Buying Time

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “Not if we can convince Britney that it’s not,” Angela said. “I get the feeling that she’s really afraid of the guy. There’s no way she wants him to find out that she folded and told us everything. I think she’ll play along if she thinks this is all going to lead to a happy ending.”

  “Wait a minute,” Waverly said. “We’ll have to make her think we actually have some money to turn over.”

  “I can help with that part,” Dre said quietly.

  “We’re not talking about small change,” Waverly said. “This guy is expecting me to hand over three hundred thousand dollars. In cash.”

  Dre hesitated, then opened his closet and removed a section of the wall which hid a large, steel safe. He opened it to reveal stacks upon stacks of bills wrapped in rubber bands.

  Angela rubbed the back of her neck and looked away.

  “You’re willing to give up three hundred grand for me?” Waverly asked, flabbergasted.

  “Hell naw,” Dre said, as he relocked the safe. “I’m willin’ to pretend to give it away. We’re goin’ to stuff a bunch of bills into a duffel bag and show it to Britney so she can tell Ricardo, or whoever, that she actually saw the money. And when she’s not lookin’ we’re switchin’ bags. No way that money is walkin’ out of this apartment.”

  “Sounds like we have a plan then,” Waverly said.

  Angela pulled out her BlackBerry.

  “Who are you callin’?” Dre asked.

  “My friend Zack,” she replied. “I’m not one hundred percent sure we can trust him. But we’ll just have to chance it.”

  CHAPTER 89

  Britney was not at all excited about her role in the money exchange.

  “Why did I have to come?” she protested. “Why couldn’t you just do it by yourself?”

  She was sitting in the passenger seat of Dre’s borrowed van as they neared Kenneth Hahn State Park. Waverly was behind the wheel. Dre’s friend Mossy had picked Angela and Dre up earlier. They were already stationed someplace in the park out of sight.

  “What are you afraid of?” Waverly asked, as he turned off La Cienega and into the park. “Rico’s your boyfriend. You think he’s going to shoot you?”

  “Of course not.” Britney locked her arms across her chest and pouted. “Ricardo wouldn’t hurt me. But if something crazy goes down, I don’t wanna get hit by any stray bullets.”

  “There’s not going to be any shooting,” Waverly assured her, though he wasn’t exactly sure about that. “You’re going to hand over the money and then we’re getting out of here. Unless, of course, you want to stay with your boyfriend.”

  “Uh . . . no,” Britney said. “I . . . I’d rather go back with you.”

  “Really? You don’t want to go back home with your boyfriend? I thought you said Rico never hurt anybody.”

  Britney huffed and looked out of the window.

  When Waverly had finally spoken to Rico by phone, he told him he had the money and would give it to him in exchange for his life. Rico agreed and suggested that Waverly make the delivery after dark in the parking lot of the Baldwin Hills Crenshaw Plaza. Waverly vetoed that setting, insisting on a daylight drop off in an area that was far less congested. Waverly didn’t want to run the risk of innocent people getting hurt just in case a shooting did break out.

  Dre was the one who suggested Kenneth Hahn State Park. Located in Baldwin Hills, it was one of the most scenic parks in L.A., equipped with a Japanese garden, fishing lake, four playgrounds and more than one hundred picnic tables. The walking trails provided a view of the Pacific Ocean to the west and the Hollywood sign to the north.

  It was early afternoon on a Monday and the park was nearly deserted. Waverly stopped at the entrance to pay the parking fee. He glanced around, hoping to spot a uniformed officer. Angela had turned to her colleague Zack, who called in law enforcement to set a trap for Rico.

  As it turned out, Baldwin Hills was an unincorporated area manned by the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department, not the L.A.P.D. Waverly prayed that dozens of gun-toting sheriff’s deputies were hidden around the park, their trigger fingers ready to fire. He looked around for a sign of Rico and was happy that he couldn’t find one.

