Grant of Immunity, page 9
* * *
Jake Babbage watched as Erin and Fitzgerald walked past him, spoke to the bailiff, and then moved to the first row of the spectator section. Babbage had arrived early, and because he and the other cops were in full uniform, the bailiff had allowed them to enter the courtroom before it was open to the public. The officers were all there for Dr. Gina Black’s vehicular manslaughter sentencing. When Babbage arrived, he was astounded to see that the judge was named Hart.
Daniel Hart.
Babbage had been following Hart’s career for years, knew he’d become a Los Angeles County judge, but hadn’t had the opportunity to find out where Hart was assigned. For Hart to be the one who decided Erin’s fate was an unbelievable stroke of luck. And Babbage knew exactly how to make use of Hart. There was no telling just how valuable this was going to be.
As Fitzgerald and Erin sat down, Babbage smiled. After the acquittal, Fitzgerald had tried to get a Board of Rights hearing initiated, but since Erin had been totally discredited, Anthony Giovanni was able to convince the captain that Babbage had been through enough. After all, he was a respected sergeant with a spotless record. A tough cop like Babbage occasionally received groundless complaints, and the department ought to stand behind its best cops.
Bottom line, it was a relief to be back at work. It felt good to be in uniform and to be armed. Now he could finish up with Erin without worry. As long as he was careful, there was no reason why he couldn’t take care of her. Especially if the judge controlling her fate was Daniel Hart. All Babbage had to do was ensure that Judge Hart handled all future proceedings involving Erin Collins. And, if things went the way he expected, that fucking Fitzgerald would soon be out of the picture, too.
Erin and Fitzgerald showed no sign that they’d noticed him sitting among the other uniformed cops. But they had to have seen him. Good, he thought. Let them squirm.
* * *
Remaining in the spectator section, Fitz watched as Erin and Beth made their way forward to stand in front of the judge. He realized he was nervous again. Erin had been through so much—she really needed a break—but was it realistic to hope she could avoid jail? He didn’t think so. He spotted Babbage in the middle of a bunch of cops here for the Gina Black case. The asshole probably came to gloat. Well, fuck him.
“The court calls the case of People versus Collins,” Judge Hart announced.
“The defendant is present with Counsel, Deputy Public Defender Beth Daniels, Your Honor. My client would like to request a thirty-month alcohol program, Your Honor. If the court would allow that, she’s prepared to plead no contest today.”
The prosecutor, a fortyish woman with longish carefully brushed yellow hair stood up. Even from the back, Fitz recognized the woman as Doris Reynolds. He cringed. She was well known by local cops.
“Ms. Daniels knows,” Reynolds said, “that the People oppose, and the court doesn’t allow the thirty-month program.” She turned to speak directly to Beth. “Your client belongs in jail.”
Beth stared angrily at Reynolds, and then looked at the judge. “Your Honor, Ms. Collins has been through a lot as a result of her drinking. She tells me that she’s been sober for over a month, and that if the court would give her a chance, she’ll prove worthy of it. And Detective William Fitzgerald is here to speak on her behalf. May he address the court?”
“What for?” Reynolds broke in. “Every judge in this building has a policy of no thirty-month program.”
Hart didn’t appear ruffled in the least. “If you have legal grounds to oppose a sentence that involves the thirty-month program, present it. Otherwise, please sit down.”
Reynolds shook her head and remained standing.
“Please come forward, Detective Fitzgerald,” Hart said.
Fitz walked to the counsel table and stood next to Daniels. “Your Honor, I know Ms. Collins and can vouch for her. I was the investigating officer on a case where she was the complaining witness. As a result, I spent much time with her and observed her carefully. She tells me that she’s been sober and that she’s been attending AA meetings. During the time of this case, I have not seen her take a drink or smelled alcohol on her breath. I believe that she’s an excellent candidate for the thirty-month program.”
“Ms. Collins,” Hart asked, “if I put you in this program, are you confident that you’ll stay in it? Be aware that you would have to agree to attend a rehabilitation program, along with your Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, and also maintain absolute abstinence from drinking. Most people find they are unable to do this. If they are unable, they go directly to jail. You would also have to pay for this very expensive program yourself. Do you understand all this?”
Erin looked directly at the judge. There was determination in her voice. “Ms. Daniels told me about the costs and how difficult the program is, Your Honor,” Erin said. “Money is very tight for me.” She turned and looked toward Fitz, then looked back at Judge Hart. “As a result of the court case I was involved in, I had to quit my job, and I don’t want to return to it. But I have a little bit saved, and I can also borrow some from my brother. I will finish the program, and I am going to remain sober. I’m determined to overcome my addiction.”
