Devil's Waltz (50 page)

Milo said, “Not really, Kristie.”

She opened her mouth. The other students looked at her.

She said, “Hey, what’s going on?” and grabbed her purse.

Milo reached into his pocket and pulled out his police badge.

“You tell me, Kristie.”

She froze. The other students gawked. The reader’s eyes floated above the pages of his book. Moving slowly.

I saw Milo look at him. Look down at the floor.

Shoes.

Clunky black oxfords with bubble toes. They didn’t go with his silk shirt and his designer jeans.

Milo’s eyes narrowed. The reader’s fixed on mine, then sank out of view as he raised the book higher.

Theories of Organizations.

Kristie started to cry.

The other students were statues.

Milo said, “Yo Joe! Cavity check!”

The reader looked up reflexively. Just for a second, but it was enough.

Bland face. Dick and Jane’s dad from a half-block distance. Up close, details destroyed the paternal image: five o’clock shadow, pockmarks on the cheeks, a scar across the forehead. Tattoo on one hand.

And the sweat — a coat of it, shiny as fresh lacquer.

He stood up. His eyes were hard and narrow; his hands huge, the forearms thick. More tattoos, blue-green, crude. Reptilian.

He picked up his books and stepped away from the table while keeping his head down.

Milo said, “Hey, c’mon, stay. I’m an easy grader.”

The man stopped, began to lower himself, then he threw the books at Milo and made a rush for the door.

I stepped in front of him, locking my hands in a double-arm block.

He shouldered me full-force. The impact slammed me against the door and pushed it open.

I fell backward onto the cement, landing hard and feeling my tailbone hum. Reaching out, I grabbed two handfuls of silk. He was on top of me, clawing and punching and spraying sweat.

Milo pulled him off, hit him very fast in the face and the belly and shoved him hard against the bungalow. The man struggled. Milo kidney-punched him, hard, and cuffed him as he sank, groaning.

Milo forced him down on the ground and put one foot on the small of his back.

A pat-down produced a wad of cash, a flick-knife with a black handle, a vial of pills, and a cheap plastic billfold stamped
RENO
:
NEVADA
’
S PLAYGROUND
. Milo pulled three different driver’s licenses out of the fold.

“Well, well, well, what have we here? Sobran comma Karl with a K, Sebring comma Carl with a C, and… Ramsey comma Clark Edward. Which one’s real, turkey, or are you suffering from multiple personality syndrome?”

The man said nothing.

Milo nudged one of the black shoes with a toe.

“Good old prison clumpers. County or state?”

No answer.

“You need new heels, genius.”

The man’s back muscles moved under his shirt.

Milo turned to me. “Find a phone and call the Devonshire substation. Tell them we’ve got a suspect on a Central Division homicide and give them Dawn Herbert’s full name.”

The man on the ground said, “Bullshit.” His voice was deep and muddy.

One of the young students came out onto the stairs. Twenty or twenty-one, short blond pageboy, sleeveless white dress, Mary Pickford face.

She said, “Kristie’s pretty upset,” in a very timid voice.

“Tell her I’ll be with her in a minute,” said Milo.

“Um… sure. What did Karl do?”

“Sloppy homework,” said Milo.

The man on the ground growled and the girl looked startled.

Milo kept his knee on the man’s back and said, “Shut up.”

The blond girl gripped the doorjamb.

Softening his voice, Milo said, “It’s okay — nothing to worry about. Just go inside and wait.”

“This isn’t some kind of experiment or anything, is it?”

“Experiment?”

“A role-play. You know? Professor Jones likes to use them to raise our awareness.”

“Bet he does. No, miss, this is real. Sociology in action. Take a good look — it’ll be on the final.”

The envelope arrived by messenger at 7:00
P.M.
, just before Robin got home. I put it aside and tried to have a normal evening with her. After she went to sleep, I took it to the library. Turned on all the lights and read.

TRANSCRIPT OF INTERROGATION

DR# 102 — 789 793
DR# 64 — 458 990
DR# 135 — 935 827

P
LACE:
L.A.C. JAIL, BLOCK: HIGH-POWER
T/D
ATE:
6/1/89, 7:30
P.M.
S
USPECT:
JONES, CHARLES LYMAN III, MW,
6’3’’
BRO, BLU
AGE: 38

D
EF
A
TTORNEY:
TOKARIK, ANTHONY M., ESQ.
LAPD: MILO B. STURGIS #15994, WLA

(SPEC. ASSIGNMENT)
STEPHEN MARTINEZ, #26782, DEVSHR.

