Flipping Out

by Marshall Karp

  It was total bullshit. Sure, it was information we could track down eventually, but there was no way we could have done it in such a short time without a fistful of warrants and the blessings of our department.

  But Jameson believed it.

  'My clients are all wealthy people,' he said. 'They can afford to have dialysis units installed in their homes. Or for that matter, they could have flown to some Third World country and paid a willing donor. Just because I may know someone who's been cured, doesn't mean I had anything to do with it.'

  'Let me show you another photo of the late Serior Benitez,' I said. 'Here's a shot of Tony Dominguez helping him into your car. And yes, it's definitely yours. We have footage of the license plate as it pulls away.'

  'My car, perhaps. But I don't see any photos of me. It sounds like you have something on Tony. Why don't you arrest him?'

  'On what charge?' I said. 'Tony is one smart cop. He's kept his distance from the real ugly stuff, but you...you're the doctor.'

  'I'm a psychiatrist, not a surgeon.'

  'I think when the jury hears the connection between you and all those people walking around with illegal kidneys, they're not going to say, 'What about that cop over there?' You're the one they'll convict, not Tony,' I said. 'As much as we'd like to nail him for chaperoning all these unsuspecting people into your organ factory, we have nothing on him. Tony will walk.'

  'Actually,' Terry said. 'You'll walk too. But after a few weeks in prison, a good-looking dude like yourself will walk real funny.'

  Jameson's lips quivered.

  'Of course, if you help us convict Tony, he can watch over you in prison. Even better, the DA is willing to cut a deal,' I said, hoping Anna DeRoy would back me up. 'If you confess your involvement in Esteban's death, she'll give you a break.'

  'And I'm no shrink,' Terry said, 'but I hear confession is good for the soul.'

  Jameson didn't say a word.

  'Dr Jameson,' I said, 'I look at all these degrees on your wall, and I say to myself, 'This is a smart man.' But Tony Dominguez, that little Mexican kid you helped raise, may have outsmarted you.'

  I dropped my business card on his desk. 'We can't put him away without your help.'

  'I don't know what you think I can tell you about Tony, but whatever it is, I have to stand behind doctor-patient confidentiality.'

  'In that case you'll also be standing behind bars in San Q,' Terry said.

  I nodded to Terry, and we both stood up. 'Think about it, doc,' I said, if you don't talk, Tony walks.'

  'Y'know, there's a bright side to all this,' Terry said. 'I mean, you being a psychiatrist and all. These maximum security prisons, they just never seem to run out of crazy people. I'm sure you'll make more than your share of new friends.'

  We started for the door.

  'Wait,' he said.

  We turned around and waited.

  'I'm not an impetuous person,' Jameson said. 'I don't like being intimidated into doing things I haven't yet thought through. I need a little time to weigh my options.'

  'A little time is all we'll give you,' Terry said.

  'You'll know my decision sometime tomorrow morning,' he said. 'How early do you get to work?'

  'We'll be at the office by seven,' I said. 'Plus my cell number is on the card. You won't have any trouble finding us.'

  We left the house, got into the car, and drove off. Then we doubled back and parked a block away. 'If he calls Tony,' I said, 'Tony won't talk on the phone. He'll insist on talking face to face, someplace safe.'

  We watched the house for the next three hours, but Jameson never left, and Tony never showed up.

  'Well,' Terry said, when we finally headed home. 'If Jameson is planning on doing something stupid, I can tell you this. He's gonna do it on his own.'

  Chapter Sixty

  I barely slept. It was 12:07 when I took my last look at the digital clock, and 3:14 when I woke up again. Not enough sleep for a middle-aged cop putting in eighteen- hour days.

  Tony Dominguez had fooled us all, but I couldn't prove it. Jameson could help, but I didn't know if he'd hide behind doctor-patient confidentiality, hire an expensive lawyer, or call Tony and warn him.

  Helen Ryan's testimony might help. Or she could be chewed up and spit out by a carnivorous defence attorney. For the first time in my life I wished I were a lawyer. I might have some idea of what would actually stick in court.

  Your honour, the prosecution calls our star blind eyewitness to the stand.