Judge Hart looked down at a folder on his bench. For a moment, the court seemed very quiet. Finally, he looked up. “Very well, Ms. Collins,” he said. “I’ll allow you to attend the program.”
Fitz breathed a sigh of relief. The judge continued. “In order to be in the program, you must formally plead guilty and agree to pay for and complete the alcohol program. Also, I’m going to require, as a term of your probation, that you attend an AA meeting at least three times per week, without exception, for your entire five-year probationary period. Do you understand and accept those conditions?”
Erin nodded. “I do, Your Honor. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Collins,” Hart said. “Good luck to you.”
Fitz couldn’t help himself. He knew it was unprofessional, knew he should wait until the recess or until they were out of the room, but he grinned at Beth and Erin and gave them a thumbs-up. Erin beamed.
Judge Hart called another case while Beth assisted Erin in completing the constitutional rights form. After her plea was taken, Hart officially placed her on probation for a period of five years, on the conditions stated. She could not drive unless going to or from the alcohol program or to or from her place of employment. In addition, she would have to be properly licensed and insured at all times.
When the three of them left the courtroom, Fitz was elated—almost as if he’d been the one who’d avoided jail—even though he was aware that Babbage’s eyes followed them as they walked out.
* * *
Before leaving the courthouse, Erin stopped in the restroom and ran into Doris Reynolds. Erin had no intention of acknowledging her, but the prosecutor walked up to her, hand extended. “Congratulations on your probationary sentence,” Reynolds said.
Erin’s eyes widened. What was going on? “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk to you,” Erin said.
“You’re not, but it’s okay,” Reynolds said, smiling. She made a motion with her hand. “In here, everyone’s equal.” She became serious. “I hope you make it.”
“I’m sorry,” Erin said, “but you’re confusing me. Weren’t you demanding out there that I go to jail? What gives?”
“That’s my job,” Reynolds said. “And if you screw up, I will put you in jail. But that doesn’t mean that I have any personal animosity toward you. I really do hope you make it.”
Reynolds turned and left without another word.
18
Babbage
Thursday, September 28, 10:00 p.m.
Babbage parked in the beach lot adjacent to the Wharf Restaurant. Off duty and in civilian clothes, he’d driven his personal vehicle, a red Toyota pickup. It had been a month since the trial, and things had gone well. Giovanni had averted Babbage’s Board of Rights hearing, arguing that the DNA on the blouse was the product of consensual, off-duty sex and that Erin Collins was a liar who was not to be trusted—the jury verdict proved it. But it had been too much of a close call.
It was time for him, once and for all, to complete his project: Erin. And at the same time, ensure that the asshole Fitzgerald would not interfere. Because Fitzgerald had taken a special interest in Erin—obviously because he was fucking her.
It was a crisp, cloudless night. Babbage got out of his truck, inhaled the saltwater smell of the marina, and walked through the gate leading to the dock entrance of the restaurant. He walked past the hostess station, turned left, and went into the bar. He sat on one of the empty stools toward the end of the counter. An over-the-bar television was playing a closed-captioned news program with the sound turned off.
A bartender washed glasses. Babbage studied him. The guy appeared to be in his late twenties, clean-shaven, with a short haircut. Babbage noticed he was wearing a wedding ring.
The bartender looked up. “What can I get you, buddy?” he asked.
“Do you have Bud on tap?” Babbage asked.
“You got it,” came the reply. The bartender filled an iced mug and placed it in front of Babbage, who watched the silent television for several minutes, until he drained his glass and signaled for a refill.
“By the way, what’s your name?” Babbage asked.
“Jimmy,” the bartender replied. He filled another iced mug, scooped up Babbage’s empty mug and put it in a sink behind the counter.
“Jimmy. Jimmy,” Babbage repeated. “Aren’t you Jimmy Flanagan? Seems like I remember a Jimmy Flanagan that worked the bar here.”
“No. My last name’s Riley. I don’t remember anybody named Flanagan, and I’ve been here three years. You must be mistaken.”
“I could have sworn the guy was named Flanagan,” Babbage said. “I think he worked the day shift. What’s the name of that guy?”
“Not a guy. Two women. I work from six to closing, except on Monday. My day off.”
“Maybe it was the owner?”
“No, his name is Alex.”
“I guess I was mistaken about the last name,” Babbage said, shaking his head. “I think the guy I knew was married to a someone named Martha. What’s your wife’s name?”
The bartender paused, and for a moment, Babbage thought he’d gone too far and might have to find another way to get the name. But then the bartender answered. “Barbara.”
