Grant of Immunity (10 page)

E
rin was
on edge and restless. She needed a drink badly. With the stress of a new job, it had been a long exhausting week. She was working as a waitress at the Wharf, an upscale restaurant at the harbor in Marina Del Rey. Because they had an adjoining bar, and it was the only work she could get, the judge had made an exception to her probation condition that she not be in any establishment where alcohol was served—but had cautioned her to stay away from the lounge. The judge emphasized that any consumption of alcohol would be a probation violation, resulting in jail time.

She so wanted to show her new boss, Alex, that he was right to give her a chance as a waitress, but it had not been easy. To be closer to work, she had moved from her apartment in Monterey Park to West Hollywood. It was still a trek to the Marina, but this was as close as she could afford to live, even with a roommate.

Since there was no court-ordered alcohol program tonight, she decided she had to find a way to relax and go to bed early. Maybe a hot soak in the tub would do it. Afterward, in pajamas, she’d eat, watch a little television, and then turn in.

Erin was running water into the bathtub when the phone rang.

“Erin? Erin Collins?” said the woman on the other end.

Erin did not recognize her voice. “Speaking.”

“Thank God. I’m so glad I was able to reach you. My name is Barbara Riley, Jimmy’s wife. Jimmy needs a big favor from you.”

“What is it, Barbara?” Jimmy the bartender had always been nice to Erin. This was her opportunity to be nice back. And to show Alex that she was a team player.

“Can you fill in for Jimmy tonight from six to midnight? He’s got some kind of stomach flu. He says you used to tend bar.”

Erin took a deep breath and held it for an instant. She wanted to help Jimmy, but if she tended bar, she’d be violating a term of her probation—to not to be in a bar … certainly not to be in any room where primarily alcohol is served.

“I’m not sure I can do it,” Erin said.

“We’ve already called two other people,” Barbara said. “We wouldn’t ask if it weren’t really important.” There was desperation in her voice. “Jimmy will have to go in sick. Isn’t there any way you could help out just this once?”

Erin considered. Was she being overly cautious? Or just plain dumb?

“Alex told me to call you. Said it will be a personal favor to him.”

That cinched it. She’d do it. No one would ever know she did it this once. And besides, if anyone asked, this was a legitimate emergency. The court couldn’t be that inflexible. “Okay,” she said, “I’d be glad to help out. But this one time only.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Barbara said, then added, “Oh, another thing—I’m so sorry to impose—but could you come by and get Jimmy’s keys? You’ll need them to lock up at two a.m. I know it’s a little out of the way—we live in Sherman Oaks, but I’ll drive out and meet you at the Ventura Boulevard off-ramp. There’s a Hughes Markets parking lot right as you come off the freeway. You won’t be able to miss me. I’ll be in a white BMW convertible, top down. You’ll be able to turn around and get right on the freeway, heading back.”

“I think I know where that is.”

“Great. It should take you about thirty minutes to get there. Thanks again. Bye.”

Erin looked at the clock. It was 4:55 p.m. She’d have to hurry to meet Barbara and get to work on time. She dressed, brushed her hair, put on makeup, and started to walk out the door. It occurred to her that maybe she should call Jimmy to see if he had any special things she needed to know for tonight. She looked at her watch: 5:10 p.m. She had to get moving. She had her cell phone—she’d call from the car. It was okay to drive to work, but it would still be on a different schedule than she had given her probation officer. If she were stopped and her DMV record were checked, she wasn’t sure what a cop might do … She’d just have to hope that didn’t happen.

Once in the car, Erin drove very carefully, making certain that she obeyed all laws. No racing through yellow lights, no speeding—just sensible, defensive driving. She watched everything around her, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds, particularly watchful for cops. Once, she thought she saw a black-and-white behind her, but when she stopped for a red light and looked around, she decided it must have been her imagination.

She got on the San Diego Freeway, heading north. Rush hour traffic was heavy. She glanced at her watch. Almost 5:40. It was going to be close.

She took out her cell phone and dialed the restaurant to get Jimmy’s home number. The line was busy. No surprise when people were phoning in for reservations.

