Grant of Immunity (28 page)

He buried them in a shallow grave under the shade of a eucalyptus tree.

T
he Sybil Brand Institute
was located on City Terrace Drive in East Los Angeles. Opened in 1963, the institution housed female inmates exclusively. Babbage went to the inmate reception center. Without a badge, he was treated like any other member of the public, and told to wait outside. Doris Reynolds would be released as soon as she had completed her exit processing. Babbage went back to his truck and waited, seething.

Thirty-five minutes later, Reynolds walked out of an unmarked door to the right of the public entrance. Her clothes were badly wrinkled. She looked like she hadn’t had much sleep.

“Thanks for picking me up, Jake,” Reynolds said as she got in the truck. He noticed that she had a jailhouse smell.

As he drove away, she looked at herself in the visor mirror and shook her head. “I never thought Fields would have the balls to do what he did. He sure as hell would never have done it if he were an L.A. County judge.”

Babbage said nothing. He drove out to the I-10, entered westbound, heading for the Hollywood Freeway and the Civic Center. The freeway was jammed at the Civic Center, and he worried it might take over an hour to reach Reynolds’s house.

“Sybil Brand was way worse than I expected,” she was saying, oblivious to his silence. “Even though I got placed in a separate lockup from the rest of the inmates and treated pretty well by the jailers, it was disgusting in the cell. It stunk of piss and shit and was filthy. I don’t ever want to go back there.”

Finally they reached the Ventura Freeway. Reynolds continued to babble, interspersing directions to her home. After a while, she stopped talking and they rode in silence.

Doris Reynolds lived with her five cats in a three-bedroom house in the upscale neighborhood of Encino Hills, above Ventura Boulevard. After driving for a time along winding tree-lined streets, Reynolds directed him to her house—a one-story, pale-yellow residence surrounded by a well-manicured lawn and brick walkway punctuated by multicolored blooming poinsettias. Babbage pulled into her driveway. Reynolds got out of the truck. “Come in and have a cup of coffee. I need to take a shower and clean up, if you don’t mind waiting for me.”

“Fine,” Babbage said.

The house’s entry was well lit, a skylight directly above the hall entrance. The living room was to his right, a bedroom to his left. Reynolds walked into the bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable, Jake. The kitchen is over there. Fix us some coffee. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She closed the bedroom door. Babbage walked into the white-carpeted living room with white French-provincial furniture, and embroidered pillows adorning the couches and chairs. There were ceramic figures—shepherds with sheep and dogs—on the mantle above the fireplace. Babbage walked into the kitchen, found the coffee and coffeemaker. While the coffee was brewing, he went out to his truck and retrieved a black grip that he’d packed before leaving to pick up Reynolds. It contained, among other things, his ten-inch marine Bowie knife. He returned to the living room and sat on a couch, placing the grip on the floor behind it.

Two Siamese cats had been sleeping on a white armchair across from the couch, but sensed him immediately and scampered away. There was a oval, white coffee table with a large book of newspaper clippings. Babbage leafed through the book. The clippings were all articles about Reynolds and her cases. Next to the book of clippings were several photos of cats.

Twenty minutes later, Reynolds walked out of the bedroom. She was wearing a terrycloth robe. Her hair was damp. She sat down on the couch near him. She picked up her waiting cup of coffee. “Good. Black and strong. Just the way I like it.”

Babbage did not reply.

“Can you believe that son of a bitch granting the motion to dismiss?” Reynolds said. “That’s why I went berserk. What a miscarriage of justice.”

Babbage shrugged.

She smiled at him. “A lot of men are intimidated by me, Jake. But I can tell that you’re not.”

She moved closer, and her robe fell open—revealing, as he suspected, that she wore nothing underneath. He glanced at her body. It wasn’t bad.

But as she moved closer to him, Babbage felt suddenly awkward. The fucking bitch was being way too pushy. For an instant, he couldn’t breathe. When she put her hand on his leg, he shoved her hand away. He decided it was time to begin.

He slapped her across the face.

The force of the blow knocked her off the couch. Reynolds lay on the floor, robe open, tits and cunt showing. She pressed a hand against the side of her face, stunned. He could read the fear in her eyes. “Why?” she screamed. She was crying.

“Shut up,” he said.

She started to get up, to close her robe, but he reached down with his left hand, grabbed her arm, and pulled it up and behind her, forcing her to her feet. He reached around with his right hand, across her neck, holding her shoulder. He pulled her arm up behind her and tightened his own arm across her neck, cutting off her air.

“Jake … you’re hurting me …”

He increased the pressure. This was more like it. He hoped she could feel how excited her terror was making him.

