Sins of the Fathers (40 page)

He held her.

She was doubled over, her stomach throbbing.

His hand stroked her hair.

“There’s always a silver lining,” he said.

Now his hand was under her chin, tipping her head up.

She looked into his eyes. And suddenly his lips were on hers.

She tried to pull back, but his hand was behind her head, holding it.

6.

“Thanks for coming in so late, Doc.”

Colby showed Dr. Tucker into his office. Only one or two deputies were around, and none of the support staff. Colby usually liked this quiet time of evening, a good time to prepare for the next day at trial.

“I assume you’re wanting me back on the stand tomorrow,”Tucker said.

“No.”

“Then how can I help?”

The doctor sat. Colby remained standing. “Forget you’re my witness for a second. Forget that you’re an expert we use a lot. And forget what I’m about to say to you, just like I’ll forget what you say to me. This is between us, off the record. Clear?”

“All right.”

“This boy, Darren DiCinni. How is he?”

“Do you mean can he distinguish right from wrong?”

“Forget that. Forget the legal part. Just tell me in your own words.”

The doctor shifted around in his chair. “Mr. Colby, I thought my testimony was clear. Were you not happy with it?”

“My happiness is irrelevant.”

“Is it really?” Tucker’s experienced eyes homed in on Colby.

Colby felt the look slice through him. “Suppose I tell you I want you to make me unhappy? I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Now listen—”

“Just between us.”

Dr. Tucker cleared his throat. “The truth? The truth is forever beyond us, just around some corner. We can’t know for certain what’s going on in anyone’s head. It’s like I said in court. The most we can make are educated guesses, and the ones with the most education get paid the most to guess. Right? And when we are presented with the data, we can make it do little dances, this way or that, depending on who’s paying the band. You know that and I know that and that’s the way it’s always been done around here. So tell me again, Mr. Colby, why am I here?”

Colby sat in his chair. “Let’s say I’m putting together a whole new band. Let’s say I want you to give it to me straight between the eyes. And let’s say this kid was abused for years by his father. Physically and psychologically. What would you say about that?”

Tucker sighed.“You don’t need an advanced degree to know that’s the worst thing that can happen to a boy.”

“Is there any way somebody could recover from something like that?”

“Depends on the individual. The fact that this one’s only thirteen offers a little hope. With the right treatment, of course.” He paused. “What are you thinking, Mr. Colby?”

Colby shook his head. “I’m thinking life doesn’t get any simpler the further we go along in it.”

“I agree. And people seem less and less equipped to deal with it. The increase in depression and anxiety disorders in recent years is monumental.”

“My dad said that years ago.”

“He did?”

“And he predicted it would get worse.” Colby remembered the sermon exactly. He was eighteen at the time, riding high on football glory, thinking life couldn’t get any better. So his father’s words shook him. “He said the more people give up on God the more the drug companies will prosper. Pills were going to replace prayer, he said.”

“Your father was a prophet,” Tucker said.

NINETEEN

1.

Roxy flailed her arms like a swimmer without a pool. “
Let me do the
talking,
she says. So I let her do the talking. And I’m the one who gets the ticket for reckless driving.”

“Can you get off that already?” Lindy tossed her a can of Diet Dr Pepper. It was late, but Lindy would not be sleeping tonight. “I told you, I’ll help you fight the ticket.”

“The way you sweet-talked those cops?”

“I wasn’t prepared.”

“I’ll say. The minute they found out who you were, they couldn’t write a ticket fast enough.”

“I’ll pay the fine. It was my fault. There, I said it.”

“I accept.” Roxy popped her second can open at the same time someone knocked on the door.

“It’s Klinger,” said the voice outside.

Lindy opened the door.

“What are you doing up so late?” he said.

“What is it, Mr. Klinger?”

“Ah, my ticker. She ticks when she oughta tock.”

“I have someone here.”

Emil Klinger leaned past the open door. “That hot pastrami mommy?”

“Mr. Klinger, please—”

“Okay. I thought you should know some guy was out here today, driving around.”

“Guy?”

“He looked interested in your place. Say, you’re not sweet on someone, are you?”

“What do you mean he was interested in my place?”

“Because I’m the jealous type.”

“Tell me what he was doing, Mr. Klinger.”

He shrugged. “Drove up the drive about halfway, stopped, looked, drove away.”

“Did you get a look at him?”

“You think I’m some shmoe? I got a look. ’Course, the eyes ain’t what they used to be.”

“And?”

Mr. Klinger snapped his suspenders with his thumbs. “He had hippie hair and a beard.”

Roxy came up beside Lindy.

“Hello, baby,” Klinger said.

“Beard or goatee?” Lindy asked.

“Yeah, one of them little chin things.”

“What color was the car?”

Klinger frowned. “This is twenty questions?”

“What color?”

“Blue. So there, Miss Quiz Show.”

Lindy looked past him, out into the darkness. Was he out there? Was Travis Kellman watching them right now?”