D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: This is video-audiotape session number two with Suspect Charles Lyman Jones the Third. Suspect was informed of his rights at the time of arrest for attempted murder. Miranda warning was repeated and taped at a previous session, eleven
A
.
M
. June 1, 1989, and transcribed on that day at two
P
.
M
. Said session was terminated on advice of suspect’s counsel, Mr. Anthony Tokarik, Esquire. This session represents resumption of interview at request of Mr. Tokarik. Do I need to re-Mirandize him, Counselor, or does that second warning hold for this session?
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: It will hold, unless Professor Jones requests re-Mirandization. Do you want to be warned again, Chip?
M
R
. J
ONES
: No. Let’s get on with this.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Go ahead.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Evening, Chip.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I’d prefer that you address my client respectfully, Detective.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Professor be okay?
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Yes. However, if that’s too difficult for you, “Mr. Jones” would suffice.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: You just called him Chip.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I’m his lawyer.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Uh-huh… okay… sure. Hey, I’d even call him “Doctor,” but he never finished his Ph.D., did you, Chip — Mr. Jones? What’s that? Can’t hear you.
M
R
. J
ONES
: (unintelligible)
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Got to speak up, Mr. Jones. Grunts don’t make it.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Hold on, Detective. Unless the tone of this interview changes, I’m going to call a halt to it immediately.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Suit yourself — your loss. I just thought you guys might want to hear some of the evidence we’ve compiled against old Chip, here. ’Scuse me — Mister Jones.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I can get anything you have from the district attorney under the rules of recovery, Detective.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Fine. Then wait till the trial. Let’s go, Steve.
D
ET
. M
ARTINEZ
: Sure.
M
R
. J
ONES
: Hold on. (unintelligible)
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Wait, Chip. (unintelligible) I’d like to confer with my client privately, if you don’t mind.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: If it doesn’t take too long.

Tape off: 7:39
P.M.
Tape on: 7:51
P.M.

M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Go ahead, show us what you’ve got.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Yeah, sure, but is Mr. Jones going to be answering questions or is it gonna be a one-way show-and-tell?
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I reserve my client’s right to refuse to answer any questions. Proceed if you wish, Detective.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: What do you think, Steve?
D
ET
. M
ARTINEZ
: I don’t know.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Decision, gentlemen?
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Yeah, okay… Well, Chip — Mr. Jones — I’m glad you’ve got yourself a high-princed lawyer like Mr. Tokarik here, ’cause you’re sure gonna—
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: This is definitely getting off on the wrong foot. My fees have nothing to—
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: What are we doing here, Counselor, interrogating a suspect or critiquing my style?
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I strenuously object to your—
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Object all you want. This isn’t court.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I request another conference with my client.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: No way. Let’s split, Steve.
D
ET
. M
ARTINEZ
: You bet.
M
R
. J
ONES
: Hold on. Sit down.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: You ordering me around, Junior?
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I object to—
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Come on, Steve, we’re outa here.
M
R
. J
ONES
: Hold on!
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Chip, it’s—
M
R
. J
ONES
: Shut up!
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Chip—
M
R
. J
ONES
: Shut up!
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Uh-uh, no way do I proceed with this kind of friction going on between the two of you. Then he complains he wasn’t represented by counsel of choice? No way.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Don’t play lawyer with me, Detective.
M
R
. J
ONES
: Just shut the hell up, Tony! This whole thing is preposterous!
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: What is, Professor Jones?
M
R
. J
ONES
: Your supposed case.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: You didn’t attempt to inject your daughter, Cassandra Brooks, with insulin?
M
R
. J
ONES
: Of course not. I found the needle in Cindy’s purse, got upset because it confirmed my suspicions about her, and was trying to see if she’d already—
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Chip—
M
R
. J
ONES
:… jected it into Cassie’s I.V. Stop giving me looks, Tony — it’s my future at stake here. I want to hear what kind of folderol they think they’ve got, so I can clear it up once and for all.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Folderol?
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Chip—
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: I don’t want to continue if—
M
R
. J
ONES
: He’s my attorney of choice, okay? Go on.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: You’re sure?
M
R
. J
ONES
: (unintelligible)
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Speak right into that mike over there.
M
R
. J
ONES
: Get on with it. I want out of here, posthaste.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Yes, sir, massah sir.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: Detecti—
M
R
. J
ONES
: Shut up, Tony.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Everyone ready? Okay. First of all, we’ve got you on videotape, trying to shoot insulin into—
M
R
. J
ONES
: Wrong. I told you what that was about. I was just trying to see what Cindy was up to.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Like I said, we’ve got you on videotape, trying to shoot insulin into your daughter’s intravenous line. Plus video logs of the cameras at the entrance to Western Pediatric Medical Center confirming that you didn’t enter the hospital through the front door. One of the keys on your ring has been identified as a hospital master. You probably used it to sneak in through the—
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I obj—
M
R
. J
ONES
: Tony.
M
R
. T
OKARIK
: I request a brief conference with my—
M
R
. J
ONES
: Cut it out, Tony. I’m not one of your idiot sociopaths. Go on with your fairy tale, Detective. And you’re right, I did use one of Dad’s keys. So what? Whenever I go to that place I avoid the front door. I try to be inconspicuous. Is discretion an egregious felony?
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Let’s go on. You bought two cups of coffee from a hospital machine, then took the stairs up to the fifth floor. We’ve got you on video up there too. Out in the hall where Five East meets Chappell Ward, carrying the coffee and looking through a crack in the door. What it looks like to me is you’re waiting until the nurse on duty goes into a back room. Then you go into room 505 West where you stay for fifty-five minutes until I come in and find you jabbing that needle into your daughter’s I.V. line. We’re going to show you all those videotapes now, okay?
M
R
. J
ONES
: Seems eminently superfluous, but suit yourself.
D
ET
. S
TURGIS
: Action, camera.