Jonathan Kellerman - Capital Crimes

Delicately, Marge Dunn unwrapped the wax paper that held together a turkey and cheese sub. “Wow, thanks for thinking of me. I’m hungry.” She steadied the sandwich then took a big bite. “Mmmmm…that’s good.”

“Amanda’s idea, she’s the considerate one,” Barnes said. He was sitting shotgun in an LAPD unmarked; Amanda was in the backseat and Marge was at the wheel.

Marge spoke over her shoulder. “Thank you, Considerate One.”

“No prob.”

The car fell silent until Barnes grumbled, “You think this joker is going to show?”

Marge wiped her mouth. “I don’t see why he’d leave if he came down to be with Mom for the holidays. And if he does leave, that tells us something.” She regarded Barnes. “I really like the silverwork on your belt buckle. What kind of stone is that? Green turquoise?”

“Exactly.”

“Nice.”

“Got it in Santa Fe. Ever been there?”

“Sure,” she said. “I go there a lot. Sometimes during opera season, if my daughter’s schedule permits.”

“Never been to the opera.”

Amanda said, “Will’s into Buck Owens.”

“Me, too. I’m eclectic. Big loss, Buck.”

“Dwight Yoakam’s carrying it on,” said Will.

“He rocks but still, it’s not the same.” Marge finished her sandwich and stowed the trash in a plastic bag. “The opera house is really special. It’s outdoors with this beautiful view of the mountains. Sometimes crickets sing along.” Big smile. “Sometimes, they’re on key. They’ve got great chamber music, too. And country at some of the casinos. Great little town, culture-wise.”

Barnes sneaked a quick look at Marge’s left hand. No ring. “Whole Southwest area is a pretty part of the country.”

“Magnificent…a real break from LA.” Marge turned around again. “Have you ever been there, Amanda?”

“Once and it was gorgeous.”

Barnes said, “I remember the food being good.”

“That, too,” Marge said. “If either of you go again, give me a call, I’ll tell you some good restaurants.”

Barnes said, “I just might do that.”

The two of them swapped brief smiles. Further interchange was cut short by a black pickup truck tooling down the road. Instinctively, all three detectives slouched down in their seats.

Marge said, “Let’s wait until they’re out of the car.”

The truck pulled into the driveway. A man got out on the driver’s side carrying several bags of what looked to be groceries. Seconds later, an older woman opened the front passenger door. She was pear-shaped, gray-haired and slow-moving. He had wild unkempt hair and several days of dark beard growth. He wore a white T-shirt, a denim jacket and jeans, white sneakers. She had on a long gray sweater, a blue turtleneck, and black polyester pants. Her sneakers were black.

With Bledsoe’s hands occupied, the situation for arrest was ideal.

“Let’s do it,” Marge said.

The three detectives jumped and swarmed the unsuspecting duo.

“Police, Mr. Bledsoe, don’t move,” Marge barked. As soon as Barnes relieved Bledsoe of his bags, the women brought his arms around his back and Marge slapped on the cuffs. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bledsoe, we have a bench warrant out for your arrest for outstanding traffic warrants- ”

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.” Bledsoe’s voice was lazy.

“No sir, I am not.” Out of the corner of her eye, Marge saw something blurry coming at her nose. She ducked, but a hard object made contact with the left side of her forehead. Flailing fingernails. The contact stung.

Amanda caught the old lady’s arm midair. Laverne Bledsoe’s breath was ripe with liquor and garlic.

“That was really stupid.” Amanda spun Mom around. “Now you’re under arrest for assault on a police officer.”

Laverne responded by trying to stomp on Amanda’s shoe. Amanda stepped back, but the old woman caught her on the tip of her toe. She wrestled Granny down to the ground and snapped Laverne’s hands behind her back maybe a little more forcefully than necessary. The cuffs clicked.

Bledsoe remained completely passive, watching from the sidelines. Almost amused. “Are you going to arrest my mom, too?”

“Looks that way,” Amanda said, bringing the squalling woman to her feet.

“She’s sixty-eight.”

Barnes said, “She assaulted two police officers.”

“That’s bogus. This whole arrest thing is bogus.”

The old lady began cursing but Bledsoe stayed quiet. Marge patched in a call for transport.

Laverne looked at her son with panicked eyes.

Bledsoe spoke in a monotone. “Calm down, Ma, it’s not good for your heart.”

“Shitheads!” Laverne screamed. “Manhandling an old woman!”

Barnes saw blood on Marge’s temple. “Got a Band-Aid? She got you.”

Marge touched her head. “Bad?”

Barnes gave a slight shake of his head. As a black-and-white pulled up, Amanda tightened her grip on the granny. Carefully, she escorted the irate woman to the confines of the backseat. The uniforms wrote down basic facts and drove off.

Barnes said, “That was something!”

Marge got a Band-Aid and Neosporin from the first-aid kit in the unmarked’s trunk and Amanda tended to the wound.

“I actually took the time to do my makeup this morning. What a waste!”

“You look fine,” Barnes said.

Marge smiled. “How’s your foot, Amanda?”

“She’s no lightweight but I’ll survive.”

Marshall Bledsoe said, “You calling my mom fat?”

When no one answered, he said, “I need to be with her. To calm her down. Her heart’s not so good.”

Marge said, “Why’s she so riled up anyway?”

“One, she’s sick of you guys badgering me. Two, that’s just her. She riles easily especially when she’s had a few beers.”

“How many is a few?”

Bledsoe thought a moment. “I think she drained a six-pack, but that’s just getting started. In her prime, Ma could keg with the best of them.”

A second cop car picked up Bledsoe and delivered him to the station. The detectives got there first and worked out the interview.

Smoking and sipping coffee, Bledsoe slumped, loose-limbed, in a hard chair that he seemed to find comfortable. So relaxed he could have been zoned out in his living room watching the game. Marge was willing to let Laverne go, but the old lady refused to leave without her son, so she was in a room next door.

None of the detectives had any idea what they’d get out of Bledsoe, but they had him in custody for a few hours until his traffic arraignment. The court had to add up all the fines and penalties. With skipping out on a warrant and some luck, there’d be jail time.

Since it was LAPD territory, Barnes and Isis deferred to Lieutenant Decker. The big man announced he and Barnes would go in first and the women would do round two if there was anything worth pursuing. Decker opened the door, lumbered in and sat opposite Bledsoe. Barnes sat on Bledsoe’s right.

“How are you doing, Marshall?”

“How’s my mom?”

“Waiting for you.”

“She needs to eat. She has yo-yo blood sugar.”

“She had lunch on the taxpayers’ money.”

“Any way we can rip off this illegitimate government is great.” Bledsoe shook his head. “Would you like to tell me what’s really going on?”

“You’re a lousy driver,” said Decker. “You owe the city, the county, and the state a lot of money.”

“You know that’s horseshit,” said Bledsoe, still without passion. “For the police to make a house call, you must think I know something important.”

Decker leaned back in his chair. “And what important thing would you know?”