“It might be your only option, but it’s not mine.”
Santos broke off eye contact. “You’re looking at a year of county jail time on this battery. Assaulting a police officer is a felony. We can have your license pulled.”
I stared at him. “So now you’re going to threaten me? Oh, great. I love that. Well, guess what? I’m not going to do your dirty work. I don’t give a shit about Raymond Maldonado.” I could feel the heat flash through my frame. “I hate to be bullied and I don’t relish being beaten with a stick as the motivation for my behavior. You want a performance out of me, you better start someplace else.”
Santos apparently intended to pursue the point, but Dolan made an impatient gesture, silencing him. “Let’s just discuss it before you say anything.”
“The answer’s no.”
Again, the two men exchanged a look I couldn’t quite read. It seemed clear they were working every angle in the book, which was laughable in my view because I wasn’t going to yield.
Dolan sat forward in his chair and his voice dropped a notch. “One more thing you should know and then you can do anything you want. Your friend Parnell Perkins was one of Raymond’s employees. We think Raymond killed him, but we don’t have any proof.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Perkins’s real name was Darryl Weaver. He was working for an insurance company down in Compton. Raymond was running all his claims through Weaver until the two had a falling-out. Weaver left Los Angeles and moved up here, changed his name, and went to work for California Fidelity.”
Suddenly I understood why he’d passed Bibianna’s file on to Mary Bellflower. He probably assumed that Raymond and Bibianna were back together, that Raymond would be on his trail if he didn’t do something quick. The sight of Bibianna’s name must have made his heart stop. …
Santos came to life again, taking up the thread. “He came to us about a month ago and offered to cooperate. After he was killed, Santa Teresa Police Department ran the prints and notified us, which is why I’m here.”
“That’s why you buried the homicide investigation,” I said, “to protect the larger one.”
“That’s right,” Dolan replied. “We can’t afford to have Raymond find out what we’re up to. We haven’t dropped the investigation, we’re just pursuing it quietly.”
The room was suddenly still. They let the silence accumulate. I took my time, stalling long enough to consider the implications. A little voice inside sang, Don’t do it. Don’t do it. “What’s the timetable?” I said cautiously. I was hooked and they knew it.
Dolan looked at Santos. “Tight. Half a day at best.”
“What are you really asking me to do?”
“Three things. Find the leak. Find out where the files are, and find us proof that Raymond killed your buddy.”
Santos chimed in again, the two of them working me like sheepdogs. “You just tell us what you need. We’ll give you anything you want.”
Dolan said, “The object is to get yourself recruited. You can take it from there, with or without Bibianna’s cooperation.”
I thought it over briefly, all the time wondering at the wisdom of my consenting. I could feel my mental processes kick in despite the lingering misgivings. “If you’re talking about staged accidents … it seems like it’d be smart to have a dummy policy in the name of Hannah Moore.”
“Could you arrange that through CF?” Dolan asked.
“I could, but it’d be better if it came from you. You’d have to clear it with Mac Voorhies and it’d probably still have to go through channels.”
“The fewer people who know the better, and we have to work fast,” Dolan said.
“Is that going to present a problem?” Santos asked me.
I said, “I think CF would be willing to cooperate.”
“We’ll ask you to wear a wire,” Santos said. “We can get a tech here by nine this morning and get a unit on you then.”
“Won’t Raymond and his cronies search me?”
Santos said, “I doubt it, but if they do, we’ll be in earshot, don’t forget.”
Dolan seemed to sense I wasn’t comforted. “If you’re wired, we can have a car full of plainclothes parked half a block away. We want you to have all the protection you can get. This may be the best opportunity we have to get at these folks and we don’t want to blow it. Any questions?”
“I’m sure I’ll think of some.”
Santos said, “We’ll have another chance to brief you. Right now, we’re going to put you back in with Bibianna. Morning comes, we’ll get the two of you bailed out. Take the credit yourself. It’s good to have the woman in your debt. We’ll delay your release until the wire tech comes in.”
