by Robert Crais
Ida Leigh Washington stepped closer and looked down at D'Muere. His face was a mask of blood, but she did not flinch when she saw it. She put a hand on Ray's forearm and said, "What could turn a boy into an animal like this?"
Ray said, "I don't know, Ida Leigh."
She raised her eyes from D'Muere up to Ray. "This man took my last son. No one could claim my hurt, or my anger. No one could have a greater claim on this one's life." Her voice was tight and fierce. She patted Ray's arm. "There's been enough killing down here. We have to find a way to live without the killing."
Ray Depente didn't move for a minute. Ida Leigh Washington kept her eyes on him. Ray stepped back. He turned away from Akeem D'Muere, and as the police cars began to arrive he helped Mrs. Ida Leigh Washington back to her car.
Up and down the street, the people on the porches and in the windows and in the yards began to applaud. It would've been nice to think that they were applauding Ida Leigh Washington, but they weren't. At least I don't think they were. That far away, those people couldn't have heard one woman's softly spoken words, could they?
The cops got out of their cars and looked around and didn't know what to make of it. A Hispanic cop with a butch cut looked at Pike and me and said, "Weren't you guys at the Seventy-seventh last night?"
"Yeah. We'll probably be there again tonight, too."
He didn't know what to make of that, either.
CHAPTER 37
When the police went into Akeem D'Muere's house, they found $82,000 in crack cocaine in the attic, along with six cases of stolen rifles. Because the police legally entered the house investigating a crime in progress, the evidence found was admissible and resulted in charges brought against D'Muere. The investigators found no copies of the videotape that Eric Dees destroyed, and Akeem D'Muere, for some reason known only to him, denied all knowledge of such a tape.
The DA went easy on Pike and me. They agreed to trade on all charges except the assault on the police guards when Pike and I escaped from the Seventy-seventh. We were allowed to plead to a misdemeanor, served three days in county jail, and then it was over.
Of the five REACT officers involved in the wrongful death of Charles Lewis Washington, only Warren Pink-worth and Mark Thurman survived. Thurman turned state's evidence and sought neither a plea nor mercy. Warren Pinkworth was indicted on five counts of murder. He attempted a plea, but none was allowed.
Sixteen weeks after the events at the Space Age Drive-In Theater in Lancaster, Mark Thurman was fired from the ranks of the LAPD, losing all benefits that had been accrued. He said he didn't mind. He said it could have been worse. He was right. Four days after that, all administrative and criminal charges were dropped against Mark Thurman due to the intercession of Mrs. Ida Leigh Washington. Three members of the city council and one member of the DA's staff objected and wanted, for political reasons, to use Thurman as an example, but cooler heads were only too happy to acquiesce to Mrs. Washington's wishes. Negotiations were under way in the matter of her wrongful-death suits against the city. She was suing in the names of both of her sons.
Twenty-four weeks and three days after the events in the Space Age Drive-In, after spring had moved into summer, and then into the early part of fall, I was sitting in my office reading last week's newspaper when the phone rang and I answered, "Elvis Cole Detective Agency, we're on your case for no money down."
Jennifer Sheridan laughed. It was a good laugh, nice and clear. She and Mark were living together in Lancaster. She had given up her job with Watkins, Okum, & Beale and had taken a new job with a law firm based in Mojave. She had taken a twenty-percent cut in salary to do it, but she said that it was what she wanted. Mark Thurman had applied for a job with both the Palmdale PD and the Lancaster PD, but had been rejected both times. He had decided to return to school and obtain a degree in physical education. He thought he might like to coach high-school football. Jennifer Sheridan was sure that he would be wonderful at it. She said, "How do you expect prospective clients to take you seriously if you answer the phone that way?"
I gave her Groucho. "You kiddin'? I wouldn't work for a client who'd hire me."
She laughed again. "You do a terrible Groucho."
"Want to hear my Bogart? That's even worse." You get me on a roll, I'm a riot.
She said, "Mark and I are getting married on the third Sunday of next month. We're getting married in the little Presbyterian church in Lake Arrowhead. Do you know where that is?"
"I do."
"We've sent you an invitation, but I wanted to call. We'd like you to come."
"I wouldn't miss it."
"If you give me Joe's number, I'd like to invite him, too."
"Sure." I gave her the number.
Jennifer Sheridan said, "It won't be a big wedding, or particularly formal. Just a few people."
"Great."
"We want a church wedding. We like the tradition behind it."
She was leading up to something. "What is it, Jennifer?"
She said, "I'd really like it if you gave me away."
Something warm formed in the center of my chest, and then I felt it in my eyes. "Sure. I'd like that, too."
"I love him, Elvis. I love him so much."
I smiled.
She said, "Thank you."
"Anytime, kid. Romance is my business."
She said, "Oh, you," and then she hung up.
After a bit I put aside the paper and went out the glass doors and stood on my balcony. It was late afternoon, and the fall air was cool and nice. A beauty-supply company has the office next to mine. It is owned by a very attractive woman named Cindy. She is also very nice. Sometimes she will come out onto her balcony and lean across the little wall that separates her space from mine, and look into my office and wave to get my attention. I did that now, leaning across and looking in her office, but her office was empty. It goes like that, sometimes.
I took a deep breath and looked out over the city to the ocean and to Santa Catalina Island, far to the south, and thought about Jennifer Sheridan and her love for Mark Thurman, and I wondered if anyone would love me the way she loved him. I thought that they might, but you never know,
I stood on the balcony, and breathed the cool air, and after a while I went in and shut the door. Maybe I would come out again in a while, and maybe, this time, Cindy would be in her office.
One can always hope.
END OF FREE FALL
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Crais was born in Louisiana but now lives in the Santa Monica mountains with his family and an Akita guard dog. He is the author of the Elvis Cole novels, Stalking the Angel, Lullaby Town, Free Fall, The Monkey's Raincoat, which won the Anthony and Macavity Awards and was nominated for the Edgar and Shamus Awards, and LA. Requiem, which was also nominated for an Edgar Award.
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Robert Crais
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