At Wilshire Boulevard there was a traffic jam, and it took her nearly twenty minutes to get through the two miles of stop-and-go traffic. Finally, she was through it and the freeway was moving again.

She was about a mile from the Getty Center Drive off-ramp, when she saw the flashing red lights of the police car in her rearview mirror.
Shit
, she thought, her heart pounding. She decided to call Fitz. It was dinnertime, and he might be eating, but this was an emergency. She dialed his number, turned on her blinker, and slowed down, pulling over to acknowledge the red lights behind her.

Fitz answered on the first ring. “Fitz? It’s Erin. I’m just being pulled over by a black-and-white. What should I do?”

“Why are you driving?” he asked. There was surprise in his voice. “You know you can’t be out tonight.”

“I’m on my way to work. The regular bartender is sick, and I’m filling in for him, on my way to get his keys. The point is I’m about to be stopped. I’m near the Getty Center off-ramp of the San D Freeway, and a black-and-white is right behind me with its lights flashing.”

“Get off at Getty Center and park. Don’t hang up the phone. Tell the officer I’m on the line, and that I’ll speak to him.” Erin followed Fitz’s instructions. As she stopped, the police car pulled in behind her and also stopped. Its high-beam lights were on, and its spotlight illuminated her from behind. The light blinded her, so she could not see who was getting out of the patrol car. She kept her cell phone in her hand, while she rolled down her window.

The officer stepped out, and she recognized Jake Babbage at once.

“It’s him,” Erin shrieked into the phone. “Babbage.” She had the sudden urge to drive off—to run away.

“Should I leave?”

“No,” Fitz said. “That’d be the worst thing you could do. Just follow my instructions. I’ll be listening to everything. If necessary, I’ll call Captain Becker and radio to get someone to your location ASAP. In the meantime, hang in there.”

W
ith his headlights
on high beam, his spotlights on and directed straight into Erin’s car, Babbage could observe the overall interior as he walked toward the passenger side of Erin’s vehicle. He’d use his flashlight to illuminate and examine the inside of the car. Although he was certain she was alone, years of experience had taught him that things were not always as they seemed. It would be just like that bitch to have someone or something that he needed to be careful of. He was at his best: his world, his turf, his project. He motioned for Erin to roll down the passenger-side window.

She complied.

Standing at the open window, he used the flashlight beam to scan. He needed to see her hands first, then everything in the front seat and on the floorboard. He saw immediately that Erin held a cell phone in her right hand. What the fuck was she doing?

“Put the object you have in your hand on the passenger seat, ma’am. Then put your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them.” Babbage had decided that until he was certain they were alone and unmonitored, he would play it straight. For all he knew, the bitch was wired or had a voice recorder with her.

Erin did as he commanded. Her hand shaking, she placed the cell phone on the seat next to her. She put her hands on the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white
—she’s clutching it like a life raft
, Babbage thought with satisfaction. It felt good to be in charge. He continued to scan the interior of the vehicle. The rest of the vehicle was clean and neat, with a purse on the passenger-side floor and a folded sweater-jacket on the back seat.

When satisfied that all was safe, he spoke again. “Please exit the vehicle, ma’am. At the passenger side, please.”

“Sergeant Babbage, is this really necessary?” she asked. Her voice wavered, but she continued. “You can be sure I’m not giving you a blowjob this time. And don’t think you caught me driving outside of my restriction. I’m on my way to work.”

Babbage felt his face flush.
Fucking cunt
, he thought. She actually thought she could outsmart him. But she was having an effect on him. He wished he could tell her his plans for her—that would wipe that arrogant look off her face. Just the thought of what he had devised for her sent a jolt of pleasure to his groin.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” he asked.

“Detective Fitzgerald. He’s still on the line, listening. He wants to talk to you.”

“Is that so?” Babbage said. He smiled to himself. Fitzgerald must have fucked her, the way he followed her around. Well, he made a big mistake this time.

“Give me the phone,” Babbage snapped as he grabbed it. “Who’s on this line?”

“Babbage? Fitzgerald here. We have to talk.”

“About what?”

“About Erin. She has every right to drive. Her restriction allows her to go to and from work, and that’s exactly what she’s doing.”