“Go home,Mr. Klinger.”

“The night is young!”

“Go home and go to bed.”

“Some neighbor!”

Lindy shut the door. She went to the bedroom and got the gun. Cardozo watched her from the bed.

Roxy came in. “It could have been anybody.”

Lindy shook her head. “Anybody with long hair and a goatee in a blue car.” She placed the revolver on her nightstand, then sat at her computer. “Let’s do a little Googling.”

Roxy sat on the edge of the bed next to Cardozo.

“First, our friend Travis Kellman.” Lindy typed in the name in quotes and hit return.

No results.

“Figures,” Lindy said. “That’s probably not his real name.”

“Okay, I’ll just be running along—”

“Stay here. We’re going to keep going through the haystack.”

“What haystack?”

“I’m going to jump around on Google. The box that teacher gave us is over there.” She pointed to her closet. “Go through it again. Go through those crazy notebooks page by page. Find me something. Anything.”

“Lindy, you need to get some sleep. I need some sleep.”

“Just do it, please. ”

As Roxy grumbled over the box, Lindy typed VOICe into Google and hit return. A moment later the results came back: 41,700,000 hits.

“Oops.”

Google was not case specific. It had found every page with the word
voice
in it. She added “George Mahoney” to the search box. Two hundred ninety hits came back.

“Better.”

“What are you mumbling about?” Roxy said.

“Nothing.” Lindy started scrolling. She found some recent stuff from the
Times
and
Daily News
related to cases where VOICe had been involved in some way.

For the next half hour she read, linked, jumped back and forth between pages, learning a lot about George Mahoney’s group and activism. Sometime in there Roxy made tea. As she served it she said, “How about a little Cat Stevens?”

“Hm?”

“We need a little music in this place. It’s like a funeral parlor.”

“I don’t have any Cat Stevens.”

“No, here,” Roxy said. She was holding the Cat Stevens album from Dorai’s box.

“Why not? Pop it in the CD player.”

Lindy went back to reading. She heard Roxy mumble what sounded like
weird.

“What’s wrong?”

“He has two CDs in this case. Cat Stevens was on top of this one, but it isn’t marked.”

A tiny alarm, like a car’s security system kicking off a block away, sounded in Lindy’s mind. “Bring it here.”

Roxy handed the CD to Lindy. It was a gold Maxell CD-R, 650 MB. But no label. “Let’s check it.” Lindy opened the CD drive on her computer and put it in.

“Music?” Roxy asked.

“Wait a second. No. There’s a whole bunch of—” Lindy stopped. It felt like a hand grabbed her throat. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

“A bunch of these files have the word
Hawkstar
in them.”

Roxy bent over to look at the screen. “Were these downloads or something?”

“Roxy, I’ve been checking that Hawkstar conspiracy site. You know he didn’t post anything after June 25.”

“That’s the day before the killings.”

Lindy stared at the screen, at the list of files. “What if Dorai was Hawkstar?”

Roxy looked at Lindy. “You think?”

“I don’t know, but you have this quiet teacher type, not many friends. Coaches baseball, but had no kids on the team.”

“That makes him a conspiracy nut?”

“Why did the police seize a bunch of his stuff?”

Roxy shrugged.

“He was into police conspiracies,” Lindy said.

“You think there’s some connection?”

“Let’s find out. Is there more in that box?”

“Some.”

“Have you gone through everything completely?”

“Well, that depends on your definition of
completely.
”

“Back to the box.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Lindy started reading the Hawkstar files. It was mostly fluff and nonsense about extraterrestrials, Cuban infiltrators, Skull and Bones moles in the government, and speculations about movie stars and plastic surgeons. Her eyes were starting to burn with fatigue when she opened one last file.

Hawkstar Notes

Saturday, September 9, 2000

Here’s some inside dope on the Rampart fallout.

“Bingo!”

“What?”

“Cop stuff.”

There’s a hot disagreement, and I mean HOT, among the fifteen-member council that’s repping the city in negotiations with the U.S.Department of Justice over police reforms. They do not speak with one voice on this. Big issues remain, like should the city enter into a consent decree to prevent the Justice Department from filing a federal civil rights lawsuit against the city over the LAPD’s conduct? (A consent decree is a binding settlement whose implementation is overseen by a monitor and federal judge.)

Other issues unresolved by the sharply divided panel of negotiators include:

Whether a federal monitor should be appointed to oversee a lengthy list of reforms in the problem-plagued police department.

Whether the LAPD should be required to compile statistics on the race of individuals subjected to warrantless searches and pedestrian stops.

Whether the department should have to undertake a study of how it treats mentally-ill suspects.

Lindy’s skin tingled.
Mentally-ill suspects
. The Department of Justice was scrutinizing this? Where were they now that she needed them? She read on.

For more than four years,federal officials have been investigating allegations that the LAPD routinely employs excessive force and infringes on the rights of minority residents. Their inquiry accelerated amid the allegations growing out of the Rampart scandal.