Broken Saint, The (23 page)

Chapter 40

I was standing in the hallway between our two interview
rooms, looking through the glass into Interview 1. There were three people in
the room: the chief, Jared Higley, and a fifty-year old guy, gray hair, who
must have been the public defender. I didn’t recognize him. I had hoped Higley
would be assigned a pimply kid just out of law school.

It was a couple hours after our meeting with Larry
Klein. The chief had told me he had set up the interview for four o’clock. I’d said
I’d just as soon he do it without me. I was pretty wrung out, and if I got
Higley in a room I might reach across the table and try to strangle him. The
chief said he’d be happy to do the interview alone, and how he understood. He
had reviewed all the case files in the system and called me to say he was ready
to roll.

Looking through the glass at the three of them, I
was surprised at how confident Jared Higley looked. Kind of like the first time
I’d seen him, when he strolled out of Amber’s bedroom in his underwear,
scratching his stomach, gazing at the refrigerator as we told his girlfriend
that Maricel Salizar had been killed.

Here he was, cuffed to the bar on the table in
Interview 1, but seemingly undisturbed about the situation he found himself in.
And healthy. Usually, guys we charge with murder have a couple of bruises on
their faces. A busted lip. They’re maybe holding their ribs. There’s this
little passageway, right off the main corridor coming in from the rear
entrance, where there’s no CCTV. That’s where they usually slip and fall. Guys
who shoot at cops, they almost always slip and fall there, sometimes more than
once.

The chief must have put a camera in that
passageway when I was gone. I know it’s wrong to work these guys over. By which
I mean, I understand why it’s wrong—in the abstract. But I’ve never met a cop
who thinks it’s wrong. Not when his partner’s lying in a hospital bed, hooked
up to a dozen tubes.

Back before the new chief took over, we’d bring
the guy in. He’d slip and fall a couple times. When we got him in Interview 1,
if he was too stupid to ask for an attorney, we wouldn’t offer. And we wouldn’t
record the interview unless we’d already worn him down, gotten him to write and
sign a statement. The thinking was that we’d get the confession, bring it to
the defender’s office, have him sign off on it, and we’d be able to skip the
trial altogether.

But the new chief was a little more by-the-book.
It wasn’t that he was a pussy or he thought the guy must’ve had a tough
upbringing or any shit like that. It was more that he understood how when you
prosecute a guy, it’s not really you against the guy. It’s you against the
guy’s attorney. And no matter how dumb the attorney, he was never as dumb as
the guy who pulled the trigger. So the chief liked to do everything according
to regs. “Prepare for the appeal,” that was what he said. Have everything ready
so you can win the case, no matter how many times you have to try it.

He was right, of course. But that didn’t make me
any happier. In my new sober state of mind, however, it did help me understand
my limitations a little better. So I decided I’d let him and Larry Klein figure
out how to work this guy.

I looked through the glass, watching the dance.
The chief saying something, the attorney responding. Higley leaning in to
whisper something to the lawyer. I turned on the speaker to listen in.

 “We don’t think you meant to kill Maricel, Jared.”
The chief was talking. His hand was extended, like he was saying we’re all
adults here. Things can sort of happen. But we can work this out. “Way we see
it, you got in an argument with her about that three-way, and things just got
out of hand. Maybe she’d yanked the earring out and you got pissed. Anyone
would understand that. And you just went for the knife. You weren’t even going
to stab her. Maybe you were just trying to defend yourself. But the two of you
were wrestling for it, and she got stabbed. We could see involuntary manslaughter.”

It sounded like the chief knew he couldn’t get
Higley on murder, so he was hoping to get something else. I turned off the speaker
and left the corridor. I headed back to the detectives’ bullpen. I glanced at
my desk and Ryan’s, head-to-head near the center of the room. I walked over to
the coatrack, grabbed my coat, and headed down to the parking spots out back. I
drove over to the hospital, got Ryan’s room number, and headed up to the third
floor, where the ICU is.

There were ten beds in the ICU, arranged in two
rows of five. Down near the end of one of the rows, I saw his wife.

I walked over to her. “You must be Kali.”

She looked startled as she turned to face me. “Karen?”
She had an infant in her arms, a little boy. She shifted him to her other arm
and pulled me in for a kiss.

