Sins of the Fathers (42 page)
A long time.
Another verse his father had taught him came to him again.
If any
of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally,
and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith,
nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven
with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think that he shall receive
anything of the Lord.
Colby opened the Bible to James, found the verses in chapter one. Yep. Just like he remembered them.
6.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Lindy moved. She pivoted, getting between Roxy and DiCinni.
She heard a shot, felt a hot fist in her side. The impact knocked her forward. She went down on top of Roxy. Then another shot.
She tried to move, was weighted down, splayed oddly. There would be no getting away.
She heard two heavy steps behind her.
Oh God.
Bullets to the head.
God help us.
Lindy’s side burned and she felt the oozing of blood. She kept Roxy under her, protecting her.
Something heavy fell on the deck.
Lindy turned her head. A body.
Drake DiCinni. His eyes were wide, shocked. And, Lindy realized in a second, dead.
What?
Then a hand was on her shoulder, and a voice called her name.
7.
Mona put her left hand on her stomach and with her right she reached out for the phone. Where was it?
There.
Picked it up, laid the receiver on the pillow next to her ear. Punched in the number.
Heard the first ring.
Oh God, be there be there.
A second ring.
Oh God, let him pick up. God let him.
A third. A fourth.
Dear God, dear God, dear God, forgive me . . .
“Hello?”
His voice was soft, distant, empty.
“Brad?”
“Mona.” Surprise there now, longing.
“Brad, come get me. I want to go home.”
8.
Travis Kellman held a revolver in one hand. “Are you hit?”
Lindy was too stunned to answer.
“You’re hit,” he said.
Roxy stirred under her. “What’s happening?”
Lindy had no idea. What was Kellman doing here? With a gun?
Kellman put the gun down and helped Lindy get to her knees. Roxy scurried out. “Travis?”
He was taking his shirt off.“We’ve got a bullet wound. Hold this on her, Rox.”
Lindy saw him hand his shirt to Roxy, whose mouth was hanging open. “Why are you here?”
“Followed you.”
“But why—”
Travis took Roxy’s hand and made her apply the shirt to Lindy’s side. “Keep it there. I’m calling 911.”
Lindy’s head was light now, swirling. “How you doing?” Roxy whispered.
“I’m totally confused, is how I’m doing.”
She heard Travis talking to the 911 operator. And then she heard a groan.
It wasn’t Drake DiCinni. He hadn’t moved. It was Greene, still in his chair, his arms out to the sides.
She moved a few feet toward him. Roxy followed, still holding the shirt on her wound.
“We have a shooting here,” Kellman said in the background. “A woman, early thirties has been hit, needs an ambulance.”
“And a man, late fifties,” Lindy called over her shoulder.
Greene looked up at her, his eyes obscured. He moved his mouth.
Lindy put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t say anything, Judge.”
His lips moved again. “Lindy . . .” he said, barely loud enough for her to hear.
So this is what it
’
s really like to lose a father, one you loved,
trusted. Lost not to death or distance, but deceit.
The enormity of it, the chasm of sadness inside her, threatened to swallow her. Her loss of blood was nothing. The loss of Greene, of trust, of certainty, that was everything.
“Forgive me, Lindy . . .”
She looked into the hurt and uncertainty of his eyes.
Oh God, forgive us all
.
1.
Leon Colby got the message from reception at 8:37 a.m. A guy from Internal Affairs to see him on an urgent matter related to the DiCinni case.
Which was on the calendar for nine.
Colby did not know the man who introduced himself as Travis Kellman.
“I thought I knew all the faces at IA,” Colby said, shaking his hand.
“Special assignment,” Kellman said. “I’m from San Diego. It was undercover.”
“Undercover? What for?”
“Because it involved cops who didn’t need to know what I was looking at. By the way, Lindy Field was on to it.”
Colby cocked his head. “What does Lindy have to do with it?”
“She was shot last night, at the home of Judge Roger Greene.”
Colby stared at him in disbelief.
“I followed her there. She was with her investigator, Roxanne Raymond. I was keeping an eye on them, mainly for protection. I was late getting into Greene’s house. Almost too late.”
“How is Lindy?”
“She’s going to be all right,” Kellman said. “The bullet took a chunk out of her side but didn’t do any permanent damage. But Greene is hanging on by a thread. He gave me a full statement at four this morning.”
Colby was having trouble forming words. “Who shot who and why?”
“Drake DiCinni shot Greene and Lindy. I shot DiCinni. DiCinni was hiding out at Greene’s house.”
Colby’s mind failed to produce a complete picture. “How does Greene figure in this?”
