Steven Gore - Act of Deceit

Donnally tapped his thumb against his chest. “And I take it I’m supposed to be Robin Hood?”

“I’m not sure you’d look all that good in tights.”

Donnally smiled. “You’re not likely to find out.”

They fell silent as they surveyed the street and the sidewalks, now overpopulated with mothers pushing strollers, wandering coffee drinkers in North Face parkas, couture-clad children of privilege, and red bandana-necked golden retrievers with their earnest noses sniffing the air.

“Sometimes this feels more like Aspen than a big-city neighborhood,” Donnally said.

Navarro waved his hands toward the surrounding hills. “Or an enormous set constructed to shoot Eddie Bauer commercials.”

Donnally watched two women walk by, holding hands. “You think these folks realize how lucky they are?”

Navarro stared ahead at the women for a moment, then said, “I suspect they mostly just feel deserving.”

Donnally nodded toward a bearded man wearing three layers of coats and carrying a cloth sleeping bag. He was walking toward the bakery, eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of him.

“Until somebody like Charles Brown shows up,” Donnally said.

Navarro held up a decades-old mugshot, then glanced back and forth between it and the man. “Maybe those folks are right who say that the mentally ill don’t age like the rest of us.”

“I’ll cross the street and come up from behind,” Donnally said, opening the passenger door.

“You sure you don’t want me to call some uniforms?”

“I’m sure.” Donnally climbed out. “I don’t want to spook him and I don’t want anybody reading him his rights until I have a chance to talk to him.”

Navarro leaned over and looked up at Donnally. “I don’t know, man. It’s sort of a gray area.”

“Not the way we’re doing it.”

B y the time Donnally had made the circuit down the block and across the street, Rover was sitting with his back against the low, black-tile facade of the bakery.

Rover paid no attention as Donnally walked up since his jeans and windbreaker made him unremarkable among the men standing around chatting and drinking their coffee with copies of the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal tucked under their arms.

Donnally pretended to read the take-out menu taped inside the bakery window until Navarro positioned himself near the news racks on the opposite side to block Rover’s escape. He then lowered himself to one knee and bent down close to Rover. The aromas of blueberry muffins and cinnamon rolls swirling around them couldn’t mask the stench enveloping Rover’s body.

“Are you Charles Brown?” Donnally asked, adopting a sympathetic expression.

Rover looked up and licked his sugar-caked lips. He held a half-eaten donut in his left hand, with crumbs sticking to his spongy beard.

“Rover?” Donnally asked.

Rover squinted at Donnally and then nodded.

“I’d like to talk to you about Anna Keenan.”

Rover’s head jerked side to side. “My cathe is clothed.” The lisp that changed “case” to “cathe” and “closed” to “clothed” sounded authentic. “They clothed it. I wath in jail thirty-theven yearths.”

“Who told you they closed the case?” Donnally asked.

“My lawyer. My lawyer told me that.”

“You mean the public defender?”

“Yeah, my public defender came and told me.”

Donnally sat down next to him. “Since the case is closed, maybe you can tell me what happened.”

Rover threw down the donut, then wrapped his arms around his knees. Donnally could see mangled knuckles and scarred skin, and recent lacerations and scabs. Rover’s head twitched side to side, eyes darting. His breathing became heavy, verging on hyperventilating.

“Take it easy,” Donnally said, touching Rover’s left arm. “Nobody’s trying to hurt you.”

“They told me I killed her.” Rover lowered his head and rocked back and forth. “They told me I killed her.” He looked at Donnally. “Do you know if I killed her?”

Donnally nodded. “That’s what they say.”

“They said I strangled her. And that I was crazy.” Rover lowered his head again. “I didn’t understand what was going on. They put me in Atascadero. I began to remember…”

“Remember what?”

Donnally caught sight of a stroller slowing to a stop on the sidewalk next to them. He looked up at a thin, young mother smiling at Rover and him, as if he were a city mental health worker checking on a client. She reached out with a dollar and let it fall into Rover’s lap. Donnally gave her an acknowledging nod, then she moved on.

Donnally turned back to Rover. “Remember what?”

“Looking down at Anna in her bed. Reaching at her.”

“And then?”

Rover didn’t answer. His head was still lowered.

“Did Anna like you?”

Rover looked up, grinning. “Anna liked me. She wanted me to touch her.”

“Touch her how?”

Rover’s grin turned sly, mischievous, embarrassed. “You know.”

“Did you touch her?”

“Yes.” Rover frowned. “But she got angry.”

“Then what happened?”

Donnally watched Rover’s body tense, his eyes hardening.

“Why are you asking me this? My cathe is clothed.” Rover’s voice rose. “I did thirty-theven years. My cathe is clothed.”

Rover pushed himself to his feet, then spun and smashed his fist into the bakery window. Donnally grabbed Rover’s collar and yanked him backward as the glass shattered and ragged fragments fell and exploded on the sidewalk. Donnally lost his balance and the two of them crashed down onto the concrete. Rover thrashed, throwing elbows at Donnally’s side and face and kicking at his legs. Donnally slid his right arm under Rover’s neck and locked his hand behind his head. He then felt the thud of Navarro diving in, rocking their bodies. Navarro yanked Rover’s left arm behind his back, snapped on a handcuff, then pushed himself up and kneeled on Rover’s shoulder. Rover’s body stiffened with pain and his legs stopped kicking. Donnally rotated Rover’s right arm down and back and Navarro snapped on the second handcuff.

When Donnally rolled off, he found himself nose-to-rubber wheel of the same stroller. He looked up at the women, now glaring down as if Rover was somehow a victim and as if she’d been betrayed by a pretender to goodness. Donnally reached over and picked up her dollar from the sidewalk and held it out toward her. She stared at it for a few seconds, then turned away and used the stroller as a battering ram to break through the gathering crowd.

Donnally looked over at Navarro as they stood up. “Apparently one woman’s murderer is another woman’s mascot.”

Navarro grabbed Rover by his left upper arm, Donnally took his right, and they hauled him to his feet.

D onnally rubbed his left elbow as they drove away from the North County Jail in Oakland where they had dropped off Rover.

Navarro glanced over. “Seems like your old bones can’t take this anymore. You ought to get yourself some better padding like me.”

Donnally smiled. “When you dove in, I thought you were going to croquet both him and me into the street.”

Navarro’s face flushed. “I wasn’t exactly diving.”

“You tripped? So it was really my padding that protected you?”

“I guess you could say that.”

Donnally reached for his cell phone and called Katrisha. Her voice mail picked up. He left a message about Brown’s arrest and assured her that he wouldn’t let the DA know that she’d helped out.

They then rode in silence until Navarro had merged into freeway traffic heading toward the Bay Bridge.

“Man,” Navarro said, “that guy sure didn’t want to go to jail.”