Good Morning, Killer

right away. You don’t have to start from the blocks,” I said, “just go for the practices, go down the ladder, one step at a time, how would that be?”

Later that morning, Devon County called. “Ana?” he said. “It’s time to come to Jesus.”

Nineteen

From the bronze-and-steel lobby to the unobstructed view of Beverly Hills, everything about County, Carr, Levinson and Grant said, We’re rich and really happy about it!

The conditions of release on bail allowed for meetings with my attorney and I entered their swank offices as if having been let out of a cave. Maybe it was a design statement, but diamonds were everywhere — diamond patterns in the sage marble tile, diamonds etched on frosted glass, inlaid in maple cabinets, part of the ironwork coffee tables. The chairs in the waiting room were covered in silk, velvet pillows on the couch. If this was coming to Jesus, sign me up.

The jewels of the kingdom were not shared with the help. A tired-looking young woman assistant in a tattered sweater and jeans led the way to a corner office where Devon sat behind a huge trestle table fit for a warlord. Since I had seen him during that predawn visit in jail, he had gone from ghetto to glitz, a vision of hip efficiency in crisp white shirtsleeves and buffed scalp. The table was loaded with expensive, highly detailed model cars. Cars lined the windowsills and cars rolled by, outside the windows, on Santa Monica Boulevard. There were too many cars in the world, anyway, and considering Devon had almost lost his life in a car, you had to wonder why he would surround himself with a fetishistic collection of reminders.

I sat in a cockpit of an armchair made of soft Italian leather.

“It’s a long way from the homicide desk, Detective.”

Devon smiled. “Ten years ago you could have told me a mojito was a male prostitute.”

“You mean a mojito is not a male prostitute?”

“A mojito is a rum drink.”

“Oh.”

“Apple martinis are out. Mojitos are the new LA thing.”

“You travel in the right circles, Devon.”

His gaze drifted to the immediate view. Ten-million-dollar estates belonging to new Hollywood and old aerospace were deftly tucked between neat rows of palm trees adumbrating toward the hills.

“You think as an investigator you’ve seen it all.” He shook his head. “You would not believe what I see.”

“The level of greed?”

“The fucking and sucking.”

I guessed we were talking about the same thing.

“The hardest part for you,” he continued, in one peculiar segue, “will be to see Detective Berringer for the first time in court. You need to prepare for that.”

“What should I do? Stare at his picture and give myself electric shocks?”

“I mean it, Ana.”

“I’m not arguing.”

“You’re feeling defensive.”

“No I’m not.”

“I can tell from your body language.”

I looked down and uncrossed my legs. In fact, the idea of seeing Andrew in court had made my stomach cramp.

“Better?”

“You’ve never been on the other side, is what I’m saying. Never sat at the defendant’s table. The DA is definitely going to call Andrew Berringer. And this man, who you know intimately, is going to basically accuse you in open court of attempted murder.” I reached for a water bottle left by the tired assistant and drank as if it could give me strength. In the soft field of Mediterranean daylight created by the large windows, Devon, with his white shirt and shining dome of a head, seemed hyperdefined, like a figure out of context in a dream. Those figures often appear bearing a message.

“Whatever Detective Berringer says, you do not show emotion of any kind. It is very important,” Devon insisted, “if I am to defend your freedom, to know I’m not going to see you reacting in any way. I don’t want you looking at him with anger, or rolling your eyes when you don’t like something, or — doing like you’re doing right now — shaking your head like I’m a moron.” “I don’t think you’re a moron.”

“I need you to do nothing except take notes on a pad. If there’s something you need to relate to me, write it down. I don’t want anyone who might be observing this hearing to assume that you have a bias either way.”

“I’m shaking my head, Devon, because that’s impossible.”

“What is?”

“For me to sit there and listen to whatever bullshit the DA is going to come up with.”

“Forget the DA. You know how that’s played. Let’s focus on Andrew. He’s the one who can push your buttons.”

I said nothing.

“Am I right?”

“Well, he did. Apparently.”

Devon took a breath to observe me in silence. Our eyes held, like infrared devices connecting and adjusting, sharing information. We were framing the relationship. Who was in charge? How far would the other yield?

“If you can’t keep it together in the courtroom, the ramifications will be — well, let me remind you. Sometimes clients need to hear it again: Your life is on the line.”

Devon let his thick lids fall in a slow, deliberate blink. He wanted me to sit with it, but instead everything I’d been holding back suddenly spurted out.

“I’m pissed at him for getting me into this position, I’m upset with myself for going there, I feel guilty, upset, ashamed,” smacking a fist on the cockpit chair, “and I’m tripping, because on some level, I still love the guy! So, I don’t know! You tell me! What am I supposed to do?” “Put on your game face,” my attorney advised.

That I understood. From years of interrogation, I understood.

“All right,” I said, and took a moment to drop the emotionality, or at least stuff it back into its sack. “Game face on.”

He nodded and picked up the pen.

“Detective Berringer is a hundred pounds heavier than you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“At least seven inches taller?”

“Nine inches taller.”

“Have you seen him before in a state of rage?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever have moments in your relationship when you feared for your safety?”

“I have.”

“Talk about those.”

Having rendered all this easily, I suddenly discovered I did not wish to reveal more. If there was a pattern of impulsive violence in Andrew’s behavior, I had not seen it and certainly did not want to admit that failure now. Here in the corner office, in the uncompromising light of success, I had a deep, vital need to appear as competent and