“…police officer has been arrested in the murders of two area residents.” My first thought was that Tripp had found a way to arrest Hanson. Relief flooded through me. It was over. But why? Why had she done it? I wondered.
They cut away from the anchor and showed a police car in front of a government building somewhere. Was that the jail? I wasn’t sure. Cops were pulling someone out of the patrol car and the anchor was saying Tripp’s name. And then I saw that it was Tripp being pulled out of the car. Handcuffed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I found Tripp by using an inmate locator on the Internet. He was in the Men’s Jail located north of downtown and east of Chinatown in a part of town I was not especially familiar with. Visiting hours began at ten in the morning, so around nine-thirty I parked my car a block and a half away and walked up to the jail. The architecture was cold and chalk white, with slits for windows. Outside the building were half a dozen teenagers who looked like they were putting on a fashion show for a new designer line of gang wear. Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I walked into the building.
Fortunately, I’d called ahead and learned that Tripp was a segregated inmate. As a police officer, and a gay police officer at that, he needed to be in a protected area away from the rest of the population. He wasn’t allowed to go anywhere unescorted. I’d been told to follow the blue line through the jail. I did.
When I got to the waiting room, about six other people were waiting. After a few minutes, a guard asked us to line up, then led us into a small room with six booths divided by glass. Each booth had its own telephone. The guard explained that the phones were on a timer and wouldn’t be started until everyone was seated. Then we’d have fifteen minutes.
I sat down in front of Tripp, smiled at him, picked up the phone and waited for it to come on. Suddenly, I heard static and said, “Hello.”
Tripp said, “It’s good to see you.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. They’ve got me in the gay unit. I’ve been here twenty-four hours and I’ve had three marriage proposals.” He smiled, then added, “I turned them all down.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“I thought you were my lawyer here to talk about getting me out.”
“So you’re not going to be here long?” He shook his head. “What happened?”
“They searched my apartment and found Javier’s client phone.”
“How would that implicate you?” I asked.
“I’m not entirely sure. My lawyer says they claim there are pictures of me on the phone. You can’t see my face, so maybe it’s me, maybe it’s not.”
“It’s not, though.”
“No, it’s not.”
It was the same sort of thing that had happened to Jeremy. I told him about what Hanson had done to Jeremy and Skye.
“I’ll tell that to my lawyer,” Tripp said. “None of this is going to stick.”
Something didn’t make sense to me. If Hanson was connected to the killer then… “So, how did you get on this case to begin with?” I asked Tripp.
“Lucy called me at home, said she’d heard it on a scanner. She told me to call the captain and see if we could pull it. She needed the solve. Since we thought it was a suicide, it was pretty much a slam dunk.”
“Why’d she have you make the call? Why not make it herself?”
“She said she didn’t want to ask for it herself -- she never liked to ask for favors. So I did.”
“Except it was all bullshit,” I pointed out. “What’s her story now?”
“That she called me about a drive-by shooting we’d been working. I brought up the suicide. She thought it was a cheap way to get a solve, but I convinced her.”
“Do you think Hanson killed Eddie?”
“No,” he said. “She was with me when Sylvia died. She couldn’t have killed her, and if she didn’t kill Sylvia, then I don’t think she killed Javier. She’s protecting someone.”
“Who? Who is she protecting?”
“Someone powerful. Someone who had a relationship with Eddie that could have hurt him.” I felt like I should know the answer to that, but didn’t know why.
“So, if we can find out who she’s protecting, you’ll be safe?”
“Or in more danger.”
“What can I do to help?” I asked.
He smiled. “It’s sweet of you to offer. Just go home. Put your life back together.”
“No, I want to help.”
“I’ve got a good lawyer. He should have me out of here soon.”
“Will you call me when you get out?” I asked.
“Of course. I want to see you when I get out.” His meaning was clear, and the way he was looking at me was getting me hard. I shifted in my chair. The Men’s Jail was not the kind of place I wanted to sport a woody.
The fifteen minutes were up before we knew it. The phone turned off before we’d properly said goodbye. I gave Tripp a little wave and left.
After I worked my way out of the jail, I found my car and drove to Hollywood Station. I’d been exonerated, so I should be able to get my computer and other belongs back from the property room. I’d called ahead that morning to make sure I was heading to the right place. It turned out evidence and property was in an entirely different building all together. I followed the directions I was given at Hollywood Station and drove to the building.
Once inside, I stood at a counter and filled out a form to