  As he slowly drove the van down into the park, then up a steep incline, Waverly felt increasingly skittish. Angela had assured him that they would be under close watch, but he had little faith that this delivery would take place without any glitches. He simply didn’t have that kind of luck.

  When he got to the top of the hill, he spotted Mossy sitting in his car at the end of a dirt path. He wondered if Angela and Dre had gotten out of the car or were hiding in the back seat.

  Rico had instructed him to park at the top of the hill near the covered picnic tables. When he finally reached the area, Waverly took in the amazing view. He never even knew this park existed. He could actually see the downtown L.A. skyline.

  His BlackBerry chirped and Waverly jumped high enough to hit the ceiling. He knew who was calling.

  “Glad you’re on time,” Rico said, when Waverly answered.

  “Where are you?” Waverly anxiously glanced around. He still had not cut off the engine.

  “Around,” Rico said.

  Waverly tried to keep his voice level. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Get out of the van with the money,” Rico ordered.

  “No way. Your girl—” Waverly caught himself. He couldn’t let Rico know that Britney had exposed him. “Like I told you on the phone, my friend Britney’s bringing you the money.”

  Rico chuckled. “Why would you use a woman to do a man’s job?”

  “If you want the money, she’s bringing it to you. Otherwise, we’re out of here.” Waverly was still looking around trying to figure out where Rico was hiding. And where in the hell are the sheriff’s deputies? He saw a few people milling around. He prayed they were plainclothes cops.

  “Fine. Let’s do this,” Rico said. “Tell her to drop the money in the doorway of the men’s restroom. Then go back to the car.”

  Waverly shuddered with relief. Britney would be back in the van before Rico realized that the duffel bag only held a few dollars piled on top of shredded newspaper. Even though Britney had put Waverly’s life on the line, he was still worried about hers.

  “Where are you?” Waverly asked again.

  “Around, like I said the first time,” Rico repeated. “I have a clear view of every move you make. So don’t try to be a hero and do anything stupid.”

  Waverly hung up and gave Britney her instructions.

  She just sat there hugging herself. “I’m scared.”

  “This guy is your boyfriend. What do you have to be scared of?”

  “When I was watching the news reports, I recognized that black Escalade that was chasing you out of the hotel. It belonged to one of Rico’s friends. He never goes anywhere without him. He’s probably here, too.”

  “And you’re just now telling me this?”

  Britney looked genuinely sorry.

  Waverly was too scared and too exhausted to be angry at her. “Look, I’m sure he’s not going to hurt you. We have to get this over with. Here’s the money.” He pulled Dre’s duffel bag from the backseat and dropped it into her lap.

  After sitting there for a few more seconds, Britney stuffed the bag under her left arm and threw open the van door.

  As she climbed out, Waverly finally spotted a figure in a thick patch of bushes about twenty feet away. He prayed it was an undercover sheriff’s deputy.

  Waverly watched as Britney timidly inched toward the men’s restroom several yards away. When she got within a few feet of the open doorway, she tossed the bag inside and began running back toward the van.

  “Watch out!” Angela yelled from some unknown position to Waverly’s rear. “He’s got a gun!”

  Britney was just a few feet from the van when Waverly saw the man he knew as Vincent step out from behind a bush and take aim at Britney. Before he knew it, Waverly had thrown
open the van door and dashed toward her.

  Suddenly, he heard gunfire and bullets seemed to be flying in all directions. Vincent and his cohort were shooting it out with the sheriff’s deputies. Waverly hooked his arm around Britney’s waist and tried to run back to the van. But Britney was screaming and clinging to his body, making it impossible for him to make any real progress.

  Waverly had just reached out to open the car door when the first bullet hit him in the leg. Half a second later, he felt the sting of a second bullet pierce his chest.

  As Britney slipped from his arms, everything went black.

  CHAPTER 90

  Becker was so repulsed by the revelations about his long-time friend and mentor, that he was not sure he could bring himself to face the man. But in the end, he agreed to Erickson’s request for a meeting.

