Presumed Guilty (27 page)

Dallas did not go to her car. Instead, she walked a couple of blocks to Los Angeles Street and entered Parker Center, home base of the Los Angeles Police Department. A large square white building, it was both solid and forbidding, the hub of all force and might in L.A. Which is what Dallas needed behind her.

At the front desk, she gave her name and asked to see Detective William Lacy. The uniformed officer who manned the desk picked up a phone and punched a couple of buttons.

“Dallas Hamilton to see Lacy,” the officer said. He waited a few moments, then said, “Thanks,” and hung up.
“Not in,” he said. “You want to leave him a message?”
“Do you know where I can reach him?”
“You can leave a message, ma’am.”
“Never mind,” she said. She returned to the street, back to the public parking lot behind the courthouse. Dallas felt like a cork bobbing on a human sea. People were everywhere, and their movements all seemed random. That’s what life was like now. No order. Questions, and no place to go for answers. Detective Lacy was a shot in the dark anyway. He wasn’t even on the Rafe Bryan case anymore, so that probably settled it. No more help from the police.
Now what?
She got back to her car and paid the ten bucks it cost every time she came down here. The parking-lot business in Los Angeles, that was the business to be in. Maybe she could open one up and sit in a kiosk for the next twenty years, raking it in.
She thought about driving to the ocean again, finding a quiet spot for prayer. Instead she got on the freeway and headed toward Hillside. She would find someone to pray with her up there. Hopefully Lisa or Bob. He was her pastor now. Odd, but why not?
She listened to smooth jazz on the radio and tried to quiet her brain. The thoughts pinging around in there were more likely to drive her crazy than to the truth. She would find the truth at Hillside, at her church. That was the place she could get centered again.
She exited the freeway and noticed a flashing red light right behind her. To her chagrin, it was her car that had been targeted.
Terrific. What had she done? Speeding? No way. Broken taillight? She hoped the cop would show mercy. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a ticket to pay.
Then she noticed that it wasn’t a black and white behind her, nor a Highway Patrol car. It was an unmarked vehicle.
Containing Detective William Lacy.
“I wondered when you were going to get off the freeway,” he said when he got to her window.
“You followed me?”
“I didn’t want us to be seen at Parker. We need to talk.”
“You want to talk to
me
?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s talk.”
“Not here. Is there a place we can go, out of the way?”
She thought a moment. “Yeah, a little coffee shop called Benny’s. It’s a couple blocks from here.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“You do that well.”
Benny’s was a diner Dallas used to take the kids to when they were little. It had a truck-stop feel to it, which Dallas liked. No pretensions. And the waitresses — they still called themselves
waitresses
here — never let coffee cups stay empty.
They took an empty booth in the back and ordered coffee. Lacy took his black.
“So what’s going on?” Dallas said.
Lacy took a sip, put his cup on the table, and held it with both hands. “There’s something very strange about Gentri Land Corporation,” he said. “I did some follow-up information on it after we talked on the phone last. We have ways of getting information, of course. But I kept running into a wall with this Gentri Land.”
“You said Vic Lu is connected.”
“He leases property from them. But I looked into some of the other properties connected to Gentri Land. It’s all over the map, commercial real estate and the like.”
“Anything else? ”
“I’m not sure at the moment. But I’ve got a hunch that there’s more going on than we know.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
She looked at him.
“Mrs. Hamilton, what I am about to tell you needs to remain just between us, is that understood?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I may need your help.”
“
My
help?”
“Let me explain. I’m investigating a missing-persons case. We suspect murder. And the possibility that Vic Lu is involved.”
“But what can I do?”
“I’m not at liberty to say anything else at the moment, but at the proper time I wonder if you would consider wearing a wire.”
“You mean tape somebody?”
“Exactly.”
“Like on television?”
“It happens in real life too.”
She considered this for a moment, seeing herself in a dark room with all sorts of equipment on her body. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”
“Believe me, I won’t let you do it if I think it would in any way be dangerous for you.”
Dallas thought about it again, a sip of coffee lubricating the mental gears. Finally she looked at Lacy and said, “Will you help me if I help you?”
“How do you want me to help you?”
“I want you to help me clear my husband’s name.”
Lacy frowned. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”
“Not if he’s innocent.”
“You don’t think he’s guilty?”
“I know he isn’t.”
“Mrs. Hamilton, you know that as a police officer I don’t have control over the cases assigned to me, and so I — ”
“You have spare time, don’t you?”
Detective Lacy smiled. “Oh, yeah. Tons.”
“Then hear me out.”
“Go.”
At least he didn’t shut the door entirely. “This possible murder. Is Vic Lu himself the suspect?”
“I can’t say one way or the other.”
“But that’s why you thought about me, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Listen, what if Vic Lu was the one who murdered Melinda Perry?”
Lacy’s eyebrows went up, and Dallas knew she’d struck something.
She pounced. “You know something I need to know. What is it? Please.”
“You’re very perceptive, Mrs. Hamilton. You’d make a good cop.”
“I just want to get some sleep. Can you talk to me?”
Lacy stared into his coffee for a moment. “Lu is smart. We have to proceed very carefully. It’s one of his girls who’s gone missing. A girl by the name of Patricia Hood.”
“Who was she?”
“Another one of the countless girls who come out here for fame and money and end up with some very bad people. I’m sure she had this fantasy floating out there in front of her and tried to grab it. She even took a stage name.”
“A stage name?”
“Yeah. She called herself Gilda.”

