Full Release (22 page)

“Can I think about it?” I asked.

“For an hour or so. If it doesn’t go in tomorrow, no one’s going to want to see it.”

“I’ll call you back,” I said. Then I hung up and called Tripp.

Calling him was foolish. I knew he’d be too busy booking the actual killer to talk to me. His phone rang a couple of times and went to voicemail. “I heard. This is great. Call me. I want to know all about it.”

It was around one-thirty when I walked into the house. I had more than three hours to wait before I’d know who the killer was. I made myself a sandwich for lunch. Then I spent a couple hours working in my garden. I thought about rebuilding my life. I decided I’d call Bobby Sharpe in a day or two. Once I was exonerated, I might be able to guilt him into giving me that job. If I couldn’t do that, then I’d have to start looking for work. Maybe I could find some consulting work. That might be nice for a while, a high hourly rate with low stress.

Mostly I thought about going on a date with Tripp. Where would we go? To dinner? Should I make dinner? Rent a DVD? Or should it be more special? A trip to the Observatory maybe? Or Santa Monica Pier? Maybe I should just get him to come over and we could spend a couple days in bed. Actually, it all sounded great. I didn’t really care too much what kind of date I had with Tripp, as long as I had one.

When it was about five minutes to five, I went to the coffee table and found the remote. I clicked the television on and flipped over to cable. I surfed to the local news. Then I waited. I surfed through the channels quickly. Three of them had local newscasts. Finally, the news began. The first channel mentioned the arrest as a top story, “Major development in two area murders,” but moved on to something else. They were using it as a teaser. I surfed. The second channel seemed to be doing the same thing. I surfed to the third. They were in the middle of the story.

“…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 get my belongings back. The place reminded me of a pawnshop, and the unhappy civilian behind the counter looked like a pawnbroker. Eventually, he brought out a box with all my things. It happened to be the same box Jeremy kept his porn in. In addition to my now useless cell phone and my laptop, they were giving me back Jeremy’s porn. As each item was checked off on the form that went with the box, the unhappy clerk read it aloud, including each individual DVD titled. “One DVD
Fists of Fury
, one DVD
Piss Boys of Chicago
.” And it went on and on.

I remembered I had porn on my computer, as well. I wondered if they’d gone through that, too. Was it really porn on the thumb drive? Would Cameron even know what real gay porn was? I let the clerk drone on while I called Tiffany. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey,” I said, “did you bring that Pez drive with you to work?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. It’s not the kind of thing you leave with a fifteen-year-old.”

I skipped a second apology and asked, “Can I come by and get it?”

She hesitated a moment and said, “Um, sure.”

“Great. I’ll be there in about a half hour.”

I grabbed my box of belongings and left. I hurried out to my car and drove to Burbank. Tiffany had left me a drive-on pass so I could park in the underground garage. I zipped up to my old office, luckily not running into anyone I knew, and expecting to find Tiffany in her cubicle, I didn’t.

In fact, the cubicle was empty. All her paraphernalia -- the pictures of her boys, her framed AA degree, the buttons with kittens on them -- it was all gone. I looked around, then walked into my old office, where Tiffany sat behind my desk. Well, her desk. She had the decency to blush.

“You got my job,” I said.

“I feel bad, I really do. But it did seem like you were going to jail.”

“How did you get my job? I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, but Sonja doesn’t like you.”

“I caught Sonja and Charles in a compromising position and happened to have my phone on me, so I took a photo…”

“Um…wait, Charles is--”

“Not a closet case.”

“So you blackmailed your way into my job?” It had been a surprise to find out Eddie was a blackmailer. It was bigger one to find out Tiffany was one too.

“I don’t like to think of it that way,” she said, “but yes. Sonja couldn’t exactly give the job to Charles after I took that picture, could she?”

I thought about it for a moment. In a way, I was impressed; I never expected Tiffany to do something like that. On the other hand, she scared me a little. I thought it best to say, “Do me a favor, when you get Sonja’s job, keep me in mind.” Then I asked for the Pez drive and left.

I didn’t have the patience to wait until I got home to watch the video. After I left the studio, I pulled into a hilly side street on the way back to my house. If I’d followed the winding streets upward, I’d have ended up near the Hollywood Reservoir. I parked as best I could then pulled out my laptop, hoping it had a charge, hoping they hadn’t deliberately destroyed it. It took forever to power up, but finally it was on. I plugged in the flash drive, clicked on the file and put in the password El Gordo. That opened the folder. I clicked on the quick time file, and it came up in the player.

It took a moment for me to figure out what I was seeing. The video was dark, but I could clearly see two entwined figures on a bed. Both male. Both naked. It wasn’t a professional porno. I wasn’t even what they called amateur porn on the Internet. This was something different. One of the men was Eddie. Suddenly, I realized that this was shot in the garage-slash-studio behind Sylvia’s house. Eddie was taping this man without his knowledge, I was pretty certain of it.

