He looked up at me. “Mr.—?”
“Haggerty.”
“And I will help you up onto the gurney and get you in for an examination. Ready?” She nodded yes.
I squatted and got a hand on her thighs and back and lifted her up with Lefcort. She was big, probably a hundred-and-fifty pounds. I’d backed out of the bar with her hanging from my neck like an amulet and hadn’t felt a thing. Love that adrenaline. Lefcort slid the gurney over and stepped back. I hoisted her up over the edge and let her slowly unclench herself. I pulled my hand out from beneath her and patted her arm. She looked up at me and tried to say something. I bent down to her.
“Thank you.”
I just patted her arm, suddenly stupid. Once she laid her head back, Dr. Lefcort put sandbags on either side of her head. “Don’t worry. These are only to keep your head still. I want some pictures of your neck and face when we get you inside.” He wheeled her into an examining room and began snapping off commands. “All right, let’s get moving. I want skull and chest pictures.” He turned to me.
“Are you family?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I appreciate your help here, but unless you’re family you’ll have to leave.”
I felt the girl’s fingers grip for and squeeze my hand.
“I really don’t think she should be alone right now, Doctor. And even if I’m not family, she’s a client of mine and I do have certain obligations to her and her family.”
“Client? What kind of client, Mr. Haggerty?”
“I’m a private detective. Hired by Miss—?”
I sent her a telepathic command.
“Sullivan. Wendy Sullivan,” she said.
Atta girl. She moved her puffy lips around the words like they were wooden blocks she’d eaten.
“First, we need a little information from you, Ms. Sullivan.”
After getting her address and phone number, he went on to her parents’ names.
“Peter and Janet Sullivan.”
“Address.”
“Same.”
“Birthdate.”
“March 31, 1964.”
“Do you have a local address, Miss Sullivan?”
“Yes. 515 Oceanside Lane.”
“Phone.”
“I don’t know it. My folks are just renting it for the year. My father’s here on sabbatical. I came ahead to open up for them.”
“Can we call them in San Francisco?”
“No. They’re starting up from Florida. He was there on a lecture tour. They should be here Friday or Saturday.”
“What does your father do?”
“He’s a marine biologist here to do research at the University Marine Labs.”
“Oh. Is there anyone else we can call?”
“No. There’s no one else.”
“All right. I’m going to get X-rays of your chest and face, and do a general exam for other injuries.”
Wendy nodded. Dr. Lefcort rechecked her pulse and took her blood pressure. He gently pushed on her abdomen looking for injury beyond the bruises and looked at her teeth, nose, and face.
“Okay, we’re going to wheel you down to X-ray.”
I left Dr. Lefcort and went up to the admitting desk. “Have you called the police?”
“Yes. I did right away. I’m sure they’ll be here very soon.”
I turned back and stared into the darkness. Inside I was just as formless as the night. With a simpleton’s persistence, I stroked my mustache. A blue light flashed across my field of vision. I heard the gurney’s wheels clacking on the linoleum floor and turned back to Wendy.
Dr. Lefcort wheeled her into the examining room and said, “I would like to examine you and treat you for the injuries you’ve suffered. Evidence obtained in this examination may be used in court if you decide to proceed with charges. There is no need to decide now, but we would like you to consent to allow us to collect such evidence now in case you do later decide to report it.” Lefcort looked as uncomfortable as his speech had been awkward.
“Okay. I want to press charges. What do we have to do?”
“First I want to photograph your injuries. Then I’ll need to put your clothes in a bag for the police. By the way, where are your clothes? I didn’t notice any.”
I spoke up. “We left them behind. I didn’t think we had time to gather them up and get out.”
“Okay. We’ll need a combing of your pubic hair, and we’ll have to do a pelvic exam and take smears, depending on, you know, what kind of things happened.” Lefcort’s detachment was disapparing, and his soft white hands fluttered like doves trying to flee his wrists.
