Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

“When I ran competitively, I used to think of my joints as very thin rubber bands, that it was no effort at all to stretch them and that they’d always bounce back. It helped me maintain a long stride.”

“You have a long stride because you have long legs,” I told him.

“Yes, I am African. We are built to outrun lions. Even so, anyone can improve the performance. Are you ready?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“This was your idea, Cindy.”

“I just thought it was something we could do together that didn’t involve spending money or having sex.”

He smiled. “If you like, we can go back to sex.”

“Notice you said nothing about spending money.”

“First we have sex; then I spend the money.” He laughed and took my arm. “Come on.”

“Please pretend like we’re going at the same pace.”

He trotted by my side as I jogged around the oval, keeping up a steady patter of conversation. Mostly, he spoke about work. It was good because it gave him a chance to vent his frustrations and, at the same time, distracted me and made the time go quicker. He did the talking because I needed all my breath for running. I hadn’t realized it, but slowly, slowly, he had picked up the pace. After forty-five minutes, I was shot and broke to a fast walk. As I cooled off, I told him to go out and stretch his legs. Within moments, he was burning rubber, pure poetry in motion. By the time we got back to his house, I was feeling very amorous with all the endorphins flowing. That pleased him immensely. He suggested we take a run every morning. The hot shower shook out the last remaining bits of lethargy. As I walked into his kitchen, I noticed that my cell phone was beeping.

I checked my voice mail.

Koby came in and saw it instantly in my face. I don’t know who felt worse.

I checked my watch. It was quarter to ten. I didn’t start work until three. “They want me at the station in an hour… by eleven.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” I rolled my shoulders. “Last time I spoke to the Loo from our Detectives bureau, he mentioned something about the guy I arrested filing an excessive-force complaint.”

“Shit.” Koby came over to me, took my shoulders, and looked me square in the eye. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, Koby, of course not. I’ll be okay.” A weak smile. “It’s fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I couldn’t be more positive.”

“Whatever it is, Cynthia, I’m here for you. Call me when it’s over. Focused mind, loose body. Never let them see you sweat.”

Brill closed the door to the interview room. Stone was there, so was the deputy DA-a slight man with an Ivy League haircut and tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose. He appeared to be around thirty and wore an olive green suit with a yellow shirt and patterned tie, the predominant color in it being red.

This wasn’t good.

I sat down at the table, Detective Brill and Lieutenant Stone on either side of me. The DA had elected to stand. He introduced himself: Geoffrey-with a G -Adamson.

“We’ve got a problem,” the DA began. “It might be hard to prove that the bust wasn’t staged.”

I waited for him to continue.

“Not that I think you staged it.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

I didn’t speak until I was sure my voice was clear. Then I said, “I never touched that bag. Officer Bader found it on El Paso when he patted him down. If you can get prints off the plastic-”

“All that means, Officer Decker, is that you wore gloves.”

I felt myself go rigid. Loose. I made myself slouch.

“And the fact that you sent your friend away makes it look really bad.”

I was silent.

“Why did you send him away?” Geoffrey with a G persisted.

“At the time, I didn’t think I’d need him to vouch for my honesty.” I made hard eye contact. “I sent him home because he had been working for four days straight and he was falling off his feet.”

Adamson took in my words as if they were profound. He walked as he talked. “So how long between the time you sent him away and the first cruiser arrived?”

“Around thirty seconds. He pulled out of his parking space just as the cruiser came down the street.”

“Not a lot of time, but that doesn’t really help much.”

“So why did you bring it up?” Stone said. “Look, Geoff, you and your people can think what you’d like. I know she didn’t plant the bag. She’s willing to take a lie detector test-”

“That doesn’t impress me.”

“Well, it impresses me,” Stone insisted.

“We don’t want the case to go to trial. And any PD will threaten trial because we’ve all got Rampart hanging over our heads. Another scandal real or imaginary will make all of us look bad.”

“So you’re ignoring a bag of X because no one was there to snap my picture when I took him down?” I asked him.

“You weren’t in uniform, Officer Decker,” Adamson told me.

“I know. I’ve been doing this on my own time.”

“And that makes you look like a hot dog.”

At this point, I shut up.

Stone shook his head. “Damn amateur videographers are never there when you need them.”

I smiled.

“What’s the upshot?” Stone said. “You take the bag away and give him four months in County for the traffic warrant?”

“That’s about it.”

Brill said, “The thing is, Decker, now El Paso has no motivation for nailing his two compadres for the Sarah Sanders rape.”

“Fedek and Renaldes,” I said.

“Yes, them,” Brill said. “El Paso’s not going to flip to avoid a four-month County stint. So unless we have something on Fedek and Renaldes now, like an outstanding warrant, DA’s office says they’re off-limits.”

“El Paso admitted he was at the scene of the rape,” I said. “Can’t we use that?”

“But before that, he had asked for an attorney and you didn’t give him one,” Adamson said. “That conversation has to be disregarded.”

I held my hands tightly in my lap… caught myself tensing and unfurled my hands.

“Can’t I have Sarah Sanders look through a six-pack and see if she can pick out El Paso? I got that information from someone else.”

Stone said, “You got information saying that El Paso was at the rape or just that he was a gang banger?”

I sighed. “The latter.”

“Unfortunately, Officer Decker, that won’t work.”

He was being nice. I didn’t want to try his patience. “Sir, would it be okay if I brought Sarah Sanders down and had her look at mug books?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stone said. “As long as you start with the A ’s and don’t do anything to show prejudice.”

“This is the developmentally disabled girl?” Adamson said.

“Yes,” I answered.

“The one who abandoned her infant baby.”

“Yes.”

The DA said, “Considering her mental capacity and it’s a six-month-old rape case, her testimony isn’t going to hold much weight.”

“How about if it’s independently corroborated?”

“By whom?”

“By the boy she was with. By the boy who was assaulted while she was being gang-raped. His name is David Tyler.”

“Decker, the boy is missing,” Brill pointed out.

“What if I could find him? Then what if I gave them both mug books and independently they picked out the same people. Would that work?”

Adamson shrugged. “It would make a stronger case. Do you know where the boy is?”

“I’m working on it.” Relax, relax. “Now maybe I’ll work a little harder.”

Adamson checked his watch. “Give me a call when you’ve found him. In the meantime you don’t say Germando El Paso and the rape in the same breath-especially not to Sarah Sanders.”