I looked at Pike. 'Did I suddenly lose my grip on reality?'
Two uniforms came through with a young black kid in cuffs. The kid was smiling. Murphy watched him pass, her face set, and then she said, 'That young man says that he did it.' The kid was maybe fourteen.
'He didn't do it. I was there. I saw it. D'Muere pulled the trigger.'
'Three other young men admitted to being present and also said the kid did it. They pulled him out of a lineup.'
Pike said, 'Come on, Murphy. D'Muere found a kid to play chump. The boy does juvie time and comes home a hero.'
Murphy's hard jaw softened and she suddenly looked like a woman who wanted to go home, take off her shoes, and drink three or four glasses of some nice Chardonnay. 'You know it and I know it, but that young man still says he did it and three eyewitnesses say he did it, too. We can't file against D'Muere, Elvis. That's just the way this one's going to work out.' She didn't wait for me or Pike or anyone else to speak. She and Fallen left, walking heavily as if the weight of the city were on them. Greenberg followed after them.
'But he murdered James Edward Washington.' I didn't know what else to say.
Garvey said, 'Go home, Cole. You've done a lot, and you've done it well, but there's nothing more to be done.'
The watch commander authorized the release of my car and the personal possessions that had been taken from us at the time of our original arrests. He could have ordered a staff uniform to do it, but he did it himself, and we were out of there faster because of it. I guess that was his way of showing respect.
It was seventeen minutes before two that morning when we walked out of the Seventy-seventh, got into my car, and legally drove off the police grounds and onto the city's streets. We climbed onto the freeway, then worked our way north through the system toward Lancaster, There weren't many cars out, and the driving was easy.
Pike's Jeep was where he had left it, on a little circular drive outside the hospital. I parked behind it, and then we went inside to the waiting room and asked the nurses about Mark Thurman.
A nurse maybe in her early forties with a deep tan and a light network of sun lines checked his chart. 'Mr. Thurman came through the surgery well.' She looked up at us, first Pike, then me. 'Are you the gentlemen who brought him in?'
'Yes.'
She nodded and went back to the chart. 'It looks like a bullet nicked a branch of the external iliac artery in his left side. No damage to any of the organs, though, so he's going to be fine.' She closed the chart as she said it.
Pike said, 'Is Jennifer Sheridan still here?'
A black nurse who'd been sitting with a young Chinese orderly said, 'A couple Lancaster police officers came for her. That was at about eleven-thirty. She said to tell you that she would be fine. Mr. Thurman was out of surgery by then, and she knew he was okay.'
Pike said, 'What about the other officer? Garcia?'
The two nurses stopped smiling, and the black nurse said, 'Were you close to Mr. Garcia?'
'No.'
'He did not survive the surgery.'
We went out, Pike to his Jeep and me to my car, and we headed back through the rough barren mountains toward Los Angeles. The high desert air was cold and the surrounding mountains were black walls against the sky and the desert. At first we drove along together, but as the miles unwound we slowly grew apart, Pike with his drive and me with mine. Alone in my car, I felt somehow unfinished and at loose ends, as if there was still much unsaid, and even more unrealized. I wondered if Pike also felt that way.
I pulled into my carport just after four that morning and found a message on my machine from Ray Depente. He said that James Edward Washington was going to be buried at Inglewood Park Cemetery at eleven A.M. tomorrow, which made it today. He said that he thought I'd want to know.
I stripped off my clothes, showered, and climbed into bed, but the sleeping was light and unsatisfactory and I was up again before seven. I went out onto my deck and breathed deeply of the air and thought how sweet it smelled with a hint of wild sage and eucalyptus. I did twelve sun salutes from the hatha-yoga, then worked through a progression of asanas that left me sweating. At five minutes after nine I called Joe Pike and told him of James Edward Washington's funeral. He said that he would come. I called a florist I know in Hollywood and ordered flowers. I thought roses would be nice. It was late to order flowers, but the florist knows me, and promised to deliver the flowers to the church in time for the service.
I ate breakfast, then showered and dressed in a three-piece blue suit that I bought six years ago and have worn as many times. Once to a wedding and five times to funerals. Today would be number six.
It was a warm, hazy day, and the drive along the Harbor Freeway to South Central Los Angeles was relaxed and pleasant. I left the freeway at Florence, then went west to Inglewood, and then through the gates to the cemetery there just north of Hollywood Park. The cemetery is broad and green, with gently sloping grounds and well-kept headstones and winding gravel roads. A dark green canopy had been erected on the side of one of the slopes to protect the casket and the minister and the immediate family from the sun. A hearse and a family limo and maybe twenty cars were parked nearby. They had just arrived, and some of the older people were still being helped up the slope. I parked near Joe Pike's Jeep and moved up the slope to join the mourners. Joe was standing at the back of the crowd, and Cool T was four people away.
Twin rows of folding chairs had been placed under the canopy for the family. Ida Leigh Washington was seated in the center of the front row, with the elderly man to her right, and Shalene with the baby on her left. Ray Depente was behind Mrs. Washington with a hand on her shoulder. He was wearing a dark brown herringbone suit with a U.S.M.C. pin in his lapel. When Ray saw me, he said something into Mrs. Washington's ear, then stood and waited for me. I went to Mrs. Washington, offered my hand, and told her how sorry I was. She thanked me for the flowers and said, 'Someone from the police called my home this morning, as did one of those people from the city council. I understand that the truth about my boy Charles Lewis is going to come out because of you.'