“Anyway, we’ll treat and test you for venereal disease and the possibility of pregnancy. You’ll need to follow up with retests in two weeks.”
There was a knock on the door, and then a hand reached in with the X-rays. Lefcort clipped them up, lit them, and peered closely at them. “Very good, good. your ribs aren’t broken, and the zygoma—that’s your cheekbone—is not fractured. Your teeth are okay—no broken roots under the gums—and your nose isn’t broken. The swelling is from the upper lip. Well suture up that earlobe. How did that happen?”
“One of them bit me.”
“Oh.” Lefcort was sorry he asked.
“Would you like privacy for this exam, Miss Sullivan?”
“Yes, Please.”
“Um, I’ll be right outside if you want me, okay?”
I walked out and leaned against the wall for a while. Then I did my caged tiger routine. Lazy figure eights up and down the hall. I’d rather bleed than wait.
The examining room door was pulled open. Lefcort stepped out and waved to me.
“Would you please come in, Mr. Haggerty. We were going to do the pelvic, and she began crying and froze up. Perhaps you could help calm her down.”
“Sure.”
She was on her side turned away from us. Curled up and crying, not the totality of sobbing, but still a full deep cry.
“Wendy, this is Leo Haggerty. Take my hand. Listen. I know this is real hard to do. I bet it feels just like it’s happening all over again. Nobody’s going to hurt you here. Just look at me. Come on. Roll over. That’s the way to go. Now look at my face. Try to concentrate on it and relax. Breathe as deeply as you can and relax. The doctor’ll be done in no time. Focus on me. What do you see? I’m a beauty, ain’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“Movie star features, right?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, are these Newman’s eyes or what?”
“No.”
“Is this Jack Nicholson’s smile?”
“No.”
“Okay. It’s his hairline for sure.”
She smiled for only the briefest instant. I was losing her. I took a different tack.
“You live in Berkeley. Go to school there?”
“Uh huh.”
“What’re you studying?”
“Just liberal arts. I’m a sophomore. I haven’t decided.”
“Berkeley’s a beautiful place. I’ve got friends who live out there. The view at night is something else, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You know the merry-go-round up in Tilden Park?”
“Yeah. I used to ride it when I was a kid.”
“Okay, Miss Sullivan, we’re done. We’re going to take blood and urine samples and give you some penicillin. You’re not allergic are you?”
“No.”
A nurse poked her head in. “Mr. Haggerty, there’s a police officer here.” I patted the girl’s arm.
“Listen, I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
I went through the door, and the cop was right in front of me. He reached up and yanked my gun from its holster. His other hand was already coming up. It was full.
“Freeze.”
I froze and grew a knot in my throat like I’d eaten a moose, antlers and all. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“Shut up. I’m asking the
questions. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”
He spun me around and rammed his gun into my kidneys and frisked me.
“Listen, I placed the call and reported the rape.”
“What rape? I got you on armed kidnapping, carrying a concealed weapon, assault and battery, filing a false report.” He pulled my hands down behind me and cuffed me numbingly tight. My hands would be dead in two minutes. This is usually the prelude to a session of pound the penguin. It’s an indoor sport, so named because the man with the dead arms who can’t lift them to defend himself or keep himself upright, who waddles around and bumps into walls, looks like a penguin trying to fly. The object is to hit the penguin until it can’t get up any more. Then the game’s over. First your hands are dead. Then a couple of shots with a night stick on the elbow and shoulder and your arms are dead too. Then they take off the cuffs. By then, you couldn’t fend off a girl scout. So they get all the freebies they want. You hope you don’t take too many to the head and the boys get arm weary or decide watching you barf is less interesting than playing Pac Man.
I remembered my last session as a penguin. Panic’s icy slush filled my veins.
He spun me around and said, “DuWayne, this the guy kidnapped you?” The occupant of my trunk was standing next to him. The cop must have heard him pounding on it when he got here and let him out. DuWayne was wearing a hospital gown.
