Jeff Sherratt - Detour to Murder

A tall man in a windbreaker turned and studied me for a moment. He walked over slowly. Before he could say anything I told him, “I represent Alexander Roberts. What have you done with him?”

He remained silent for a moment and from the look on his face I knew it was bad news. “I’m Sgt. Coleman,” he said. “Roberts tried to escape. Must’ve heard us coming. Tried to beat it out the back of the hotel. My officer said he was armed. There was a shooting…”

“A shooting? What do you mean a shooting?”

But I knew what he meant: Al Roberts had been shot. I turned quickly to Kathie, who still sat in the car. Then I looked back at the cop. I heard a car door slam, and Kathie came running. She must’ve seen the look on my face and realized that something bad had happened.

The cop droned on about how the shooting was justified. “Roberts had been warned. He didn’t stop. He was running down the beach, and when he turned he had a gun in his hand. My officer had no choice-”

“What happened?” Kathie, now at my side, screamed.

“Roberts has been shot,” I told her. “They say he had a gun.”

“It happened about an hour ago, ma’am. They’ve taken him to Hoag.”

“How bad is he?”

“Can’t say, but when they took him away he didn’t look too good.”

Kathie tugged on my jacket sleeve. “Jimmy, let’s go!”

“Wait, Kathie. One second.” I turned back to the cop. “What kind of gun did he have? Where is it?”

If Roberts had a gun and it turned out to be the same one that had been used to kill Ida Hathaway, then his murder trial would be lost before it even began. He'd be convicted, and the only thing I could do for him would be to plead with the judge for mercy at the time of sentencing.

“We…uh, haven't found it yet.”

“What? What kind of horseshit is that? Either he had a gun or he didn't.”

“When he was hit he kept running. He ran behind some rocks at the curve in the shoreline. He was out of sight of the officer for a few moments. He could have tossed the gun in the ocean or buried it somewhere. When the officer caught up with Roberts, he was down, unconscious and bleeding-”

He stopped in midsentence. An urgent call came over the police radio in his car. With the door open, Sgt. Coleman grabbed his mike. I could hear both sides of the transmission.

“Sarge, the hospital called. If you want to interview Roberts, head on over to Hoag pronto . He’s coming out of surgery now.”

Coleman replied, “On my way.”

Hearing the news about Roberts gave me chills, but I still had a job to do. “Hold it. Nobody talks to my client without me being there.”

“I take my orders from the lieutenant. He says interview him, that’s what I do. You got a problem with that, talk to the brass when we get to the hospital.”

“I want to see him, right now!” Kathie said.

“Then follow me. I’ll get us there fast.”

Kathie and I ran to the Mercedes. “I’ll drive,” I said. “Used to be a cop. We’re gonna be moving. He’ll be running code three, red lights and siren.”

Kathie nodded. “Keys are in it.”

Sgt. George Coleman, driving a black-and-white with sirens blaring, led the way north to the hospital. With Kathie hanging on for dear life in the passenger seat, we followed in his wake. Upscale restaurants, art galleries, and yacht brokers’ offices were a blur as we raced through downtown Laguna, Corona Del Mar, and then the commercial district of Newport Beach. We drove without slowing or stopping at red lights.

From the hotel it was exactly 11.4 miles to Hoag Hospital, located on the edge of a bluff overlooking Balboa Bay, resplendent with million-dollar homes lining the shore, their multi-colored lights sparkling in the night. It was a straight run on the quiet nighttime highway and we made it to the hospital in nine minutes flat.

Only a few people were present in the hospital lobby when we arrived, one or two who looked like they had been there a while. A couple of uniformed cops hung around, drinking coffee. They must’ve been there to guard the prisoner.

We checked in with the receptionist, a middle-aged woman wearing a blazer with the hospital logo on it. “Sorry, but you’ll have to wait. The patient is being moved from surgery to intensive care, but the surgeon…” She glanced at her records. “…Dr. Hendricks, will be with you as soon as possible.”

“We’ll wait,” Coleman said.

“How bad is he?” Kathie asked.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have that information.” She smiled warmly. “Dr. Hendricks will fill you in.”

“Oh, God, Jimmy…” Kathie’s eyes searched mine looking for answers that I didn’t have.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the woman at the desk said, “but this is a formality. Does Mr. Roberts have any family members that should be notified?”

“No, not really,” I said. “But I’m closer to him than any relative. I’m his lawyer.”

She looked around at the cops in the room. “I understand.”

With Kathie clinging to my arm, I turned to Sgt. Coleman. I made it clear that if the doctor allowed Roberts to have visitors, then I’d be the first one to see him. If he wanted to make a statement, I’d allow it, but there would be no interrogation.

The cop nodded. “Okay by me. I was just supposed to ask him a few questions about the shooting. As you probably know, the Los Angeles DA’s office issued the arrest warrant. You won’t be dealing with us down here in Orange County on the murder charge. As soon as the doc gives the okay, Roberts will be transferred out of our jurisdiction. He’ll be turned over to the LAPD and moved to the jail hospital in L.A.”

A guy with a weathered complexion who looked like he’d just climbed out of bed and hurriedly tossed on his clothes entered the lobby. He marched up and introduced himself as Captain John Russo, adding that he’d be investigating the officer-involved shooting. He turned to Coleman. “Instead of taking Roberts to jail,” he said. “I wish they were taking the murdering bastard to the morgue.”

Kathie gazed up at me, her eyes filled with tears. “He’s got to pull through. Jesus, he’s got to make it!” She looked at Russo. “Goddamn you, he’s innocent.”

“You’d better pray he lives,” I told Russo. “Because if he dies I’ll file the biggest goddamn lawsuit you ever saw. I’ll name the city, the police department, and the cop who fired the shots. I’ll name everyone that had anything to do with this.”

Okay, so maybe I overreacted, but I didn’t like the way the scene was playing out. If the cop involved did in fact shoot an unarmed man, then it would be easy to sweep the whole affair under the rug. Why make a big hullabaloo about a bad shooting if the victim was a murder suspect with no family or friends? And a convict on top of that. Who’d give a damn?

I wanted it on the record that someone did care about Roberts, someone who knew the score, someone who wouldn’t let up until the truth came out.

Russo looked at me as if I were something the dog had left on his lawn. “You’d better hold on, O’Brien.”

I felt the blood rushing to my face. “No, you hold on-!”

“You want to know what happened, then hear me out.”

“Fine, talk to me.”

“Roberts was a murderer on the run with a warrant out. Officer Bochar-a rookie-identified himself as a police officer and commanded Roberts to stop. I just talked to Bochar back at the station. He’s shook up, said your client was armed. He fired his weapon in self-defense. I believe him. But we’ll still do a complete investigation.”

“Roberts wasn’t armed. He was shot in cold blood.”