“Please … please, don’t hurt me …” Her lip was bleeding from his slap. “I’m … I’m sorry …” Her voice was breaking. “I didn’t mean anything by it … Jake …” She tried to smile. “You don’t need to force me. I’ll do whatever you want. Then you can leave. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“I’m not ready to leave, Doris. I like you. I just don’t like being rushed.”

“If you’ll just let me go, I’ll do anything you ask. I won’t rush you, I promise.”

He smiled. “Okay. I’ll let you go. But I do want you to do something for me in return. Something very simple.”

“Anything, Jake. Anything.”

Another smile. “I want you to make a phone call.”

D
aniel Hart was sitting
at his desk in his study at home, looking through mail that had accumulated during the trial. Since this whole Babbage incident had begun, Hart had felt unable to do anything. Now that the trial was over, he needed to try to return to his life’s routine.

It was a struggle. He thought he ought to feel good having survived the ordeal, but he felt no relief. The entire trial had caused him to relive that night of nineteen years ago, and his guilt at not having saved Sarah festered like an open wound. It was one of the cruelties of life—some mistakes from the past are irreversible, and the fact that he was only a teenager at the time was no excuse. Yes, he avoided a lifetime in prison, but without redemption, he was trapped in the prison of his mind. Not to mention that Babbage, the source of his misery, was not held accountable for Sarah’s death and the suffering he’d caused her children.

True, the case against him had been dismissed, the jury sent home, and he no longer faced the prospect of life in prison. And also true, it was likely (but not guaranteed) that he would be able to resume his judgeship. He still had to face the election and who knows what effect this case would have on that.

But the whole series of events that began with seeing Babbage that morning two months ago had changed everything. There was much more at stake than whether or not he would go to prison. The question in his mind was whether he could allow Babbage to continue to manipulate him. Somehow he had to make Babbage accountable for his actions.

The phone rang. Reflexively, without thought, Hart answered it.

“Judge Hart? This is Doris Reynolds. I need to see you as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”

Doris’s voice sounded a bit shrill to him, her stress obvious. “Can you tell me what it’s about?” he asked.

“Not over the phone. But it’s very important. Are you free to meet me now?”

Perhaps she’d been able to confirm that Babbage had lied, and his immunity was being revoked. Hart’s curiosity was aroused. “All right, Doris, we can meet. Come by my courtroom after Christmas—we can talk then.”

“I’m afraid that what I have to tell you can’t wait.”

“It will have to,” Hart said.

“You don’t understand.” Doris’s voice broke. “Judge Hart …”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but she sounded like she was crying.

“It’s absolutely critical that I see you now. Please,” she pleaded.

Hart considered. “Can’t you tell me more?”

“I can tell you that it concerns Babbage, and only you can help.”

“Okay,” he said. “When and where would you like to meet?”

“My house. Right away, if you can. I’ll give you the address.”

Forty-five minutes later, Hart arrived at Doris’s. There was a pickup truck in the driveway that Hart did not recognize. Doris drove a sedan. Was there someone here with her? He knocked on her front door. She was dressed in a terrycloth robe when she opened the door. The side of her face was bruised, and her lip was crusted with dried blood.

He blinked. “What happened to you? Are you all right?”

She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Please come inside.”

Hart entered. She closed the door behind him.

“I’m so sorry—” she said.

The next thing Hart knew, he was on the floor, stunned and groggy from a blow to the back of his head. Then came another blow, and everything went black.

A
t 5 a.m.
, Fitz got up and went for his daily jog. As always, running in the crisp morning air cleared his brain and invigorated him. He made up his mind. Worrying was nonsense. If anyone could take care of herself, Doris Reynolds could. Besides, he had enough problems of his own to worry about.

At noon, Fitz was at his desk in Parker Center, going through the motions of work. The trial and his suspension had taken him away from too many regular assignments, and he was getting ready for tomorrow’s meeting with Captain Becker to talk about what he could do until his Board of Rights hearing was resolved. It was then that the Parker Center lobby receptionist called to tell him that he had a visitor. A Ms. Erin Collins.

“I’ll be right there,” Fitz said.

He went down to the reception area at the Los Angeles Street entrance. The lobby’s large glass windows created a bright, cheerful atmosphere. A huge Christmas tree was to the right of the reception area with a bin labeled “Toys for Tots” at the foot of the tree. High school kids had decorated the tree two weeks ago. Although cool, it was a sunny day, typical of Los Angeles in December. Erin was standing at the reception counter, wearing a visitor’s badge.

