Grant of Immunity, page 30
Meanwhile, Babbage had turned around, blocked Hart’s arm, and tripped Hart, who fell to the floor. Babbage was on him, grabbing and twisting Hart’s wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. Seizing it, Babbage stabbed the blade toward Hart, who managed to block the move with his other arm.
Erin scooped up Fitz’s gun.
She had never shot anyone before, and she wasn’t sure she could. But she stepped closer to where Babbage and Hart were grappling, trying to aim the gun at Babbage.
The knife skittered away from them and stopped at Erin’s feet. Babbage dove for it.
Erin kicked the knife to the side, but lost her balance and fell on her back, though managing to hold on to the gun.
Babbage lunged, but before he could get to her, she raised the gun in both hands and pointed it directly at his chest.
Babbage froze. As the two of them stood up, Babbage’s eyes locked on the gun barrel. Erin wanted to pull the trigger, but couldn’t.
Babbage smiled.
At once an image of another time flashed in her head—a time when she saw that same smile on Babbage’s face. At two-thirty in the morning with the sounds of freeway traffic overhead. Amid the decay of Mission Street and the smell of garbage. Going to her knees, forced to use her mouth, enduring Babbage’s pungent stench. She was overcome with rage. Burning, consuming rage. She pointed the gun downward, at Babbage’s groin. And fired. And fired again. The sound was ear-shattering, and each time the weapon violently recoiled.
For an instant, Erin thought she missed. But she hadn’t.
Babbage lay on the floor, on his back, writhing. “You fucking bitch!” he screamed, his bloody hands between his legs. “You fucking—” She shot again.
Suddenly the room was quiet.
Erin dropped the gun.
She looked at Fitz. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound emerged. Frantically, Erin searched for a phone. She found one on a small table in the adjacent hallway, but before she could dial 9-1-1, four uniformed police officers stormed through the door. One pointed a gun directly at her and shouted, “Freeze. Get down on your knees with your hands over your head.”
Erin complied. Her hands were cuffed behind her and she was made to lay face-down on the floor.
One cop, a female, called for paramedics, while another bent over Fitzgerald. “This one’s still alive,” the cop said. “What’s up with the other two?”
A third officer went over and looked at Babbage. “This one’s dead—or close to it.” He went over to Hart and knelt. “But this one’s still breathing.”
75
Sean
9:30 p.m
Sean was frantic. This had been one of the worst days of his life. He had been at home, intending to go out to dinner with Erin to celebrate the end of Daniel Hart’s trial, and the end of all the years of not knowing who killed their mother or how she wound up dead at the reservoir. Sean had turned on the TV to watch the six o’clock news, and had seen the story of the shoot-out involving two police officers, a judge, and a kidnapped DA. He’d dialed Erin’s cell, but gotten no answer. He had tried Amanda’s cell, but only gotten her voice mail, and had left an urgent message to call him back.
Finally, Jordan’s secretary returned the call, telling him that Hart and Fitzgerald were at the Tarzana Hospital trauma center, and that Amanda and Erin were on their way there and would meet Sean in the critical care waiting room. Sean raced to the hospital, rushed to the waiting room, and, thank God, found Erin. She was alone, and immediately hugged him.
“It was awful,” she said. “There was blood everywhere, and I thought Fitz must be dead or dying. At first, the cops thought I’d shot Fitz, but Fitz revived when they were cuffing me. He was obviously in shock, but told them I’d saved his life, then passed out. The paramedics said they thought he’d be okay, but he’s still in surgery.”
“Are you okay?” Sean asked. Erin looked terrible, with dried blood all over her clothing, her hair a mess.
“Yeah,” she said. “I know I look awful, but I can’t leave until I know Fitz is okay.” She paused, then whispered, “Babbage is dead. I shot him. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life—I always thought of myself as nonviolent. But so help me God, I’m glad I killed him.”
“The bastard deserved it,” Sean said. “What about Judge Hart?”
“He saved my life,” Erin said. “He attacked when Babbage was about to shoot me. He’s alive, but barely. Amanda went to talk to the doctors and to check on him. Apparently Hart was insisting on seeing her.”
Just then, Amanda walked in. Her face had almost no color, and she appeared very distraught. “Daniel’s in critical condition. He was shot in the chest. Babbage’s bullet pierced one lung, causing it to collapse, and damaged the other.” She looked at Erin. “It’s a miracle he was able to save you. The doctor couldn’t believe anyone with a collapsed lung could even move on their own, let alone stand and fight. He’s an unbelievable hero, and I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies.”