I’d never met her. I don’t socialize much, never
have. I’d made a point of not going over to Ryan’s house, even though he’d
invited me six or eight times—for dinner, picnics, all kinds of things. The
good reason was that I knew a little of me goes a long way, and an eight-hour
shift, five days a week, is more than a little of me. These were precious years
for Ryan and Kali, with a three-year old and an infant. I didn’t want to
intrude.

The real reason, though, was that I was ashamed. Of
myself, of my drinking—and some other things. He must have told his wife about
how I crashed and burned, been fired, then disappeared into a bottle of Jack
Daniel’s for half a year. I just didn’t want to be in a room with her, making
small talk. She didn’t do anything wrong; she shouldn’t have to do that.

Even with her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail
and held by a rubber band, no makeup, jeans, and a washed-out BYU sweatshirt,
she looked terrific. It was her smile. The same one that was on the photo of
the family on his desk at work. I could have picked her out of a lineup with
that smile. Her husband is shot, and she’s giving me that smile, big and broad,
just like Ryan’s.

“I’m so sorry, Kali. He took that bullet for me.”

She looked confused. “What are you saying?”

“We were at this suspect’s house, gonna bring him
in for questioning, when Ryan figured out he might take a shot at us. Ryan was
pushing me off to the side when he took the bullet.”

Kali nodded, like that was the kind of thing
people said to her all the time, so she wasn’t surprised. “The chief was here.
He said he was going to put Ryan in for some kind of commendation.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “He deserves it.” I started
to tear up. “He’s just a terrific detective. Just a terrific guy.” She leaned
in and hugged me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Now I’m crying, and it’s your husband.”
I tried to get myself under control. “What have the doctors told you?”

“Not that much,” she said. “It’s still too early.”

The doc walked in. “Hello,” he said. He looked
like he was thirty, a big shock of jet black hair, silver wire-rimmed glasses
sitting on a long, thin face. I realized he was closer to my son’s age than to
mine. His expression was grim as he turned to me. “I need to talk with Ms.
Miner now.”

Kali said, “No, that’s fine. She’s family.”

I think that’s the first time anyone ever said
that about me. Right after Bruce and I got married, seventeen years ago, he
introduced me to his mother. “Ma, this is Karen,” he had said.

“Okay,” the doctor said to Kali. “We think we have
your husband stabilized now. He lost a lot of blood, but we got him on the
table fast. As you know, the bullet didn’t hit a vital organ. It ripped up his
bowel pretty bad so we’ve taken a chunk out and done a temporary colostomy. Right
now the biggest concern is sepsis. When the bowel is torn, it spills all the
bacteria and stuff out into his system. We’ve pumped him full of antibiotics.
The next couple of days are going to be critical. But once the bowel is healed—two
to three months—we’ll re-attach it, and his plumbing will be as good as new. He
looks like a tough young man.”

“He is,” Kali said, her eyes getting glassy. “He really
is.” She paused. “The blood loss,” she said. “Will there be any effects from
that?”

The doctor shifted. “It’s too early to know.” He
pointed to one of the machines putting out beeping noises. “We’re registering brain
activity now,” he said.

“But you can’t tell …” Kali broke down, started to
sag.

I took the infant out of her arms, and the doctor
came over to support her elbow. He half carried her over to a chair near Ryan’s
bed.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Miner, we can’t tell at this point
if there has been any damage to any parts of his brain.”

She nodded, her hands coming up to cover her face.

The doctor said, “We’ll know a lot more in
twenty-four, thirty-six hours. I’ll check in with you later.” He turned and
walked out.

The infant in my arms—I didn’t even know his
name—looked puzzled as he gazed at his mother crying quietly.

I looked at Ryan. He had an oxygen mask on, an IV
in one arm. He looked a little pale, but what struck me was that I’d never seen
him not moving. His chest rose and fell slightly, and all the machines made
beeping sounds rhythmically.

I carried a chair over toward Kali and sat down
next to her. I started to play with the baby, lifting him up and down on my
lap. I could smell his baby powder. He gave me a gummy half-smile, and I
couldn’t help smiling back at him. I looked into his blue eyes, just like his
dad’s.