  And then the jury would have to believe that sweet Helen, cowering under a table, scared shitless and feeding her cat, was able to make an accurate mental recording of the gunshots coming from next door.

  It's safe to say you were terrified, correct, Ms Ryan?

  Very.

  So then was that pop, bam, bam, bam, or maybe it was pop, pop, pop, meow, meow, meow?

  The jury would laugh, the prosecution would object, but Helen's credibility would suffer.

  I felt Diana's hand on my shoulder.

  'What are you doing up in the middle of the night?' she said.

  'Worrying.'

  'About what?'

  'What if I told you that maybe the guy who killed all of Marilyn's partners is still on the loose?'

  'Then I'd tell you to get that cop car back in front of this house right now. Is that true?'

  'Nothing I can prove,' I said. 'It's this damn system we've got about innocent until proven guilty.'

  'Can I help?'

  'Not unless you went to law school.'

  'Do you think Big Jim can help?' she said.

  'Why the hell would you say that?'

  'Because you were mumbling pop, pop, pop before.'

  'It wasn't that kind of pop. It was gunshots, like pop, pop, pop, bam, bam, bam.'

  'Well, when you get to hug, hug, hug, kiss, kiss, kiss, roll over,' she said. 'I picked up a few interesting sleep aid techniques in nursing school.'

  I rolled over. The sex helped. I still couldn't sleep, but it was a lot more fun being awake.

  Three hours later Terry and I were in the office waiting for the phone to ring.

  Kilcullen was already there. Tony Dominguez's homecoming was scheduled for 9:00 a.m., and the boss left nothing to chance. He told one of the civilian clerks to order coffee, bagels, and Danish for breakfast.

  'And make sure there's tomato juice,' he said. 'Deputy Mayor Berger will be here. He drinks tomato juice.'

  By eight forty-five, Kilcullen had gathered a small welcoming committee upstairs in the roll call room. Langer and Sutula, Eliot Ganek and Bob Kanarick from auto, Steve Venokur from burglary, and a handful of others who had better things to do, but who, in the great tradition of law enforcement officers everywhere, could be enticed by the sweet smell of fresh pastry.

  Anna DeRoy, the lawyer I had wished for in the middle of the night, showed up early, and we filled her in on everything we had.

  'So this Ryan woman heard the shooting,' DeRoy said, 'but she never actually saw it.'

  'She can't see anything,' Terry said. 'She's blind.''

  'A word I'm sure the defence will repeat constantly,' DeRoy said. 'Let's try not to use it too often ourselves.'

  'How about we refer to her as the crazy cat lady who was hiding under the table?' Terry said. 'You think that'll affect her credibility as a witness?'

  At eight fifty-five, the three of us went upstairs.

  At nine on the dot, Deputy Mayor Berger entered. He looked fresh, neat, and trim in a blue suit, white shirt, yellow tie. 'I hope you don't mind,' he said to Kilcullen. 'I brought a photographer along. This is not just a proud day for LAPD, this is a moment for everyone to share.'

  The photographer also had on a blue suit, but it looked like he bought it thirty pounds ago and never invested in dry cleaning. He was anything but fresh, neat, and trim.

  'Where's the man of the hour?' Berger said, looking around the room.

  'I just spoke to the watch commander,' Kilcullen said. 'Detec
tive Dominguez is in the building. He's downstairs in ordnance signing for a new weapon. His gun was put into the evidence chain after the shooting.'

  'You mean after the heroic capture of the man who had been terrorising the families of LA's Finest,' Berger said. 'You have to learn to spin, Brendan, spin.'

  'Good morning, Mel,' Anna DeRoy said.

  'Deputy DA DeRoy,' Berger said. 'This is a surprise. What are you doing here?'

  'This is an important case. I want to make sure it's all buttoned up.'

  'Well, thank you for closing it,' Berger said. 'Good morning, Detective Lomax, Detective Biggs.'

  We said hello, but before we had a chance to say much else, Kilcullen quickly steered him to the refreshments.

  'Tomato juice,' Berger said. 'Perfect.'

  Ass-kissing is learnt, not acquired. Kilcullen poured him some juice, and then we waited.

