Sins of the Fathers (39 page)

“I don’t reveal names, that’s part of the trust factor. What I want to know, Leon, is whether you’re turning up the flame on the good guys a little too high. The DA has enough trouble cooking the collective goose of the criminal enterprise. He shouldn’t be increasing the heat on the home team.”

Tread carefully here
. George Mahoney was a definite power in city politics. Get on his bad side and watch the tide turn in a close election. “Thanks for the call.”

“Then I take it I’ve been of some help to you, Leon?”

“Always helpful to talk to the good citizens of L.A.”

Mahoney laughed. “You are going to be great in that office, Leon. Just great.”

After hanging up, Colby sat in silence for several minutes, mulling over what he knew about George Mahoney. Ex-cop. Now active for victims’ rights. His group,VOICe, was gaining influence.

And before that?

Colby thought about doing a little Internet search on Mahoney, see what came up. He’d start with the
L.A. Times
, maybe expand via the LexisNexis database.

Then he asked himself why. He had things well in hand. Mahoney was on his side, that much was plain. He could use Mahoney in his corner during the campaign.

But unease needled him, pricked at his insides. And he found himself wondering what his father would counsel him to do.

3.

“No way,” Roxy said.

“He had that long hair, that goatee,” Lindy replied.

“Why would
Travis
be following us?”

“You tell me.” They stayed in front of the police station. The two uniforms who had walked out the front doors apparently decided Roxy would not run them down and were proceeding slowly toward the parking lot.

“It’s too weird,” Roxy said.

“Follow him then.”

“What?”

“Go!”

Roxy shifted the car and backed out. Lindy heard the squeal of rubber. And saw the two policemen look at them again.

Roxy burst onto Vanowen, headed east. A car screeched behind them, the driver laying heavy on the horn.

“Sorry,” Roxy said. She shifted, put foot to pedal, and burned more rubber.

“Easy!” Lindy held on to the dashboard with both hands.

“You want me to go or not?”

“Go!”

The blue car was well ahead of them, past the Wilbur intersection, cruising by the YMCA.

“Make this light,” Lindy said, as the red
Don
’
t Walk
sign stopped flashing. The streetlight turned yellow. Roxy gunned it. The light turned red just before she reached the intersection. She sped through as a chorus of furious car horns protested.

“How was that?” Roxy smiled.

“He’s at Reseda.”

The blue car was completing a left turn at Reseda Boulevard, at least half a mile ahead. Lindy caught a look at the speedometer. Roxy was doing fifty, a healthy fifteen above the speed limit. But this was the Valley after all, where thousands of drag racing kids did twice that.

Some justification.

The light turned red when they reached Reseda. They sat in the left-turn lane behind a black pickup.

“The slowest light in the world!” Lindy said.

“Actually, Orange County is much slower. I remember—”

“Go!”

The light turned green, but cross traffic held them up. Finally Roxy shot up Reseda, past a string of fast-food joints—Subway, Jack in the Box, Arby’s. Ahead, Lindy thought she saw the blue car turn right on Sherman Way.

“There’s a string of stoplights up there,” Lindy said. “He may have made a mistake.”

Roxy gave the car an extra dose of gas. It seemed to Lindy that they were driving through mud. Every moment out of sight gave the blue car an opportunity to cut down a side street.

Approaching the corner, Lindy saw the light about to change to green. “Don’t slow down!”

Roxy slammed on the brakes.

Lindy jerked forward. Her seat belt locked and kept her from putting her head through the windshield. Her heart made a vertical leap to her throat. The smell of burning rubber and scorched brake fluid filled her nostrils.

“What’re you—” Lindy stopped when she saw what had caused the stop. A large Hispanic woman was pushing a baby stroller in the crosswalk.

The woman wagged her finger at Roxy and said something hot and Spanish.

“This is nuts!” Roxy was breathing like she’d seen death too close.

“Keep going!”

“You’re crazy.”

“He’s getting away.”

“Let him!”

“What’s wrong with you?”

A siren answered her question. Lindy saw the cop car in the side-view mirror, the red and blue lights flashing.

“Great!” Roxy said.“We’re Thelma and Louise now. Happy?”

Lindy recognized them as the officers from the station. They must have hunted them down after Roxy’s less-than-smooth exit from the driveway.

“Relax now,” Lindy said. “Let me do the talking.”

4.

Iron John Sherman glared at Leon Colby from the door of his Hancock Park home. “What’re you doing here? I don’t recall your being invited—”

“This can’t wait,” Colby said.

“I have guests—”

“Five minutes.”

Sherman sighed, took a sip of his drink, and walked past Colby. Ice clinked in Sherman’s glass as he led Colby halfway down the walk. “I’m schmoozing, Leon. It’s a fine art and one you need to get good at. Coming to somebody’s house unannounced is not the way to do it.”

“I didn’t want to use the phone.”

“That’s odd. Sort of
All the President
’
s Men
by way of South Central.”

“What do you know about George Mahoney and VOICe?”

“Good group to have on your side.”

“What do you know about
him
?”

Sherman shrugged. “Not much. Active in the community. Something of a ladies’ man, I hear.”

“Did you know he used to be a cop?”

“I think I may have read that somewhere.”

“Do you know where he was assigned before he left the force?”

“Leon, get to the point.”

“Rampart.”

Sherman did not flinch. Instead he took another drink. Then he said, “He got out before the scandal hit.”

“I thought you didn’t know much about him.”