“Do you want me to take him?” Kali said to me. She
had pulled herself together.

“Oh, no,” I said. “We’re getting along just fine,
aren’t we
,
little fellow?”

“Were you hurt this afternoon?”

“No, not at all.” I said. In fact, I did land hard
on my left elbow, which was still throbbing. “You want me to catch you up on
the case?”

“Can you do that?”

“Unofficially, sure,” I said. “We have the guy who
shot Ryan.”

“Is he the one who killed the exchange student?”

“Yeah, he is. They’re working out the legal stuff
now, but the bottom line is, just for what he did this afternoon, he’s going
away for at least twenty years.”

Kali nodded but didn’t say anything. “How are the
Gersons doing? Do you know?”

“Andrea is very upset. Dr. Gerson says the church
is—what was the phrase he used? Something like ‘looking at a number of possible
responses.’”

“And Mark?”

“He’s back in the treatment center. He’s gonna be
there a while.”

“This has been a terrible ordeal for them.”

“Yes,” I said. “It certainly has.”

We sat there silently for a few minutes, me
playing with her little boy. “Kali,” I said. “I know Ryan’s told you I’ve had a
kinda hard time, you know, getting back on track.”

She nodded and touched my forearm.

“I want you to know how much it’s meant to have
Ryan with me. He’s saved me, couple of times, at least.”

She smiled. “God has saved you, Karen.”

“I’m not on good terms with God. Maybe Ryan
mentioned that,” I said. “So I really have no idea about any of that stuff. But
I know Ryan has been there for me.”

“It doesn’t matter. He loves you, anyway.”

The infant was getting antsy and holding out his
arms to his mother. I handed him to his mother, and she brought him in for a
big kiss.

“Ryan loves me?”

“Ryan does, too.”

It took me a few seconds to figure out her words. “Is
there anything I can do?” I said, pointing to her little boy. “You know, to
help out while Ryan’s in the hospital?”

“Oh, no.” Kali smiled and rolled her eyes, “I’ve
got more people at home now than I can stand. Crisis management is our best
event.”

I touched the baby’s cheek with my finger. He gave
me a small, wet smile. “Can I stop by later and see how Ryan’s doing?”

“Of course,” Kali said. “Like I told the doctor,
you’re family.” She leaned over and gave me a hug. “Take care, Karen.”

“I’m keeping a good thought for you and Ryan.” I tried
hard to not break down.

She gave me a big smile. “I know you are, Karen. I
appreciate it.” She paused and turned to me. “I hear what you say about not
believing. But I know that Ryan is going to be fine.”

“You
know
that?” I really wanted to believe
it, too.

She nodded. “I know God has plans for Ryan. Great
plans.”

I paused. “How do you know that, Kali?”

She shrugged. “I just know it.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong, Karen. I might be wrong about what
those plans are, but I am certain that He has those plans. Whether Ryan comes through
this the same man he always has been, or a different man—it doesn’t matter. He
will fulfill the Lord’s will, and I will do the same. It will be fine. I know
that.”

I started to weep. “Oh, Kali, God love you. I want
Ryan back on the force just the way he was. You deserve that.” I wiped at my
eyes. “He deserves that.”

“Yes, I think he does, but it’s not really up to
me or you. It will be fine. I promise you.” She smiled at me and leaned in to
give me another hug.

I nodded. “I’ll see you soon, little fellow,” I
said and touched the infant’s tiny fingers. I still hadn’t learned his name.

“Joseph,” Kali said.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s Joseph. Our son is Joseph.”

I left the ICU, wanting desperately to believe
Kali that it would all work out.

Outside, the snow was starting up, and dusk was
coming on. I felt a chill as I got in my Honda and headed back to headquarters.

The radio told me that Raul Samosa, the Latin Vice
Lords’ lawyer, had scheduled a press conference for five
pm
. Higley would already be charged by
then, although that information might not be public. But the news of Ryan’s
shooting and the arrest of Higley was already public, so I expected Samosa to
rub it in that we had persecuted the hell out of his boy Hector Cruz. Whether
Samosa was going to come after me for profiling or whatever, I didn’t know. But
I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to go after Ryan, what with him taking a
bullet.