  Sitting in a special meeting room at the county jail, Becker’s face hardened in disgust as he waited for Erickson to be brought in.

  When the door finally opened and Erickson stepped inside, the image before him rendered Becker speechless. After only forty-eight hours behind bars, Erickson had transformed into a haggard old man. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, his face was pale and unshaven and he stank of body odor.

  The prosecutor had successfully fought Erickson’s request for bail, knowing that he had the financial resources to disappear and never be seen again. Becker did not think Erickson would survive this ordeal.

  Erickson shuffled forward and took a seat at a small metal table across from Becker.

  Becker waited for the guard to leave the room before speaking. “You asked me to come and I’m here,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of time so let’s get this over with.”

  “I need your help,” Erickson pleaded. “You know I’m innocent. You have to tell the police. I’ve tried to tell them about Ashley, but they won’t listen. They’ll listen to you. I won’t make it in here.”

  “You’re not getting out of here because this is where you deserve to be.” Becker smirked. “You’re going away for a long, long time.”

  “But I’m innocent! You know I didn’t kill Claire!”

  “You need to pay for what you did to Ashley.”

  “Ashley’s a liar! I never touched her!”

  Becker leaned across the table, enraged. “Just because you never touched her, you think that makes what you did okay?”

  Erickson shrank away from him.

  “Answer my question,” Becker demanded. “Making a twelve-year-old child pose for pornographic pictures is okay? What did you do? Sell them on the Internet to other perverts? Every time I think about the fact that I made you Kaylee’s godfather, it makes me sick to my stomach.” Becker reached across the table and backhanded him.

  Erickson’s whole body whipped sideways from the force of the blow. “I’m sorry for what I did,” he sobbed, “but please don’t let Ashley get away with this. You have to tell the police she set me up.”

  “I’m not telling the police anything,” Becker said calmly. “And anyway, it turns out that I was wrong. Ashley didn’t kill Claire.”

  Erickson abruptly stopped crying. “What? How do you know that?”

  “I know.”

  “But . . . if it wasn’t Ashley, then who?”

  Becker smiled stiffly.

  “Wait a minute.” Shock darkened Erickson’s face. “So it was you?”

  “You deserve exactly what you’re going to get for stealing Ashley’s innocence”—he paused—“and for betraying me.”

  “What? I never betrayed you.”

  “The Management Committee was considering me as your replacement for chairman of the firm. But you told them to take my name off the list.”

  Erickson’s mouth gaped open, but no words followed. “I needed you in Washington. I—”

  “Save the lies,” Becker said. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Erickson wiped his face on the sleeve of his prison jumpsuit. “So it was you. You set me up!”

  “No,” Becker said. “I already told you. I didn’t do it. But I wish I had.”

  Erickson seemed disoriented. Then his eyes filled with a knowing light. “How stupid of me! It was Sophia. She had a run of the house. She could’ve easily killed Claire.”

  Becker smiled. “No, it wasn’t Sophia either.”

  “But you already said it wasn’t Waverly Sloan. Who else could have done it?”

  “You were set up, but it wasn’t Ashley, it wasn’t Sophia, and it wasn’t me or Waverly Sloan.” Becker paused in anticipation of Erickson’s reaction to the shocker he was about to disclose. “Your wife framed you.”

  Deep ridges of bewilderment creased Erickson’s forehead. “What? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Becker leered across the table at him. “Actually, it makes complete sense.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why would she—”

  “The day before she died, Claire mailed that DVD to Sophia, along with a letter explaining her entire plan. When Claire planted that camera in your office and found out about your sick little hobby, she realized that what Ashley had told her about you years ago was true. She was consumed with guilt for sending her daughter away at your urging, rather than believe that you were forcing her to pose naked.