“Yeah. He’s the one. The bitch must be here somewhere too.”
“All right. DuWayne, you get your shoulder fixed up and come on down to the station to fill out the complaint.” He turned back to him and stared at him. “Right away. Do you understand?” The last instruction was burdened with overtones. DuWayne skulked away. DuWayne. Jesus, what a name. It sounded like a guitar string snapping. He turned back to me.
“All right, where’s the whore?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You want to bury me, you’re gonna have to earn it, sport. I ain’t gonna give it to you on a platter.” I stared at the cop. Wiry little fuck. Ropy muscles. Hard flat planes to his face. Live wire eyes and the smile of a junkyard dog.
The door behind me opened, and Dr. Lefcort came out. “Miss Sullivan is ready to …” His eyes opened wider and his voice left through them. The cop pushed me through the door. Wendy was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in some odds and ends they must have had on hand.
“Don’t move. You’re under arrest.” Wendy stared at me.
“Don’t say anything. We’ll get a call to our lawyers. It’s a frame.”
“Shut up, smart ass. That call could be a long time coming.” He looked to see if Lefcort had followed us and then grabbed me by the cuffs and yanked my arms up. I sang in an unfamiliar register.
“What am I being arrested for? I was raped.” Wendy’s voice began to break. We were crossing the nightmare county line.
“What rape? I got six witnesses say you solicited them for sex for money and everything was fine until this guy busted in and kidnapped one of the guys. So I got you on solicitation.”
“What? Look at me.” She had bandages on her ear, nose, and cheek and bruises for garnish.
“So you like it rough. Let’s go. I ain’t gonna argue with you. You’re under arrest. I don’t want to cuff you if I don’t have to, but don’t push it.” He grabbed her arm by the elbow and steered us both out through the lobby. I saw Lefcort staring at us.
“Call the FBI. They’re going to kill us. It’s a cover-up for the guys who—”
One well-concealed yank and my brain lit up like a Pentagon war board. We were out and into the squad car. Me in the back, Wendy up front. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but her face went from hopeful misunderstanding to anger then fear, through revulsion and stopped at numbed defeat.
We pulled up at the station. The cop led Wendy inside and left me to ripen. After a few minutes he returned and pulled me out of the car. Standing next to me in the dark, not looking at me, he began to talk. He spoke softly as if coaxing a wary bird out of the brush.
“Let’s talk. I made my offer to the girl: Forget about tonight or stand trial and take her chances. It’ll be pretty ugly for her, but you know that. Allegations about being a whore. Descriptions of what she liked best with each guy. You know the scene. This is church country. What’s this girl doing out alone at night in a bar? She must a been looking for trouble. She’s from California. They’re all crazy out there anyway, not decent folk.
“Now you, you’re looking at a lot of time. Felony with a firearm, that’s a sure seven for starters. No short time on that. Now I’ll admit she’s a fine piece of tail. Lot of woman there, but what do you care for? You don’t know her; she’s a stranger to you. Do you really want to take the chance of hard time for a stranger? Suppose we make the solicitation stick. The rape goes out the window, and you take the fall. She does sixty days at the county farm. The guys in the bar go back to drinking and telling tales about this jerk who passed through and made one hell of a big mistake, and you’re sittin’ in the pen up at Tillery doing seven for starters, maybe another fifteen. You know what happens to a white boy up there. You’d have an asshole you could park a combine in.” He shook out a cigarette, tamped it down, lit up, exhaled, and went on.
“I want you to know there ain’t no hard feelings with you. We can keep DuWayne quiet. He’s a jerk anyway. They understand you doin’ what you did. Even respect it. It took balls to back them all down, but they ain’t about to just roll over and take a fall for this. I mean, you agree to play ball, the girl forgets about it, everybody walks away happy. No hard feelings. If not, and they don’t fuck you cross-eyed at Tillery—and maybe they wouldn’t, you’re a pretty hard dude. You kick a few asses, hook up with the Aryan brotherhood, you make your time, and you can still fart. Do you really want to do twenty years worrying about catchin’ a shank? Hell, you get out, you’re an old man. No young girls for you. Your life’s over. For what? I ask you. For what? She your daughter? You gonna marry her? Think about it.”