Babbage snorted. “You’ll have to do better than that, Fitzgerald. You know as well as I do—that’s the line that everyone uses when they’re caught driving. I’ve got her work schedule, and tonight she’s off. And her work is in the opposite direction. Unless she’s driving to her program or work, she’s in violation of probation, no matter what phony story you and she concoct.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think. The woman is driving within her restriction, and if you don’t let her go immediately, I’m going to call Captain Becker.”

“Okay,” Babbage finally said, an exasperated tone in his voice. “I’ll check out her story. I’ll permit her to call the restaurant on this phone. If the manager verifies it, I’ll let her go. Otherwise, I’m taking her in.”

“Suit yourself. But you’d better let her go in the next five minutes. No one’s ever going to buy the coincidence that you just happened to stop her.”

“You can think whatever the fuck you want,” Babbage said. “She’s a drunk and a whore, and she belongs in jail. I’m going to put her there. And just to show you that I’m operating by the book, I’ll call you back and inform you of the results. If she’s driving legally, I’ll let her go. If not, then she’s going to pay the price.”

Babbage flipped the phone closed and looked at her. “According to Fitzgerald, you claim you’re going to work, even though you’re heading in the opposite direction. Is that right?”

Erin nodded. “That’s right. I’m meeting someone to get keys, and then I’m going directly to work. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll prove it to you.”

Babbage said, “What’s your work number?”

She gave him the number. Babbage opened the phone and dialed. “It’s ringing,” he said. “What’s your supervisor’s name?”

“Alex. Alex Brennan.”

Erin’s stress eased, and she felt a little better. Fitz had come through for her and Babbage was grudgingly giving her a chance. He’d have to let her go now. Things were going to be okay.

“Hello,” Babbage said into the phone. “This is the Los Angeles Police Department calling. Official business. May I speak with Alex Brennan?” A moment passed. “Mr. Brennan, this is Sergeant Babbage of the LAPD. Do you have an employee by the name of Erin Collins? Can you tell me if she is scheduled to work tonight? She’s not?” Babbage smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Brennan—”

Stunned, Erin grabbed the phone from Babbage. “Alex, this is Erin. I’m filling in for Jimmy tonight. His wife called me and told me he was sick and couldn’t make it.”

“Jimmy came in ten minutes ago,” Brennan replied.

Erin felt a sharp pain in her stomach.
Please, God,
Erin thought,
let this be a mistake.
“Could I speak to him, please?” she said.

“Hold on a minute.”

She waited.

“Erin?” It was Jimmy’s voice. “What’s up?”

“Jimmy. I got a call from Barbara about forty-five minutes ago telling me you were sick and asking if I’d fill in for you tonight.”

Jimmy said, “That’s impossible. Barbara’s visiting her mom in Seattle this week. Someone must be playing a joke on you.”

Mechanically, Erin hung up the phone.

Erin felt like she was drowning. That shark Babbage had to have planned this whole thing. She realized now that Babbage had allowed her to grab the phone away. He knew all along. She had to call Fitzgerald back before Babbage took the phone again. Frantically, she punched in the number, hoping she hadn’t misdialed. She looked up at Babbage, expecting him to yank the phone from her hands, but he just watched her.

The phone rang. Finally she heard Fitz’s voice. “Fitz, I was set up. They didn’t know anything about me working tonight. What am I going to do?”

“Where’s Babbage now?” Fitz’s voice was calm.

“Right here next to me. I’m still in the car.”

“Hand the phone to him,” Fitzgerald said. “If I don’t get a chance to talk to you after this, try not to panic. I’ll find out where you are, and as soon as I hang up, I’ll drive out to meet you.”

Erin handed the phone to Babbage. “He wants to speak to you.”

Babbage took the phone, continuing to watch Erin. She glared back at him. Tears of anger and helplessness rolled down her cheeks.

F
itzgerald’s mind was racing
. Of course Babbage had set Erin up. And if that maggot was capable of going to this length, he was capable of anything. He had to be stopped, but how? Fitzgerald’s first thought was to call Captain Becker. But without proof, he knew that Becker would never intervene. And without intervention, Babbage would arrest Erin and she’d be completely at his mercy.