  “Over a series of weeks, she began hoarding the morphine she got from her doctor. After planting traces of it on your gardening gloves, she injected herself with a disposable syringe. She was quite meticulous. She calculated exactly how much time she would have to flush everything down the toilet and return to bed before slipping into unconsciousness. What you did to Ashley was despicable. Claire was determined to make you pay, and apparently, that’s about to happen.”

  “You have to tell the police what you know!” Erickson wailed. “Sophia has to give that letter to the police!”

  “Claire instructed Sophia to burn it and that’s exactly what she did. And don’t look for me to help you. As far as I’m concerned, we never had this conversation. Anyway, no one would believe this story coming from you. They have you on camera, remember? You have no defense to the child pornography charges and you’d sound like a lunatic claiming Claire injected herself.”

  Becker leaned back in his chair and chuckled.

  “You’re actually lucky. Claire didn’t want Ashley to be the center of an embarrassing child porn case. She asked Sophia not to ever reveal what you did to Ashley. Sophia was actually hesitant about turning over the DVD to the police, but I convinced her to give it to me. That DVD and the morphine found on your gardening gloves are more than enough to send you away for life.”

  Becker enjoyed the look of horror on Erickson’s face. He stood up as Erickson’s sobs grew louder.

  “Wait, please don’t leave!” he pleaded. “You have to tell the police the truth!”

  “No, I don’t. You deserve everything you’re about to get.” Becker started walking toward the door.

  “I never thought your wife was all that bright, but she definitely pulled one over on you. She planned everything out months in advance and waited until her doctor told her she only had a few weeks to live.”

  “Claire knew she was close to dying?”

  “Yes. And that’s when she moved forward with her plan. Her decision to go along with selling the insurance policy and backing out of the surgery were all part of the setup. So was telling you she wanted to be cremated, but neglecting to share her wishes with Ashley or Sophia. She even consulted with a divorce attorney and told him she feared you might try to kill her. That testimony alone would probably nail you.” Becker paused and smiled.

  “Claire crafted a perfect plan and understood exactly how it would play out after her death.” Becker smiled. “She anticipated that you would be charged with her murder and that Ashley would eventually recover the money you got from that insurance policy. And it looks like she was right. We both underestimated her. She was a brilliant woman. Ruthlessly brilliant.”

  Becker opened the door and called for the guard
. “You destroyed Ashley’s life and now you’re going to pay with yours. I hope you get the needle.”

  When the guard reappeared, Becker stepped out of the room and completely tuned out the cries of his broken mentor.

  Eplilogue

  Dre had just stepped off an elevator at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center when Angela called his name from the other end of the corridor. His face broke into a smile as he waited for her to reach him.

  They had not spoken in the week that had passed since the shootout in the park. Angela had kept her distance and Dre reluctantly let her.

  Angela was carrying a large bouquet in a white vase. Dre held a bottle in a brown paper bag.

  Angela chuckled and pointed. “You can’t bring wine in here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a hospital.”

  “If I was stuck up in here, this is exactly what I’d want.” Dre pulled the bottle from the bag to reveal not wine, but sparkling apple cider.

  They both laughed.

  “How’ve you been?” Dre asked.

  “Okay,” Angela replied. “And you?”

  “I’m makin’ it. You need help with that?” Dre asked, referring to the vase. “How about if we trade?” He took the flowers and gave Angela the bottle of cider.

  “I think I’ll put this in here.” Angela stuffed the bottle into her oversize purse. “Wouldn’t want somebody to think I was bringing banned substances into a hospital. I’m still a lawyer, you know.”

  “So everything’s cool with your job?”

  “Not exactly. I’m currently on a leave of absence trying to work out the terms of my resignation. It looks like I’ll get to keep my license and won’t have to face any charges before the State Bar.”

  “Why would you? We were both cleared in Cornell’s shooting,” Dre said.

  “Let’s just say there were some judgment issues involved.”

  “’Cuz of me?” Dre asked.

  “Yes and no, but don’t worry about it. I’ll manage. Believe it or not, I’m thinking about opening up my own practice and doing some criminal defense work.”