“Won’t she be suspicious if she’s out and I’m not?”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to cover,” Dolan said dryly. “In the meantime, make arrangements to connect with her later in the day.”
“What if Raymond shows up before then?”
“We’ll think of something else. Oh, and while we’re on the subject …” Dolan jotted down a special telephone number where he could be reached at any hour. I tucked the slip of paper in my sock. He glanced at his watch and then got up as a signal to end the meeting.
I got to my feet. Santos and I shook hands. “What time is it?” I asked.
“Two minutes after four.”
“I’m too old to be up at this hour,” I said, and then glanced at Dolan. “Can you do me a favor? I left my black leather jacket in the restaurant and my VW’s still parked in the Meat Locker side lot. I probably can’t get over there until this afternoon. Could you ask about the jacket and warn the meter maid? I don’t want to get towed or ticketed.”
“Will do. You don’t want to screw around with those meter gals,” Dolan said. He flashed a smile and then held out his hand to me. “Thanks.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
The female corrections officer took me back to the drunk tank and locked me in. I felt nearly sick with fatigue, my brain buzzing from the coffee, body dragging from the lack of sleep. I moved over to my mattress and sank down gratefully, curling up on my side with my face turned toward the others. Bibianna was awake, her eyes pinned on me suspiciously. “Where have you been?”
“The homicide detective had some questions about the shooting.”
“Has Dawna been picked up?”
“She’s in the hospital at the moment with superficial injuries. Tale’s here on the men’s side. They’re talking about charging him with murder, but I don’t see how they can. Manslaughter’s more like it.”
“Bastards.”
“He’ll survive.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Bibianna seemed on the verge of drifting back to sleep.
I hesitated briefly, then held my nose and plunged right in. “By the way, while I was out there I put a call through to my bail bondsman, who’s posting bail for both of us. He’ll be over here at eight.”
Her eyes flew open. “You’re bailing me out, too? Why would you do that? I don’t have no kind of money like that. You’re talkin’ five hundred bucks!”
“So you can owe me. Don’t sweat it.”
Her look was puzzled. “But why now? How come you didn’t do that in the first place?”
“I just remembered I had money in a savings account. My car’s in the shop. I was saving to get the tranny fixed. What the hell. Let it sit. It’s not doing me any good here.”
She hadn’t bought my story yet. “I can’t believe you’d do that.”
The skinny woman piped up from the mattress in an aggravated tone of voice. “What’s the matter with you, crazy? Take the money and shut your mouth.”
Bibianna flicked a look at the woman and smiled in spite of herself. She studied me for a moment and then murmured a “Thank you.” Her eyes closed again. She turned over on her stomach and tucked her arms under her for warmth. Within minutes, she’d dozed off.
The air in the cell was permeated with the scent of sleeping bodies: damp socks, stale breath, unwashed hair. I had thought my cellmates might waken with my return, but no one else stirred. The light in the corridor shone dimly. The quiet became absolute. On the floor, I could still see the numerology grid Bibianna’d drawn for me with spit. Movement and change. Well, now wasn’t that the truth?
11
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT was the result of a bureaucratic error for which responsibility was never assigned. The paperwork came down at six and Bibianna and I were mustered out. Just like that. There was no word from Dolan and Santos, no sign of the tech who was supposed to fit me with a wire. I kept waiting for the jail officer to call me back, take me aside under some pretext or other for the promised briefing. What was the deal here? Had there been a change of plans? For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a reason to delay my release. I’d just have to play the situation as it came to me. I was carrying my personal property, still sealed in the clear plastic pouch. They’d returned our shoes, belts, and other potentially death dealing items, like tampons. I was feeling vile, but the first breath of fresh air restored my good spirits to some extent. After a mere four hours in the slammer, the freedom had a giddiness attached to it.