Somehow, some way, Fitzgerald could never let that happen. He’d start with reason. If that didn’t work, goddammit, he’d call Becker and, by Christ, make him intervene.

“Babbage?”

“I’m listening,” Babbage replied, evenly.

“I know how you feel about Erin, and maybe you have a right to be pissed. But surely you must see how bad this could look for you. She makes a complaint against you, and you just happen to arrest her. I don’t want to get Captain Becker involved in this, but I will. Tell you what. Give her a break. I’d be glad to come and pick her up. I’ll even arrange for a tow of her car. She called me before she left her apartment tonight. I told her it would be okay to drive, and I stand behind my word.”

“You’d drive all the way out here to pick her up and arrange a tow?” Babbage paused, and then said, “You really have it bad for this woman. What, are you fucking her?”

Fitzgerald’s hand tightened on the phone.
Control
, he thought. He forced himself to be calm again. “I’m not fucking her, whether or not you believe that. But it’s in your best interest to give her a break. How about it? I’d owe you one.”

“You bet your ass you’d owe me one.” Silence, briefly. Then, “Okay. We’re on Getty Center Drive, just south of the off-ramp to the 405. I’ll have her cuffed and sitting in the back of the patrol car. I wait forty-five minutes, exactly. If you’re not here by then, I’m taking her to the station and booking her.”

“I’ll be there. Don’t leave.”

Fitzgerald rushed out the door, apprehensive but hoping that maybe everything would be okay.

Half an hour later, Fitzgerald arrived. Babbage was out of the car, his hand-held radio in his left hand as he directed a tow truck to the front of Erin’s car. The truck was backing up, positioning itself for the tow. Babbage’s car was behind Erin’s. Fitzgerald parked his car behind the patrol car and got out. He could see Erin in the back seat of the police car. Her head was bowed. Fitzgerald started toward her, to tell her that things were going to be okay, but Babbage must have seen him arrive and walked over quickly.

“Well, well, Fitzgerald,” he said. “True to your word, you’re here in just …”—Babbage looked at his watch—“… thirty-two minutes. You must have dropped everything. And you’re telling me you’re not sleeping with this woman?”

“I see you’ve got the tow truck all squared away,” Fitzgerald said. “You can release Erin to me. I’ll see that she gets home okay.”

“Just a minute. Let’s get something straight. I stopped Erin Collins when I caught her driving illegally. You claim you told her it was all right, and that I should release her to you. What the hell do I put in my report on this thing?”

“Does dispatch know you made the stop?” Fitzgerald asked.

“Of course. You don’t think I’d pull a suspect over without checking in with dispatch first, do you?” Babbage’s tone was sarcastic.

Fitzgerald grimaced, furious at his dilemma. No doubt Babbage was planning something. Reporting in to dispatch would mean that there would be a record that he stopped Erin. There would have to be an incident report, and Babbage would have to explain why he let Erin go.

He made a quick decision. “Put in your incident report that she was legitimately going to work to fill in for a sick colleague.”

“And just what are you going to do for me to justify my lying in my report? It better be good.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Babbage grinned. “You stupid son of a bitch.” Then he put his hand-held radio up to his mouth and spoke. “Did you get that, Lieutenant?”

“It’s all on tape, Babbage,” a voice said from the radio. “Tell Fitzgerald to report to Captain Becker tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred. Book the female and see me at oh-three-thirty hours. I’ll take responsibility for approving the crime report.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant. I’ll be there at oh-three-thirty. Babbage out.” Babbage walked to his patrol vehicle and placed the hand-held in the front seat. He turned to Fitzgerald, still grinning. “You dumb bastard. I pulled the same fucking trick on you that you tried to pull on me. You heard the lieutenant. Be in Captain Becker’s office tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred.”

Babbage got into his vehicle and drove off slowly, waiting for an opportunity to merge with freeway traffic. Fitzgerald stood there, watching the patrol vehicle leave with Erin in the back, handcuffed. She turned, desperation in her eyes—then she was gone. Fitzgerald watched the tow truck drive off with Erin’s car.