  At ten after nine Tony entered the room, and we all applauded.

  His left arm was still in a sling, but other than that, he looked fit and healthy, it's great to be home,' he said. 'Sorry I'm late. I was downstairs signing for a service revolver. I've been a cop a long time, so I've got to tell you, I was feeling a little naked without it.'

  'The important thing is that you know how and when to use it,' Berger said. He tapped on his juice glass. 'Let me just say a few words.'

  Mel Berger is the consummate politician. He needed no script. He hit all the high points. I'm sure it was a dry run of the speech the mayor would deliver at the Medal of Valour ceremony in the spring. He even charmed the room by saying a few things in Spanish, which pleased Tony no end.

  'Picture time,' Berger finally announced. 'Let's get a couple of different shots. First me and Tony.'

  He set his glass down, and the photographer started lining them up against a wall.

  Terry's cell phone rang.

  'Take it outside,' Kilcullen said.

  'Yeah, yeah,' Terry said. He left the room.

  The photographer clicked off a few shots.

  'Now let's get one with Lieutenant Kilcullen,' Berger said, retrieving his juice glass from the table and taking another sip.

  Suddenly the door crashed open. I saw several cops instinctively go for their guns. But they stopped when they saw it was only Terry.

  'You motherfucking son of a bitch,' Terry bellowed as he tore across the room and headed straight for the Deputy Mayor.

  Berger backed up a few steps, but Terry charged him, grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. I'd seen my partner angry before, but never like this.

  'They shot her. They shot her,' he screamed into Berger's face. 'You were in such a fucking hurry to wrap up the case. And now they shot her, you stupid, fucking political hack bastard.'

  By now Kilcullen and three other cops were doing their best to pry Terry away from Berger.

  'Biggs, are you crazy?' Kilcullen said. 'What's going on? What happened? Who got shot?'

  'My wife. They killed my wife.' And then the rage in his face turned to grief, and he ran from the room.

  I looked around. Everyone was in shock. Anna was sobbing. The last thing I saw before I ran after Terry was Deputy Mayor Berger slouched in a chair, his blue suit, white shirt, and yellow tie covered with tomato juice.

  The photographer was clicking away, preserving the moment for everyone to share.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Five minutes after Terry and I bolted from the station, Kilcullen gave everyone in the room the official report from the Sherman Oaks police. Marilyn had been shot in the back of the head. She was pronounced dead on the scene.

  As soon as he heard the news, Tony Dominguez left. Thirty minutes later he raced down Rexford Drive and pulled his car to a screeching stop in front of Ford Jameson's house.

  It was mid-morning, and the block was deserted, except for a cable repair truck and a crew of Mexican gardeners armed with leaf blowers, who were noisily cleaning up the fall foliage across the street on Carmelita.

  Tony took the front steps two at a time, rang the bell with his good right hand, then grabbed the brass door knocker and banged it incessantly. Ford Jameson, dressed in a tan V-neck sweater and cream-coloured slacks, opened the door halfway. Tony barrelled in and stormed directly to the office with the doctor in tow. Jameson shut the door and calmly took a seat behind his mahogany island of a desk.

  'Somebody just killed Marilyn Biggs,' Tony blurted out, pacing the room. 'It's a copycat of all the other murders.'

  'Oh dear,' Jameson said. 'I was afraid that might happen.'

  'What are you talking about? Afraid what might happen?'

  Jameson interlaced his fingers, set his elbows on the desk and leant toward Tony. 'I was concerned that even after you got what you wanted you wouldn't be able to stop.'

  Tony's body jerked to a halt, and his head snapped toward Jameson. 'You think I killed Terry Biggs's wife? Do you think I'm crazy?'

  'No, Tony,' Jameson said. 'I have a patient who likes to shit in a bag and drop it off the side of a freeway overpass. He's crazy. You've murdered five, sorry - now six - people in cold blood. You, my friend, are a raving homicidal maniac.'

  Tony flopped down onto a chair directly across from Jameson. The doctor continued. 'I had no idea how deeply this compulsion dictated your behaviour.'

