'You better stay until his division commander and those two homicide dicks get here,' Padilla said, then looked at the doctor. 'Is it gonna be okay for them to interview him?'
'Yeah, sure,' Doctor Larimore said. Then he turned to me. 'If you have any nausea or light-headedness, I want you to ring that buzzer next to the bed. We'll check in with you every forty minutes or so.'
I thanked him, and he and the other doc, who had been silent the entire time, turned and left the room. Riley and Padilla remained behind for a minute.
'Okay, Scully,' Padilla said. 'I'm sure you've been up here and done this a bunch yourself, but for the record, here's the drill. As I already told you, you're in Sheriff's Department custody. I don't expect you'll be here long, but while you are, I want your continued cooperation. Your people can talk to you, but any decision that affects custody is mine. Are we Jake on that?'
'Jake,' I nodded.
Then, without saying another word, Sergeants Riley and Padilla stepped out of the room. The door buzzed and I was locked up and alone.
The next half-hour was filled with tests. Nobody bothered to tell me the results. All I could think about was Alexa. I had to find a way to get out of here before they operated on her at ten a. M. I knew I couldn't do anything but sit in the waiting room at UCLA and pray. I knew my presence wouldn't change anything, but I had an overpowering need to be there just the same. It was as if missing Alexa's operation would spill over everything and guarantee a bad result. Unfortunately, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it would be next to impossible to make bail and get my arraignment set in time.
Once I was returned to the isolation cell a wave of depression-produced fatigue overcame me so suddenly that I could not keep my eyes open. I just couldn't take one more blow or disappointment. All I wanted to do was run and hide. In a surge of either self-pity or self-preservation, I started to shut down. I lay back on the bed, closed my eyes, and mercifully fell asleep.
My dream took me back to Antigua. Alexa was in my arms and my heart ached with love and longing. We knew we had the whole world to play in. Our future stretched out before us like a ribbon of adventure and opportunity. We laughed as we walked into the glittering surf, splashing the water as we went, marveling at how lucky we were. Our bodies were washed by the surf and kissed by the sun. There was nothing but good times and blue skies ahead.
Chapter 47
Somebody was shaking me awake. I looked up into the scowling face of my division commander, Jeb Calloway. Cal's shaved bullet head glowed in the cold fluorescent lights of the observation cell.
'Sit up,' he ordered. No 'How you feelin'? How's the head?' All business.
It took me a minute to orient myself. I swung my legs off the bed and sat up, rubbing my eyes. A quick inventory of my memory made me realize I still couldn't pin down much of what had happened inside the El Rey. I had a fleeting memory of walking down a glass-walled corridor with Lionel Wright. Empty theater seats stretched out below us. That was it. My headache was worse than ever.
'Can you get these guys to give me some aspirin?' I asked.
'Hey, Deputy, find a doc. He needs something for his head,' Cal said to one of the sheriffs.
Rafie and Tommy were standing across the hall opposite the open door. After a minute, an intern brought in some pills, which I took with a cup of water.
'You're in a world of hurt,' Cal said when the intern left. 'You got one chance in all this, and that's to come one hundred percent clean. Rafie and Tommy are gonna do a preliminary field interview and offer you a deal Chief Ramsey managed to strike with the D. A. It was tough getting this kicked down, so if you're smart, I suggest you take it.'
'Captain, I'm… I didn't do anything. This is a big mistake.'
'You didn't do anything? Are you nuts? You ignored a direct order from the acting chief and withheld evidence. You screwed up Slade's murder investigation by illegally entering his house without a warrant. You also searched a rap producer's house without paper. You're a person of interest in the Slade hit, and now you're also the prime suspect in a homicide at this rap awards show all in twenty-four hours.'
'What murder?'
'Singer named Diamond Simonette. Performs under the name Diamond Back. The guy was pronounced at this facility an hour ago.'
'I never heard of him. Why would I kill him?'
'Rafie, get in here and card this guy.'
I knew Cal liked me but his abrupt tone told me he was getting frustrated.
Figueroa came in and pulled a Miranda card out of his wallet. He stood next to the bed and read the familiar warning in a flat voice that echoed in the hard walled room. When he finished he said, 'You understand these rights I have read to you?'
'Yeah.'
Captain Calloway stood. 'Okay, you guys do the F. I.' He checked his watch. 'It's almost midnight. I gotta go back to hold Ramsey's hand and deal with the chain of command. After you're through here, get the docs to clear him and transport him over to the Men's Central Jail. We'll do the probable cause declaration and booking there. And watch out for news crews. We don't want them to know where Scully is or have to make a statement till tomorrow morning's press conference.'
'You're really gonna book me for murdering some rapper I've never heard of? Where's my gun? Who has it? Sergeant Riley? Was he the arresting officer? Check my piece. Ballistics won't get a match.'
He didn't respond to any of this. Instead, he said, 'We got witnesses and a security camera that both say you attacked two black guys in an elevator without provocation. Started the whole ruckus.'
As he said it, I remembered diving into an elevator, going down hard and getting kicked. I touched my right side again. The dull, aching pain was still there, confirming the memory. The problem was that I didn't know why I dove in that elevator, or what happened next.
Cal stood and said, 'I'm really sorry about this, Shane. But everybody's been telling you to go home and sit down. Because you wouldn't listen, this happened.' He turned and walked out of the room.
Tommy closed the door. Rafie set his tape recorder on the bed between us then turned it on and verbally slated it. Tommy crossed and sat on the edge of the bed.
'How'm I good for this Diamond Back guy's murder?' I asked them, hoping that when they answered, more of what went on inside the El Rey would come back to me.
'You perpetrated a felonious assault, which ended up causing a riot. Guns were fired and Diamond Simonette died. The chief wants you booked for homicide under the Felony Murder Rule.'
The Felony Murder Rule is a California law that, without exception, everybody in law enforcement dearly loves. Simply put, it states that if someone dies during the commission of a felony, all of the perpetrators involved with the crime could be charged with murder whether they pulled the trigger or not.
My favorite application of this rule occurred when I was in Valley Patrol. Two white trash rednecks from Stinky Creek, Arkansas, tried to take down a liquor store. They grabbed fifty-eight dollars and forty-five cents in cash and while they were running out the door, the store owner grabbed his counter gun and killed one of the fleeing suspects. We caught the other hillbilly two blocks away and the D. A. eventually charged him with the death of his buddy. Under the Felony Murder Rule, if they could prove I started that riot and someone died, I was technically guilty of murder. But it was a discretionary charge and it seemed pretty flaky for the department to be laying it on one of their own.
'You guys are really gonna try and put this murder on me?'
'Orders from on high,' Tommy answered. 'How many times did me and Rafie ask you to stand down?'
He was right. But what would he have done if it were his wife lying in a coma? 'Did you get Forensic Documents to scan Alexa's computer and decode any more of those e-mails?' I finally asked, trying to change the subject.
'Hey, Shane, we're through answering those kinds of questions. You're not a colleague. You're the suspect.