For the next two hours, they waited, while browsing through last year’s magazines and ignoring whatever was playing on the wall-mounted television. A doctor appeared and motioned to Amanda, and conferred with her in hushed tones in the hall.
Amanda returned. “Daniel’s out of danger, for the time being. Tomorrow morning he’s going to be transferred to the Differential Observation Unit. For now, he’s sleeping and can’t communicate. So I might as well go home and get some sleep myself.”
Erin and Sean continued to wait after Amanda left. Erin paced, occasionally going to the nurse’s station to ask about Fitz’s progress, while Sean managed to doze off on the vinyl couch.
Finally, Fitz was out of surgery. At first they weren’t allowed to see him. A nurse explained that only family members were permitted. But one of Erin’s Alcoholics Anonymous buddies knew a hospital social worker, and Erin phoned her. Erin explained that Fitz had no next of kin, and that they were the only “family” he had. The social worker understood, and eventually they were permitted to be in the room with Fitz, sitting by the bed.
Erin and Sean were there when Fitz opened his eyes.
He smiled before he went back to sleep.
* * *
Sean and Erin were at the hospital every day visiting Fitz. Each time, he looked much better. The doctor told them that although Fitz had been hit in each shoulder and in his abdomen, miraculously there had been no vital organ damage, so there was no reason why Fitz shouldn’t make a full recovery. As the weekend progressed, Fitz improved. He spent two days in intensive care, then was stable enough to be transferred to the acute medical care unit, where he would stay until he recovered enough to go home.
When Erin and Sean came to visit after his transfer, Fitz was in good spirits, but became concerned when he saw them. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Sean, your face is pale and you look grim, and Erin doesn’t look much better.”
“I’m okay, but Judge Hart’s not doing too well. He lost a great deal of blood and he can’t talk,” Sean said. “His nurse gave me this envelope from him.”
“Can’t talk?” Fitz asked, taking the envelope.
“Yeah,” Sean said. “The nurse told me that the doctors inserted a chest tube into his pleural cavity. It keeps his lung inflated and drains any blood that accumulates. He’s connected to a ventilator via an endotracheal tube. The respirator forces air into his lungs. The problem is, the tube passes between his vocal cords. The nurse said he can hear everything, he’s alert, but in pain. He has a steno pad that he writes on.”
Sean handed the envelope to Fitz.
Fitz examined it. It was plain white, with the words “For Sean and Erin” scrawled on the front. He turned it over. It was sealed, with the words “Open in the event of my death” written over the flap.
“Let’s open it now.” He started to tear at it.
“Fitz,” Sean said sharply. “Don’t.”
“It must be a confession,” Fitz said. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Erin scowled. “After all this, after the man saved your life, you still think he’s guilty?”
“I don’t see how it could be anything else,” Fitz replied. “Remember what the coroner said, what Jordan argued to the judge? The marks on your mom’s wrists indicated she had been held down. That means Hart must have helped Babbage.”
“Not so,” Sean said. “There’s a simple explanation you would have heard if Judge Hart had testified. He told me that night when I confronted him. He told me everything that happened, and in great detail. And it was way before we knew what the coroner’s testimony would be.”
“And that is?” Fitzgerald asked, skeptically.
“After Mom was sexually assaulted, Babbage tried to stab her. She and Babbage fought over the knife, and she succeeded in getting Babbage to drop it. Hart scooped up the knife and ran away. Then he made a colossally stupid move, and came back to check on Mom. He saw Babbage straddling Mom, holding her wrists back. She bucked and tried to free her wrists, but Babbage was too strong. That’s how she got the marks the coroner observed on her wrists.”
“Okay,” Fitzgerald said. “Now explain to me how Babbage got the knife?”
“He tricked Hart. Hart initially refused to give the knife back, even thought of throwing it away. Said he was worried that Babbage would hurt Mom. But Babbage said he would not hurt her, just needed the knife to control her. Hart believed him. Remember, Hart was just a fifteen-year-old kid.”
“Sean, Sean,” Fitzgerald said. “Always the believer.” Fitzgerald tore open the envelope, and read the document inside. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
“What is it?” Sean asked.
“It’s his will, leaving everything to you and Erin.”
76
The Last Chapter
Saturday, June 8, 1996, 7:00 p.m.
Daniel Hart had been very apprehensive. He’d been anxious about returning to work. Between the trial and his time in the hospital, it had been almost seven months since he’d worked as a judge. All his life, he’d lived under the shadow of Sarah Collins’s death. It made him a loner, afraid to get too close to anyone. At first, Hart had wondered whether it would be appropriate for him to return. Would the publicity surrounding him be bad for the court? But then an amazing thing happened. Over the weeks, a steady stream of judges and other colleagues came to visit him—to congratulate and encourage him. At the annual seminar meeting of the judges assigned to the criminal division, Hart received a standing ovation.