  Tony's jaw was clenched. He looked like he was about to explode, but instead the words came out in a slow, deliberate whisper that was far more menacing. 'This is not a fucking compulsion. This was a plan. Carefully thought out and brilliantly executed. It was perfect.'

  'But apparently, it's not over for you,' Jameson said. 'Killing women has become the ultimate expression of your virility. You can't stop.'

  'What kind of psychobabble are you trying to mind- fuck me with, Jameson? Virility? This had nothing to do with my dick. This was about saving my ass. Mine and yours. I killed those women to keep us out of prison. But do you think I'm so crazy that I would do something that would reopen a closed case? I didn't kill Marilyn Biggs, because that would fuck up everything.'

  'I'm sure you've convinced yourself of that,' Jameson said. 'But you killed Marilyn for the same reason you killed Nora, Julia, Jo, and your wife. Because strong, smart women like them kept your mother chained to a mop until the morning she died.'

  'Don't even start with that mother bullshit, Freud Jameson,' Tony said. 'This wasn't about my mother. We had a dead fucking Mexican with two holes where his kidneys should be, and my bitch of a wife who wanted every nickel I had or she'd turn us in. Us. Me and you. I didn't kill Marisol because she was smart and strong. She was a selfish, greedy, blackmailing whore. She would have bled me dry and dragged you down with me. I killed her to save my ass and yours.'

  'My ass?' Jameson said. 'I had nothing to do with the death of that Mexican boy. You made the call, Tony.'

  'And I'd do it again.'

  'There will be no again? Jameson said. 'I am officially out of the kidney business. It's over.'

  'It was over,' Tony said. 'Martin took the rap for the four murders, but now, with Marilyn Biggs dead, the case will be reopened.'

  'Yes. And this time you won't get away with it. Especially when they find a lock of Mrs Biggs's hair in your possession.'

  'My possession?'

  'Oh, it won't be easy to find on your property,' Jameson said, 'but I'm sure the police dogs will sniff it out. Along with the gun that shot her.'

  'You son of a bitch,' Tony said, pressing his hand to his forehead. 'You stupid, arrogant son of a bitch. You shot Biggs's wife.' He stood slowly. 'Oh, Christ, you've fucked up everything.'

  'No, Tony, you fucked up everything,' Jameson said, pointing a finger at Tony's chest. 'I had a golden opportunity, a chance to save people's lives, and enrich my own in the process. Win-win. And when I needed a partner, who did I invite to be part of it all? You. I could have asked someone else, but I've always looked after you, always done my best to help you to live a better life. But then you got greedy. You figured if one of
Esteban Benitez's kidneys is good, then two must be twice as good. For everyone but Benitez.'

  'He had heart disease,' Tony said. 'The surgeon said he had months to live. And we had two recipients that day. At a half a million a pop.'

  'Two recipients, one donor. Whose fault was that?'

  'Shit happens, Ford. We've been through this. We had two young women stretched out on gurneys, waiting for us to snatch them from death's door. And we had one guy with two healthy kidneys who was not going to need them very long anyway. It was the smart thing to do.'

  'No it wasn't,' Jameson said. 'The smart thing would have been to call me. You never should have made that decision on your own.'

  Tony sat back in his chair and smiled. 'Actually, Ford, I didn't make the decision on my own.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'What were the odds of that one donor matching both those recipients?'

  'A perfect match? Astronomical,' Jameson said. 'But the same blood type, and a partial tissue match? I don't know - a hundred to one? Two hundred?'

  'Right,' Tony said. 'So I let God decide. If Benitez matched the second girl, then that's why God brought them together. So don't blame me for making the decision, blame God.'

  Jameson tapped two fingers on his chin, and stared at Tony, looking every bit the pensive psychiatrist. Finally, he spoke. 'You're right, Tony. God made the call. But God didn't get caught by his scheming wife. You did. And if Marisol could figure it out, it's only a matter of time before the cops get there too. And then how long do you think it will take before it comes back to me? So effectively, Tony, you've forced me into early retirement, and I'll be needing a generous severance package.'

  Jameson stood up from his chair. 'So be a good boy, sit down at the computer, and transfer eighty percent of your assets to my account.'