, too. I double majored in English and criminal justice. I couldn’t help it.
I was trying to choose the next episode when a doctor came in.
“Mr. Beckett?” he said. I didn’t bother asking him to call me “Detective.”
He wasn’t the same doctor I had seen earlier. At least, I didn’t think he was the same one. My memory of the hour or two after I woke up was a bit hazy. “Did I see you this morning?” I asked.
“No, that was the neurologist. I’m on call today. How are you feeling?”
“Okay. My head hurts. Have a little ringing in my ears.”
He looked at my eyes and had me follow the glow of a small flashlight with them. Then he asked me a few general “what day is it” kinds of questions. Next he gave me a series of words and told me to remember them. He asked a few more general questions, then told me to repeat the series of words.
“Door, shoe, yellow, chair, window,” I said, feeling pretty good about my response. He didn’t seem to have any opinion about it at all. “When can I go home?”
“We’ll probably want to keep you one more night. I’ll order another CT scan to make sure the swelling has gone down.”
“What swelling?”
“Nothing too serious. We just want to be cautious.”
“Did I get some of those words wrong?”
“Let’s not worry about that, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, worrying.
After three more episodes of I Was There Too I noticed the battery in my phone was down to 20 percent. I wondered if Jen had finished the interview with Lucy. So I sent her a text message asking about it. She didn’t respond, so I assumed it was still going. Julia got a text from me, too, asking her to bring her phone charger when she came back to the hospital.
Without my phone to keep me occupied, all I had was the TV and its limited afternoon choices. I found the news on a local Los Angeles channel. There was weather, celebrity gossip, crime, and an occasional story about someone giving something back or paying something forward. At the end of the hour, I found another station where different faces said the same things.
There was still no word from Jen, but Julia said she’d be back soon with the charger.
I wanted to turn the TV off. The problem, though, was that I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts.
It had been stupid to go to my apartment by myself. Even stupider to get in the shower. If I hadn’t done that, the man in the hoodie probably wouldn’t have been able to get the drop on me. And because of me, the entire department had been on alert all night. How much had that cost the department? But it wasn’t just the money. Every patrol car that took an extra detour or pulled over a white van because of me could have been someplace else doing something else. How many times last night had someone gotten away with something they otherwise might not have? How many crimes had been committed that could have been prevented if the uniforms were where they were supposed to be, doing what they were supposed to do? I didn’t want to think about it. How many people were hurt last night because of me?
I’d never know how many strangers felt the impact of my stupidity. But, shit, I knew about Julia and Jen and Patrick and Ruiz. Probably Dave and Marty, too. Even Harlan. I let a lot of people down. And I felt like shit because of it.
And because I had a concussion.
The guy on the TV said it was going to be hot.
A nurse came to check on me. They wanted me to get up and walk a bit. There was some discomfort in my side as I sat up, but it was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I planted my feet on the floor and stood up. My head throbbed and a sharp pain stabbed at my neck. The room spun. A dull soreness ran down the entire right side of my body and I didn’t want to move, because moving made everything worse. But the nurse encouraged me. She was right. The more I moved, the looser I felt and the better my balance became. The headache remained constant.
The nurse just wanted me to walk to the end of the hall and back, maybe forty feet each way. When I got to the end, though, I saw a uniformed cop in the lounge area at the entrance to the wing where my room was located. It was only then I realized that the only way in or out was past the cop. Ruiz had a guard on me. His voice echoed in my head, saying, “Victims don’t get overtime.”
The cop was a guy I had known for years named Hank Mears. We weren’t close, but he had always seemed like a good guy. People liked him. Not only had the lieutenant seen to it that someone was there to provide security, it looked like he’d made sure it was someone I knew. Hank waved and nodded when he saw me walk by, but he didn’t move toward me. He was giving me privacy. But was it out of courtesy or disdain?
My phone was still in the room. When I got back, the battery was at 8 percent. Still no reply from Jen. I sent her another message, even though I knew it would probably just make her angrier. The interview had to have been concluded by now and the least she could do was tell me what had happened. No, I thought, the least she could do is just what she is doing—nothing.
Julia was getting ready to head home for the night when Harlan came in. They hadn’t yet met, but they’d heard about each other. I introduced them.
“How’s he doing?” Harlan asked her.
“They say he’ll probably be able to go home in the morning.”
Harlan grunted. “Hope they have somebody to babysit him, keep him out of trouble.”
Julia smiled pleasantly at him. “I’m sure they’ve got that under control.”
“I saw the uniform out in the lobby. He’s there for Danny, right?”
She nodded. “Why don’t I let you two visit?” she said. She picked up her bag, gave me a kiss, then started for the door. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Harlan.”
“Likewise,” he replied, smiling more warmly at her than he ever had at me. When she was gone, he looked me in the eye and said seriously, “Boy, you were right. She really is way out of your league.”
He sat down, and we talked about banjo music and the weather and a dozen other inconsequential things.
It was almost eight when Jen finally texted me back. The interview went well. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.
I told Harlan what had happened with Jen the night before and that day, told him how upset she had seemed. He said, “Can you blame her? Honestly, I’m surprised she’s being as cordial as she is.”
“Cordial?” I asked. “You think this is cordial?”
“Danny,” he said. “We both know you’re a good cop. I’m not saying that just to make you feel good. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your self-esteem. Every cop I’ve ever met thinks they’re better at the job than anybody else. So what? It doesn’t make you special. Most cops are good at their jobs. Sure, a lot of them are assholes and douchebags, but they still try to do their job right, and usually they do. You close a lot of c
ases. Good for you. So does everybody else on your squad. Being a good cop isn’t that big of a deal.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because if you’re not careful you’re going to fuck it all up.”
The next morning, it still took two hours after they told me my CT scan looked good for them to release me. I was so intent on getting out of the hospital, I hadn’t thought about what would come next. I sent a group text to Patrick and Jen. They’re letting me go. What should I do?
My clothes were in a plastic bag in the closet. The T-shirt was dirty from the asphalt of the parking lot and there was still a piece of duct tape stuck to one of the legs of my jeans. I pulled a latex glove from the dispenser on the wall next to the hand sanitizer. After slipping my hand into it, I carefully pulled the tape off and dropped it into the now-empty plastic bag. Any trace evidence would probably be useless because of cross-contamination, but I saved it just the same. They should have taken all my clothes, anyway. I wondered why they hadn’t. Did Patrick drop the ball?
“Hey, Danny,” someone said from the doorway.
I looked up from tying my shoes to see Lauren Terrones. She was in uniform and, I assumed, on duty.
“Hi, Lauren.”
She could tell I was surprised to see her. “I took over for Mears out in the lobby. Jen just called me and said you were ready to go.”
I didn’t know whether to be upset that Jen didn’t seem to be talking to me, or grateful that she had apparently arranged for someone I knew to pick me up. “Do you know where I’m supposed to go?”
“Jen said to take you home to get cleaned up, then back to the station to see Lieutenant Ruiz.” I always had to remind myself she had less than two years on the job. She’d gone to college and law school before joining the LBPD with the first new class of recruits we’d had since the beginning of the recession. Being older and more experienced than her fellow rookies had served her well. She’d excelled at the academy and had glowing reports from her field-training officers.