The man’s face was turned away from the camera, buried in Eddie’s lap. I sped forward to see if I could get a good look at his face. Later in the video, as he’s fucking Eddie doggie style, Eddie slowly moves them toward the camera so that the man’s face will…yes, there he is. He looked familiar, but it was still very dark. He was stocky, well-muscled, had black hair… it was Carlos Maldonado.

Hanson was protecting Maldonado. Her former partner. A rising political figure. Things began to make sense. A guy who wanted to do things for the community. I turned the video off. I didn’t need to see any more. Though I suppose I should have continued to see if Carlos tried choking Eddie, or if they had any kind of conversation when they finished. Maybe I’d finished watching it some other time.

Right then, I needed to think about what to do. Now that I had the video, the answer to the murders, what did I do with it? I couldn’t just bring the Pez drive to the police. It was far too possible I’d find another friend of Maldonado’s. I supposed I could call Alan Moskowitz at the
Herald
. Would that be safe? He’d written a real puff piece of Maldonado, though. Did the budding politician have allies at the paper? Newspaper people had seemed incorruptible when I was a kid. Now they seemed as bad as politicians. The safest choice would be to give the drive to Tripp’s lawyer. But I didn’t have his name. Tripp hadn’t said.

If Tripp didn’t get out of jail soon, I could go back to visit him in the morning and get his lawyer’s name. Unfortunately, that was a long way off and just knowing what was on the video made me feel vulnerable. I needed to make sure the file was safe. The best way to make sure the file was safe would be to email it to myself. I clicked on the wireless icon and discovered that everyone nearby had security on their network. I’d have to find a coffee shop with a hot spot or go home and use my own wireless. In the mean time, I copied the file onto my hard drive and renamed it ultimates 2011. At first glance, it would look like a work file.

I did a U-turn and was about to head back into the valley when I noticed a Crown Vic turning into the street I was on. Detective Hanson was in the driver’s seat, glaring at me as she drove by. Crap! I’d put the GPS back onto my car and hadn’t bothered to take it off. I made a quick turn back toward L.A.

I drove through the Cahuenga pass as quickly as I could. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I didn’t see Hanson. She was back there, but the road I was on took a number of dips and turns as it worked through the Cahuenga Pass. I had the sudden realization that Hanson hadn’t framed Tripp to get him to take the blame for to murders, she framed Tripp so he couldn’t help me. Hanson and Maldonado wanted the file. They weren’t at all concerned about the murders. Hanson probably thought she’d be able to make sure they went unsolved.

My first impulse was to go home, but that was crazy. I’d be a sitting duck there. Instead, I drove south on Highland down to Sunset, where I took a right, heading west. Traffic was thick. I glanced in my rear-view mirror; no sign of Hanson. I made a sudden, sharp turn onto Formosa and double-parked in a driveway. I jumped out of the car, ran around to the passenger side wheel well and retrieved the GPS. Then I ran back and hopped in the driver side. I made a U-turn and headed back to Sunset.

I could have stuck the GPS onto a parked car or thrown it onto someone’s lawn, but I was too worried that Hanson would resort to other methods to find me. Like police APBs or even helicopters. I had to keep her busy for as long as possible. Though at first, I wasn’t sure how I’d accomplish this.

Back on Sunset, I looked around trying to think of a way to get rid of the GPS. Ahead of me, in the next lane about two cars up, I noticed an old Buick convertible. It was an enormous boat of a car with a huge back seat. The top was down; it was L.A. after all.

There were two cars in front of me, so I couldn’t just pull up next to it. I had to be patient and try to figure a way to get next to it. It took three blocks before I was just one car length behind them. I kept my fingers crossed that they wouldn’t make a left turn and disappear. Then, at the next light, I was able to pull up next to them. The driver was a middle-aged man in his fifties. His balding head was sunburned, and he looked about as happy as a man can while driving. I could tell he just loved that car. He kept scanning the sidewalks to see if anyone was noticing him.

I buzzed my electric window down and got the GPS in my left hand. I’m right-handed, so I knew it would be a little on the tricky side. There was room to move ahead, but I wasn’t budging. The guy in back of me seemed to getting annoyed about that, but I couldn’t worry about him.

At the next stop light, as the driver looked at a pretty blonde entering the crosswalk, I carefully tossed the GPS into his back seat. He heard something, but he wasn’t sure what. He turned and looked at me. I smiled and nodded my head at the blonde. Just as I’d hoped, he went back to watching her. When the light turned, I sped up and drove west on Sunset.

I had it in the back of my mind where I could go. I had Peter’s key on my keychain; I could go to his place in Venice and hide out. No one would know I was there. It took another forty minutes to get there. Most of that time I spent freaking out a little. I turned my cell phone off. I read somewhere that the signal could be used to pinpoint a location. There wouldn’t be much point of getting rid of the GPS if my cell could be used for the same purpose. I was pretty sure they couldn’t do the same thing with a computer. It would be safe to use my laptop when I got to Peter’s.

His apartment was on a side street in the not-so-good part of Venice where it borders on Culver City. Just off Venice Boulevard, the apartment complex was five pre-World War Two clapboard buildings on a large lot. Each building had two units. Peter lived in the back building.