In the dim light from the windows, Colby saw Iron John Sherman smile. “Leon, you are going to make it big. You saw right through me. I held back. That’s another thing a great prosecutor does. Holds back as much as he can from the other side, or they just might use it in ways that will be, say, harmful.”

“You think I’m going to use it that way?”

“Not if you’re the man I think you are, Leon. I don’t think you would, because you need me in your corner. I know that.” Sherman smiled. “I don’t pick dumb people to back.”

Colby felt the coolness of the words as he would a stiff breeze. “I just don’t like being unaware of things I should be aware of.”

“Who needs awareness? You’re whacking at Lindy Field and Everett Woodard like they were piñatas. Just keep whacking.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Sherman stared at him. “What’s that mean, Leon?”

“I want the truth.”

“Will you just can that cheap patter? Please, Leon? Use that in a campaign speech, but don’t let’s get all Mother Teresa here. You have a job to do. Finish it and move on. Forget about George Mahoney—”

“And a police officer named Glenn.”

“You’ve never had trouble with the police before. Why start now?”

“I’m a prosecutor. You’re the DA. We’re the ones keeping the system balanced between—”

“Balanced?” Sherman spat the word. “Don’t go back to law-school fantasies, Leon. You think it’s balanced that every time a cop sneezes funny an Internal Affairs suit knocks on his door? You think it’s balanced the city council, with their coffee and croissants, gets to hold the chief’s head in a vice? It’s not a balancing act out there, Leon, and you know what? The people don’t want it to be. They want the cops to win. They’re tired of gangs and graffiti and drugs and people sleeping on the sidewalks. So don’t ever get it in your head that balance is what this system, or your job, is about.”

A woman stuck her head out the front door. “Jonathan? What’s going on?”

Sherman turned. “Office matter. I’ll be right in.”

“We’re going to play Balderdash.”

“I said I’ll be right there.”

The door closed. Sherman said, “Leon, you’ll have plenty of time to find out about everything. I’ll brief you myself before you take over. But my advice to you is don’t dig any deeper. I’ve learned that what I don’t know about what happens on the street with certain parties doesn’t hurt me one bit.”

Colby shook his head.

“Welcome to politics, Leon. There’s plenty not to like.” Sherman poked Colby’s arm with his finger. “The secret is not to let it get the better of you. Because if it does, things happen.”

“Things?”

“You’re not the DA yet. You’re on the fifty-yard line, heading for the end zone. If you make it, you have a great career ahead of you. But if you trip, or get tackled . . .” Sherman shrugged his shoulders. “Now, I’ve got to go play some Balderdash,” Sherman said. “Learn to do the same, Leon.”

5.

“I’ve been concerned about you,” George Mahoney said. “I just wanted to stop by to see if there was anything I could do.”

Mona shifted in her chair. Mahoney had made a special trip out to her house, at night. It was a caring thing for him to do, but she did not want him to see her this way. She knew she looked terrible. Lack of sleep and stomach pains were wreaking havoc on her face and body.

Especially tonight. She’d started having visions of Matthew, seeing his face everywhere, like he needed her.

“Is the killer going to get off?” Mona said, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “Are they going to say he was insane?”

“No,” Mahoney said, his voice reassuring. He was sitting on the sofa next to her, his eyes full of compassion and concern. “If I can read the jury, I don’t think they’re going to go that way. Colby’s doing a good job.”

“They can’t let him go, they can’t.”

Mahoney put his hand on her knee. “Don’t worry. I’m here. Trust me and let me help.”

Could he help? “I think I need to get a little rest. I haven’t been very good for VOICe this past week.”

“It’s perfectly understandable to go through times like this,” Mahoney said softly. “It happens all the time.”

“It does?”

“Sure. Like you, many people jump into the group as a way to cope with loss. It can help, but it’s not the whole answer. If I’ve misled you in that regard—”

“Oh no.”

“—in any way, I apologize. If you feel you have to step back for a time, no harm done.”

“No, no. I just don’t know what to do next.” It was as true a statement as she’d ever made. “But I have to do
something.
”

“First things first,” Mahoney said. “Your husband?”

How much did he know? “We’re divorcing.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Mona shook her head. “It’s better that way.”

“Sure, sure. I just want you to know that this too is common. I went through a divorce myself at a particularly stressful time.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Mahoney nodded.“I used to be a cop, as you know. Back in ’94 my daughter was sixteen, and she fell into some bad company at school. My wife and I, I guess we were in denial. Anyway, at a party she was drinking pretty heavily. Her boyfriend gave her some pills, and the mix killed her.”

“Oh . . .”

“We tried to get the DA to prosecute for murder or manslaughter or something. But they said my daughter’s conduct would make it impossible to get a conviction. Can you believe that?”

Mona shook her head.

“Anyway, the stress of this on my marriage, plus my job, took its toll. The divorce happened.” He paused. “But every cloud has that silver lining, they say. Through that time I met Benni, and we were even together for a while.”

“You’re not now?”

“Not romantically. We’re still great friends. And we started VOICe. That’s our legacy. So you see what I’m saying?”

No, she didn’t see anything. Her head was starting to ache. “I just want this to be over. Oh God, when will it be over?”

Mahoney slipped off the sofa and knelt by her. “It will be over soon, and then you’ll go on.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “You’ll go on with VOICe, because you need us, and I need you.”

She swept some cobwebs out of her brain, but it left only trickling dust. Did he say
I need you
?

“Thank you,” she said.

“No, thank you. For your passion for justice.” Mahoney pulled her toward him, pulled her head to his chest.