In the past, they would have had us segregated. The prisons, like the jails, did that to keep order. But the California Supreme Court came down with a decision that said they couldn’t do that in state prisons anymore, so I get to be part of this grand experiment here.

The two of us didn’t start out with racial reconciliation at the top of the agenda.
“You got somethin’ against Latinos, bro?” That was the first thing Ernesto said to me.
“No way,” I said. “If it wasn’t for the Latinos, there’d be no California.” I tried to say it with a smile, but my lips quivered.
Ernesto was twenty-six and, while not tall, solid as a bull. “That right?”
I gave him a short history of the California missions. “That’s why that stupid decision in Los Angeles a couple years ago about taking the cross off the city seal was so misguided.”
“You talk like college, man.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s good. I been working toward my high school equivalent.”
“Great.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t smoke you if you tick me off.”
I looked at him, not feeling scared at all. For some odd reason.
Then he smiled. “Just messin’ with you, bro. Did you really kill that chiquita?”
“Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Everybody in here’s innocent, man, ain’t you heard?”
“The answer is no,” I said.
“Why’d you plead?”

271 “To get it over with. To get some peace.”
“In here?”
“You’d be surprised.”
“You gonna need somebody to watch your back.”
“I got somebody.”
His look was skeptical.
“Jesus,” I said.
Ernesto shook his head. “Lots of guys got Jesus, and lots of ’em end

up facedown. He don’t seem like enough.”
“What if I told you he was?”
“I wouldn’t believe it, man.”
“We got lots of time to talk about it, don’t we?”
He put a finger in my face. “Don’t push me, man.”

On Sunday they were in church together — Dallas, Jared, and Cara. Almost a complete family.
It would have to do. The rebuilding would begin here. Here at Hillside.
Dallas allowed herself to fully engage in the worship and the
singing. Quincy, the worship leader at Hillside, always did a good
job with the music. What she liked particularly was that he sometimes included an old hymn. She loved the hymns, and Quincy
did too. He was thirty-five, a former gang member, and everyone
said he could have been a rap star. Instead, he gave his gifts to the
Lord.
Today, just before the sermon, Quincy led the congregation in
“It Is Well with My Soul,” which had always been one of Dallas’s
favorites. The message of grace in it was, she thought, as deep as
any. And it all came rushing over her as she sang.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well with my soul.”

Dallas soared with the words. But then the most remarkable thing happened. She heard Jared’s voice. Jared, who never liked to sing, who never did after age thirteen or so, was singing now.

And, Lord, haste the day when our faith shall be sight, The clouds be rolled back as a scroll,
The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, Even so, it is well with my soul.

Dallas praised God silently for the grace of the moment, the spiritual reunion that had come to her son at last.
Bob Benson came to the pulpit subdued. But his sermon seemed touched by the same Spirit that had moved the congregation. He was spot-on this day, giving a message of hope.
And he finished with words about Ron.
“As you all know,” he said, “we have gone through what I would call a family crisis here. Our beloved pastor has been sent to prison. You well know the story, but we must also remember another story, the greatest story ever told, that any sin we commit can be forgiven. Ron Hamilton has been forgiven. His wife, Dallas, who is here today with us, has told me all about it.
“I remember back when Dallas came to see me at the church a couple of days after Ron was arrested . . .”
Yes, Dallas remembered that day too. It was her first visit to the church after Ron was taken away by the police.
“. . . and we sat in my office and I remember there was a lot of media attention, and we even had some threats called in. I was glad we had Dave Rivas looking out for our security, I can tell you that . . .”
Dave, who managed the security system that Dallas had helped select.
“. . . we sat in my office and prayed for Ron and for God to watch over this church during this troubled time and . . .”
Trouble came in bunches, in search warrants and leaks to the press and —
“. . . we left it in his hands . . .”
— Ron was arrested on Monday.
“. . . and that’s what we’re going to do here today . . .” Dallas didn’t hear the rest.
Someone tapped her shoulder. Jared.
“Mom, are you all right?”
“Wait here,” she managed to say. And then she got up and left the sanctuary.