And the best news, he’d been overwhelmingly reelected at the June 4 primary. But he couldn’t help feeling sorry for Doris after all she’d been through with Babbage. Poor woman.
Things had gone well for Fitzgerald. After he recovered, he was fully reinstated and even received a commendation. And a promotion. He was now Lieutenant Fitzgerald. As for Sean, he’d decided to leave the Public Defender’s Office and join the District Attorney’s Office, saying he felt a closer tie to victims than to defendants, especially since his experience with the Hart trial.
Today, Hart was nervous about Amanda. He’d invited her for dinner and had spent the entire day preparing the meal. A linen cloth covered his dining-room table, which he’d set with his grandmother’s best china and silver. He’d told her that tonight’s dinner was to say thank you for all she’d done for him, and to help him celebrate his reelection. But there was more.
Amanda had visited him every day when he was in the hospital. After he’d been discharged, she regularly came by his house with an armful of groceries, sometimes making dinner. For him, it became an important routine when she’d spend one or two evenings a week after work visiting. She’d chat about herself, her day, or anything else. He was surprised at how much they laughed, despite what they had both been through. For some reason, they never ran out of things to say to each other or to laugh about.
Amanda arrived exactly on time, as always.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’d love one.” He went into the kitchen, where he poured two glasses of the cabernet the grocer had recommended and returned handing her one glass. They sat next to each other on the couch.
“The food smells wonderful,” Amanda said. They clinked glasses. After sipping her wine, she said, “Congratulations, Daniel. I’m so happy you were reelected. No one deserves to be reelected more than you. And you are the best.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were soft and her breath sweet. He inhaled, savoring the fresh clean smell of her hair.
He took her hands in his. “Thank you,” he said. “You saved my life, you know.”
“Nonsense. The trial wasn’t even close. I never even considered it possible that we could lose.”
He was still holding her hands. “I’m not just talking about the trial,” he said, looking into her eyes.
Amanda leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. It was the sweetest kiss of his life, he thought.
Acknowledgments
Grant of Immunity came about as a result of a writing workshop I participated in a few years ago. It was there that I met writer/actor Meg Tilly, who inspired and encouraged me and helped me believe that writing a novel was, indeed, something I could do.
I owe much to three professional novelists and gifted writing teachers: the late Bill Relling; the incomparable Jim Frey; and, most of all, UCLA Writing Program instructor, Lynn Hightower, who taught me how to craft my words into a cohesive tale.
Thank you as well to the talented and extraordinary workshop leader Nancy Bacal, and to instructors Reyna Grande and Leslie Schwartz, also of the UCLA Writing Program.
I am grateful to those who have been in my writing groups: April Bosshard, Don Calame (Meg’s spouse), James Fant, and Derek Rogers. Their insights, critiques, and comments assisted and guided me through the process of writing and rewriting this story.
Many thanks to all those writers who read my evolving manuscript and offered advice. Specifically, authors Brett Battles, Cara Black, Margo Blair, Sharon Dahl, Eloise Freeman, Katherine Forrest, Richard Jordan, Bridget Kinsella, Ken Kuta, David McCune, Tony Mohr, Brian Perry, Michelle Rosenblatt, Sheldon Siegel, Corie Skolnick, and Elizabeth White.
I extend my gratitude to readers of successive drafts: Judy Abrams, Elizabeth Baron, Tamara Beard, Matthew Bennett, Ralph Bennett, Sharon Bennett, Aviva Bobb, Larry Crispo, Angelica Dahl, Babbett Goss, Lori Livicich, Kathy Mader, Suzy Miller, Ellen Musgrave, Judy Pieper, Lori Resnick-Fleishman, Lisa Ruston, Bill Speer, and Lisa Stanislawski.
Finally, my thanks to Eleanor Gasparik, who patiently and thoroughly, copyedited the novel you are now reading.
About the Author
Garret Holms is a judge and a criminal trial expert with more than fifteen years of on-the-job experience. He has worked all aspects of the justice system, from superior court judge to defense attorney to criminal prosecutor. Holms has tried every type of criminal case imaginable, including special circumstances homicide, sexual assault, police corruption, and gangland murder. Garret Holms knows the justice system as only an insider can, and he brings that expertise to his prose, creating one of the most truthful, accurate, and tension-filled suspense novels ever written.
For more information:
@GarretHolms
www.garretholms.com
garret@garretholms.com
Garret Holms, Grant of Immunity
