Jeff Sherratt - Guilty or Else

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that no one in Los Angeles has said daddy-o for over fifteen years.

I caught the shuttle flight at Riley County Airport and forty-five minutes later, arrived at Kansas City. Transferring terminals, I boarded the Hughes Air flight to LAX. Soon we were airborne, soaring through the twilight at five hundred miles per hour. I loosened my seatbelt and leaned back. The constant hum and gentle vibration of the engines was sedating and I relaxed for the first time in a week.

Closing my eyes, Bobbi’s face floated into my mind. Sol had given me her home number. I’d tucked it in my wallet. When I pulled it out and gazed at it, I felt a soft warmth flourish within me, a feeling that I hadn’t felt in years.

It was Bobbi’s number, something personal, a slight connection to her. I thought of a new movie playing in theaters, The Godfather, about gangsters. It was getting rave reviews.

I wanted to call her the minute we landed at LAX and ask her out. Convince her we didn’t have to wait for the trial to end. Anyway, with the new evidence, there would be no trial.

Maybe I’d set our date up for Saturday. We could take in the movie and have a late supper at the Regency. I hadn’t thought about my loneliness a great deal since I’d been working on the Rodriguez case, but thinking about Bobbi reminded me how disconnected I’d really been. It didn’t seem possible for someone to live among so many people and still be so alone. It seemed as if I were living in a bubble. I could interact with women but never really get close. I guess I wanted to break out and start a life again.

We bucked headwinds most of the way and landed at LAX a little behind schedule. I exited the plane and rushed to the bank of payphones lining the wall across from the check-in gate. My stomach tightened with excitement as I dialed Bobbi’s number.

“Hello.” Bobbi’s warm voice came on the line.

“Hi there,” I said.

All I heard was unnerving silence.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity. “Hey, Bobbi, it’s me, Jimmy. Are you there?”

Silence. I was about to say something else, when the line came alive.

“How’d you get this number?” Her voice was callous.

“I just got it. Is that a problem?”

“Listen, Buster, you’d better just lose it. Don’t call me again. Ever!”

“Bobbi, what’s the matter-”

The line went dead. She’d slammed the phone down, hard.

Reeling from the phone call to Bobbi, I headed to the luggage area in a daze. I was halfway down the long corridor when I spotted Sol and his driver rushing toward me, weaving through the horde of deplaned passengers.

When he got closer I could see the expression on his face. It wasn’t pretty. He grabbed my arm and hustled me aside.

“ Jesus Christ , Sol. What’s going on? Did someone die?”

“Yeah, your case. C’mon, let’s go in here where we can talk.”

We darted into a small, dimly lit cocktail lounge just off the corridor. A curved bar ran along one side. The bartender looked bored as he wiped glasses while watching the local news on a TV mounted high in the corner. A dozen round cocktail tables were scattered inside, only a few occupied, mostly by tired-looking businessmen. Sol and I sat at one. At his urging, I handed my claim check to his driver. He left to fetch my luggage.

“I called you yesterday. You didn’t return my call,” Sol said.

“I was in Kansas.”

“In Kansas, they don’t have phones?”

“ Goddammit , Sol, what’s up? You got me nervous, coming out here like this and telling me my case is dead.”

“You’ve been submarined, my boy.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your client’s confessed.”

“Whoa! Confessed? What do you mean, confessed?”

“He told his cellmate.”

“Told him what?”

“That he murdered the girl.”

I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling. “That’s bullshit.”

“The D.A. has the cellmate’s statement.”

I couldn’t believe what Sol was telling me. How could Rodriguez confess? After what the Munsons had told me, there was no doubt about his innocence. “When did this so-called confession take place?”

“I got the call yesterday afternoon from one of my spies. The D.A.’s office is keeping the confession and the witness under wraps, gonna spring it on you at the hearing tomorrow. I know it’s a setup. I’m trying to find out what kind of deal your pretty little D.A. friend cut with the cellmate. You need to find out who the guy is and what he’d been arrested for.”

“I’ll find out when they parade him before the judge at the hearing in the morning.”

A waitress strayed over to our table. Sol ordered his usual: Beefeater rocks. I didn’t want anything.

I glanced at the full-length window lining the far wall, peering out into the darkness. “Is Bobbi Allen in on this?”

Sol didn’t answer directly. “Do you think the judge will buy the guy’s testimony?”

“Doesn’t matter, the purpose of this hearing is for the D.A. to present just enough evidence to show that a crime had been committed and that they have grounds to bind Rodriguez for trial. The rules are stacked in the D.A.’s favor. Doesn’t look good.”

The waitress returned with Sol’s drink. He took a sip, set the glass down hard. “Jimmy, it smells. You told me Bobbi Allen is a straight arrow, plays by the rules.”

“Maybe she believes the cellmate. Maybe he just made it all up.”

“Yeah, sure he did.” Sol groaned. “They planted the guy. You told me yourself that they just recently took Rodriguez off psych watch and gave him a cellmate. Then, bingo, he up and confesses. Nah, she set it up. Hey, wait a minute. I gave you her number. You didn’t call her and tip your hand, did you?”

I hesitated. “Yeah, I called her twice. First time she was all friendly. Then when I called her back just a few minutes ago, she wouldn’t even speak to me. Something turned her. I don’t know what. It couldn’t just be the cellmate’s statement. She wouldn’t hold that against me personally. It has to be something worse, something bad, real bad.”

“Jimmy, wise up. She’s using you to advance her career.” He nodded. “Yeah, murder conviction, first time. It’d look good to the big guys.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said.

“Don’t let your feelings for her cloud your thinking.” He paused. “I suppose it’s my fault. I gave you the goddamn number. She had me fooled, too.”

Sol waved at the waitress. He wanted a fresh drink.

“Thanks for the heads up, Sol. I’ll have a couple of minutes to talk to Rodriguez before the hearing. I’ll be somewhat prepared.”

“That’s why I figured you’d better know about the alleged confession before you walk into the courtroom tomorrow. Maybe you can defuse the situation somehow.”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering what I could do.

“Tell me about your Kansas trip.”

While Sol polished off his second drink, I brought him up to speed on my meeting with the Munsons. I explained about the money Gloria had been embezzling, and my thoughts that the money came from Karadimos and Welch’s criminal activity.

“Maybe they found out she stole from them and had her hit. One of Karadimos’s henchmen could’ve done it. Maybe it had nothing to do with the affair, after all,” Sol said. “Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“You saw the crime scene photos. It had to be a crime of passion. A hit man would have put a bullet in her head, over and done with.” I paused, collected my thoughts. “Sol, here’s what I think happened. The money is just a red herring. Oh, she stole it from them, all right, but I have the feeling they didn’t catch her at it.”