Dave Rivas looked up from the Bible he was reading. On Sundays Dave went to the early morning worship service, then spent time doing his Bible reading in the security office.

He got up to greet her. As usual, he wore his LAPD cap. “Mrs. Hamilton, it’s good to see — ”
“Dave, I have to ask you a question.”
“Sure.”
“How far back do you keep security tapes and records?”
“Everything’s digital. We have archives back as far as when we set up the system.”
“Can we look up a certain date?”
“Of course. That’s why we got this bad boy. Remember when we did the system research? You liked that aspect, even though it cost us.”
“Well, now we get to see if it was worth it.”
“Okay, what date?”
“March 23.” That was the date that shot into her mind at church, the date Lucas Tomassi had mentioned in passing at the DA’s office, talking about his report. The date the files were downloaded, he said. One problem. The 23
^rd
was a Wednesday, two days after Ron’s arrest.
Dave tapped away at a keyboard in front of a large monitor. A series of thumbnail pictures came up showing various views of the church grounds.
“You can scan these first,” Dave said, “and take a look at the time markers. Any time in particular?”
“After about seven o’clock at night. Can you isolate those?”
He did it. Another series of thumbnails. One of the parking lot. Dallas pointed to it. “Can we look at this view at various times?”
“Are beans good for your heart?”
“Huh?”
“Bad joke. Of course we can.”
Dave brought up shots from the parking-lot cam, the time markers broken at fifteen-minute increments. The number of cars in the lot dwindled as time passed.
“Can we skip ahead?”
“Sure. Next set.”
This set began with four or five cars in the shot and ended with only one car.
Dallas realized she’d been holding her breath.
“So,” Dave said jovially, “is this system worth it or what?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, her heart dropping like a brick.

Dallas sat in her car outside the Bensons’ house for two hours, waiting for them to get back from church. She tried to talk herself out of what she saw, create a reasonable explanation. She couldn’t, because there was only one conclusion, one thing that made sense.

When the Bensons pulled into the driveway Dallas got out of her car and met them on the lawn.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?” Lisa said, concern etched on her face.
“You didn’t come to rebuke me about my sermon today, I hope,” Bob said jokingly.
“Can we go inside?” Dallas said.
They did, and Dallas sensed their awkwardness at her unannounced visit.
They went into the living room, but before Bob sat down Dallas said, “Would you mind if I talked to Lisa privately a moment?”
“I’ve always thought that whole girl-talk thing was a myth,” Bob said with a forced smile. “But I know the odds are against me here. I’ll be in the study.”
Lisa sat on the sofa and patted it for Dallas to sit next to her.
“I’m so glad you came over,” Lisa said. “I’ve been wanting to get together with you again. It’s time for us to — ”
“Lisa, were you ever going to tell me about the computer?”
“Computer?”
“Ron’s computer.”
Lisa’s face froze.
“Lisa, I know what you did. I know about the porn on Ron’s computer.” She watched Lisa’s reaction carefully. Her hope that Lisa would crack immediately faded.
“I’m sorry, Dallas, but you’re going to have to spell this out for me.”
“Ron’s computer was taken from the church on the twentyfourth of March.”
“I sort of remember.”
“Ron was arrested on the twenty-first.”
Lisa said nothing. Her face remained impassive.
“I came to the church on the twenty-third. I saw you there, and I met with Bob. We prayed in his office. He said he was going off to a speaking engagement that evening.”
“Sure, I remember that.”
“Do you remember staying at the church and downloading pornography onto Ron’s computer?”
Lisa’s noncommittal expression morphed into cold steel. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“We have the security video. Bob drove off from the parking lot at exactly 9:17 p.m. You didn’t leave until 11:33. There is a very clear shot of you getting in your car. I was at the DA’s office. They have a report saying downloading was done on Ron’s computer on the twenty-third. That would’ve been very hard for Ron to do, considering he was locked up. Shall I go on?”
Lisa stared at her for a very long time. Then, almost imperceptibly, Lisa began to tremble. But she tried to speak with conviction. “Ron had an affair and he didn’t tell you about it. But I knew. I knew about Amy Shea. Do you know how hard it was for me to sit in church Sunday after Sunday listening to him? Knowing what he did to you? Knowing that you wouldn’t do anything even if you knew? And then . . .”
“And then he was arrested, and you thought you’d take the opportunity to make sure he was ruined.”
“Dallas, he was living a lie.”
“Like you are now.”
Lisa shifted on the sofa, her body language stiff, as if gathering her defenses. “What do you intend to do?”
“Did Bob know?”
Lisa shook her head. “Please don’t say anything, he’s — ”
“He’s got to be told.”
“Dallas, please — ”
“You hurt more than just my family. You hurt the church.”
“We can work something out.”
Dallas stood. “I’ll give you until tomorrow. Tomorrow I call Bob myself.”