He took me by the elbow and guided me to the station. I was thinking about it, hard. Real hard. He smiled that junkyard dog’s grin, “But don’t take too long now, you hear?”
“I hear.”
This was one small station. He was the only cop pulling night shift. Up front I could hear the crackle of the dispatcher’s microphone and see her blueclad backside. She hadn’t seen us come in the prisoner’s entrance.
We went in. I was booked. My personal property was tagged and bagged. My P.I. license got me a second look, but that was it. My gun was taken as evidence. Everything was smooth and regulation except no offer of a phone call and no Miranda. I took a last look at my watch. I guess he’d asked the only question he cared about. The cop took me back to one of the cells. Wendy was in the one next to me. Dogface said, “Maybe you two want to talk. We’re supposed to segregate the men and the women, but this is a small town. Don’t hardly ever have two people in here at the same time. Don’t get any cute ideas on making a ruckus back here. It won’t do you no good. Along with the kidnapping and solicitation, you’re on paper as disorderly in public, resisting arrest, and possession with intent to distribute a controlled substance. Of course a further investigation might yield additional charges, but right now you’re at least a couple of paranoid dopers yelling ‘police brutality,’ and ain’t nobody gonna listen to you. You run your mouths and I’ll have you gagged and straitjacketed. I’ll be out front if you want me.”
We ignored him. I figured this was what the Burger Court would call a “good faith error” by the police and I was just being a poor sport about it.
“You okay?”
“No. I’m not okay.”
“I mean he didn’t hurt you or anything did he?”
“No. He just made it clear what would happen if I pressed charges.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m scared. I mean really scared. But I get sick when I think of just letting
them get away with what they did. What’d he say to you?”
“He told me I was a fool to risk a long prison sentence for a stranger. He also gave me a refresher course on the pleasures of prison life before I came out an old man.”
“Do you think you’re a fool?”
Those damn blue eyes again and that insolent wing of jet black hair. “No. Don’t get me wrong, now. I’m not happy about this. I don’t get off risking my life. I want to die old, fat, and happy. I won’t stay behind making a fuss if you decide to walk away from it. If you want to fight it then I’ll fight it with you, as simple as that. I wouldn’t leave you here in this jail any more than I would’ve walked away from you in that bar.”
“Can we beat them? Can they make it stick?”
“I don’t know how tight the frame is. Dogface is just a bent cop, but if the chief’s his cousin and the county judge is his uncle, they could bury us here and no one would ever know. I’ve got a damn good lawyer who’d turn this county inside out to get me out, once he knew I was here. There’s a cop from Maryland who knows I’m here. He’d start to look after a while. Your folks will start looking for you when they arrive. I don’t think they’d kill us to keep this covered up, but depending on who’s willing to break the rules, we could both go to jail. The law’s just a recipe that if you follow, most of the time you get justice. But they’ve made it real clear that they’ll fuck around with the ingredients. We could get the shaft.”
“Why do this to us?”
“Money, perhaps. Dogface could have been paid a ton to bring us in. It would have to be a lot for him to risk this, unless the whole town is crooked, because he could go to jail and cops don’t thrive in prison. Or it’s personal. He’s covering up for somebody—a cousin, a brother. We don’t know who the men in there were. If it’s personal then we’re in better shape because the frame probably won’t extend beyond him unless—”
“The chief’s his uncle, etc. etc.”
“You’ve got it. If there’s a decent cop anywhere in this town, I think we can make the charge stick. But that’s a big if. I’m sorry I can’t give you a better idea on what to do.”
Embrace the Wolf Page 8