“He ran a network of rogue cops. A star chamber, if you will. Judge and jury and executioner rolled into one. I’ve got names, dates. Drake DiCinni was part of it. He worked out of Vegas originally. Got recruited by the DA there to do dirty work in order to avoid a murder charge. The DA had served with Greene in Vietnam. They had similar views, shall we say, of how the law should operate. The DA there actually sent DiCinni to work for Greene.”
Colby looked at the clock on his wall. 8:40.
“You might want to ask the judge for a continuance,” Kellman said. “Until you can talk to Greene.”
“And Lindy. I’d like to see Lindy.”
“Greene said it was George Mahoney who ran Lindy off Topanga. We’re picking him up now.”
Leon almost asked how this could happen, but he knew how. With a sudden clarity he knew very well how it happened, and his part in it.
The office door opened. Larry Lopez came in. “You ready to go? We got—” He stopped when he saw Kellman.
“This is Larry Lopez,” Colby said, “my investigator.”
“I know Mr. Lopez. Judge Greene mentioned his name.”
“Greene?” Lopez said.
Travis Kellman removed his gun and pointed it at Lopez. “Hands on your head, please.”
Lopez stared. “What’s this?”
“Now,” Kellman said.
“Better do it, Larry,” Colby said.
For a moment Lopez looked like he might bolt. But then a resignation swept his face. He put his hands on his head. “You sold me out, didn’t you, Leon?”
“I sold myself out,” Colby said. “A long time ago.”
Kellman disarmed Lopez, pulled his hands behind his back, and cuffed him.
“You are under arrest for the murder of Sean McIntyre,” Kellman said. “You have the right to remain silent . . .”
2.
“Where is Ms. Field?” Judge Lipton was on the bench, ready to get started.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Everett Woodard said. “There was some trouble last night.”
“Trouble?”
“Lindy is in the hospital again. There was a shooting and—”
“Shooting? What is going on here?”
“Excuse me, Your Honor.” Leon Colby stood. “Let me try to explain.”
“I don’t know if I want to hear this. I want to bring in the jury and I want to keep this case moving.”
“There won’t be any need for the jury.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Colby looked at Everett Woodard, seeing the surprise on his face. He knew it was nothing like it was about to become. He also knew that the numerous VOICe people in the gallery were about to go ballistic.
“At this time,” Colby said, “the People will accept the plea that has been offered by the defense, in their previous memorandum.” The plea that would send Darren DiCinni to a mental facility and not prison. The plea he had previously refused even to consider.
He was right about Woodard and VOICe. The defense lawyer’s face became a neon sign of shock, then elation. At the counsel table, Darren DiCinni’s eyes registered confusion. Behind Colby, the grum-blings in the VOICe section rose like a wave of auditory outrage.
Judge Lipton said, “Approach the bench.”
When Woodard and Colby were in front of him he leaned forward. “Do you know what you’re doing, Leon?”
“Absolutely.”
“Does your boss know what you’re doing?”
“He will.”
“Do you want a few minutes to—”
“No, Your Honor. We are ready to proceed.”
“You know,” Judge Lipton said, “there are going to be some very upset people around here. And I’m not just talking about the people in this courtroom.”
Colby nodded toward the courtroom wall, at the bas-relief of Justice holding her scale. “Yeah,” he said, “but she’s good with it.”
3.
Iron John Sherman was not good with it. Leon Colby took a clue from the blue vein swelling under the tight skin of Sherman’s forehead.
“Are you completely insane?” Sherman shouted. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Sherman’s arms flailed wildly, like he was conducting the
1812
Overture.
“You’re toast,” Sherman said. “Kiss this office good-bye. You big dumb—”
Colby shook his head. “Don’t say it, chief. Wouldn’t want word to get out that you’re prejudiced.”
“Don’t threaten me, Leon. You don’t know who you’re dealing with here.”
“Yeah. I do. Anything else?”
“I hope you like Compton. Because that’s where you’re going. You can do traffic cases the rest of your life.”
Colby felt light, flying for the first time in years. He reached in his coat and took out the letter, tossed it on Sherman’s desk.
“My resignation,” Colby said.
“Then get out of my office.”
Colby took one last look at that office, the place he would never occupy. Plush carpet, fancy desk, expensive artwork.
Some words came back to him then, sounding out in his head like his father’s voice when he was in his prime, pacing at the pulpit.
I
count all things but loss—
He saw his father raising his hands toward heaven.
“I said get out, Leon.”
“So long, chief. Just wanted to leave you with a thought: Play hard and play fair.”
“What?”
Colby left without another word.