As Fitz walked into the lobby, Erin came up, hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek. “I thought I’d surprise you and take you out to lunch. It’s my day off.” She was wearing jeans and an oversized wool sweater, and Fitz couldn’t help feeling proud, looking at her. She had become a confident, self-assured woman.

They walked to the Teriyaki Bowl in Little Tokyo
.
It was a small, narrow place, wedged between a Japanese bookstore and an office building, holding only a counter with stools to the right and a row of booths to the left. They sat in the last empty booth. Menus were propped between salt and pepper shakers. A waiter brought a teapot and two cups.

“Sean called and filled me in on what happened yesterday,” Erin said. “I wish I could have been there, but Sean said that I might have to testify, so I couldn’t be in the courtroom during the trial. I’m not surprised about Judge Hart. But Doris Reynolds in jail? Isn’t that unusual?”

Fitz nodded. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a prosecutor remanded.”

Erin took a deep breath. “Babbage is the real killer. I’m sure of it. That bastard is capable of anything, as far as I’m concerned.”

Fitz said, “The main thing is that you can’t give him the opportunity to mess around with you again.”

Erin glanced at her menu, put it down. “Well, he certainly hasn’t bothered me lately. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten about me.”

It’s not like Babbage to forget to get even
, Fitz thought.

A waiter came by, brought water, and took their orders. Erin took a sip of her water. “Maybe he’s found himself another victim.”

Fitz then told her about Reynolds asking Babbage for a ride back from the jail. He described the events, including his conversation with Reynolds. “I talked to Captain Becker about my worries, and Becker told me to stay out of it. That it was none of my business and how Reynolds was an adult and could take care of herself.”

“Captain Becker’s probably right,” Erin said. “But how could Doris be so stupid? There’s no way I’d ever let myself be alone with that bastard.” She shuddered. “I still wake up nights wondering what would have happened if you hadn’t come to my rescue.”

The waiter brought their food and more hot tea. Fitz watched Erin eat her sashimi, thinking that he never could understand what prompted people to eat raw fish. His own plate of teriyaki chicken was steaming. As Erin poured a cup of tea for herself and Fitz, she said, “Maybe you should go check on Doris to see if everything is okay.”

Fitz took a sip of tea, careful not to scald his tongue. “Have you forgotten this is the woman who wanted to put you in jail?”

Erin considered. “She’s not so bad. I remember the talk we had in the courthouse bathroom. She wished me luck and seemed genuinely happy I was given another chance.” Erin took a breath and sighed. “I think I understand her. She can’t stand to lose—can’t bear it. Maybe she needs to be kick-ass abrasive and out-of-control tenacious to make her way in a man’s world.”

Fitz shook his head and didn’t reply. He’d had enough of Reynolds and didn’t care what drove her.

They continued to eat in silence. “You don’t think that Babbage would do anything if he found himself alone with her, do you?” Erin asked.

“I really can’t figure the woman out,” Fitz said. “With all she knows about him and what he did with you, how can she possibly trust him?”

Erin stared into space for a minute, a far-off look in her eyes. “Looking at my past, God knows I’ve made some pretty terrible choices. Disastrous choices.” She turned to Fitz. “Answer my question. Is Doris in any danger?”

“I don’t trust Babbage any more than you do. But he’s too smart to try anything with her.”

Erin scowled, then shook her head. “Fitz, you have to drive out there and find out for yourself.”

He frowned. “I can’t do that. First of all, I’ve been away from my desk for weeks. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork. But more importantly, Captain Becker ordered me to stay out of it. There’s no way he’ll let me go.”

“Then I’ll go by myself.”

“You can’t do that, either. Remember? You still have that driving restriction on your license. Babbage is just itching for the chance to get your probation revoked again. Besides, what could you do if something was wrong?”

Erin thought for a moment. “Either you go or I’ll go. That’s all there is to it.”

“Erin, I’m sure she’s fine.”

“I’m going.” She got up to leave.

“Hold it,” Fitz said, sighing. “All right. You win. I’ll go.”

“You shouldn’t go alone. Why don’t you ask Captain Becker to get someone to go with you?”

“Captain Becker ordered me to mind my own business. If there’s a problem, I can always radio for backup. Besides, it’s probably nothing. Doris herself will likely chew my ass for bothering her.”

“Then, let me go with you. If there’s a problem, I can call for help on my cell phone.”

Fitz considered. If he told Becker that he was taking Erin home, Becker would probably approve. If he went to Reynolds’s house with a civilian with him, it would look less like an official police visit. And if Becker ever found out the truth, Fitz could always say that he was humoring Erin. Erin could wait in the car, out of view of Reynolds’s house, and if any problem did occur, she could call Becker immediately.

“Okay,” Fitz said. “Let’s go.”