“I’m batting zero tonight. I must be thinking about another place.” Babbage continued drinking in silence for a time, watching the TV. Meanwhile, the bartender went to the other end of the bar and took an order from a couple who were holding hands. Babbage drained his mug, stood up, and pulled out his wallet. The bartender returned with a check.
Babbage took a ten out of his wallet and placed it on the counter. “Thanks, Jimmy. See you around sometime.”
Just one more thing, Babbage thought, as he got back into his truck. The stop has to be in the Valley—under the jurisdiction of Judge Daniel Hart. Just in case.
19
Erin
Thursday, October 5, 4:30 p.m.
Erin was on edge and restless. She needed a drink badly. With the stress of a new job, it had been a long exhausting week. She was working as a waitress at the Wharf, an upscale restaurant at the harbor in Marina Del Rey. Because they had an adjoining bar, and it was the only work she could get, the judge had made an exception to her probation condition that she not be in any establishment where alcohol was served—but had cautioned her to stay away from the lounge. The judge emphasized that any consumption of alcohol would be a probation violation, resulting in jail time.
She so wanted to show her new boss, Alex, that he was right to give her a chance as a waitress, but it had not been easy. To be closer to work, she had moved from her apartment in Monterey Park to West Hollywood. It was still a trek to the Marina, but this was as close as she could afford to live, even with a roommate.
Since there was no court-ordered alcohol program tonight, she decided she had to find a way to relax and go to bed early. Maybe a hot soak in the tub would do it. Afterward, in pajamas, she’d eat, watch a little television, and then turn in.
Erin was running water into the bathtub when the phone rang.
“Erin? Erin Collins?” said the woman on the other end.
Erin did not recognize her voice. “Speaking.”
“Thank God. I’m so glad I was able to reach you. My name is Barbara Riley, Jimmy’s wife. Jimmy needs a big favor from you.”
“What is it, Barbara?” Jimmy the bartender had always been nice to Erin. This was her opportunity to be nice back. And to show Alex that she was a team player.
“Can you fill in for Jimmy tonight from six to midnight? He’s got some kind of stomach flu. He says you used to tend bar.”
Erin took a deep breath and held it for an instant. She wanted to help Jimmy, but if she tended bar, she’d be violating a term of her probation—to not to be in a bar … certainly not to be in any room where primarily alcohol is served.
“I’m not sure I can do it,” Erin said.
“We’ve already called two other people,” Barbara said. “We wouldn’t ask if it weren’t really important.” There was desperation in her voice. “Jimmy will have to go in sick. Isn’t there any way you could help out just this once?”
Erin considered. Was she being overly cautious? Or just plain dumb?
“Alex told me to call you. Said it will be a personal favor to him.”
That cinched it. She’d do it. No one would ever know she did it this once. And besides, if anyone asked, this was a legitimate emergency. The court couldn’t be that inflexible. “Okay,” she said, “I’d be glad to help out. But this one time only.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Barbara said, then added, “Oh, another thing—I’m so sorry to impose—but could you come by and get Jimmy’s keys? You’ll need them to lock up at two a.m. I know it’s a little out of the way—we live in Sherman Oaks, but I’ll drive out and meet you at the Ventura Boulevard off-ramp. There’s a Hughes Markets parking lot right as you come off the freeway. You won’t be able to miss me. I’ll be in a white BMW convertible, top down. You’ll be able to turn around and get right on the freeway, heading back.”
“I think I know where that is.”
“Great. It should take you about thirty minutes to get there. Thanks again. Bye.”
Erin looked at the clock. It was 4:55 p.m. She’d have to hurry to meet Barbara and get to work on time. She dressed, brushed her hair, put on makeup, and started to walk out the door. It occurred to her that maybe she should call Jimmy to see if he had any special things she needed to know for tonight. She looked at her watch: 5:10 p.m. She had to get moving. She had her cell phone—she’d call from the car. It was okay to drive to work, but it would still be on a different schedule than she had given her probation officer. If she were stopped and her DMV record were checked, she wasn’t sure what a cop might do … She’d just have to hope that didn’t happen.
Once in the car, Erin drove very carefully, making certain that she obeyed all laws. No racing through yellow lights, no speeding—just sensible, defensive driving. She watched everything around her, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds, particularly watchful for cops. Once, she thought she saw a black-and-white behind her, but when she stopped for a red light and looked around, she decided it must have been her imagination.
She got on the San Diego Freeway, heading north. Rush hour traffic was heavy. She glanced at her watch. Almost 5:40. It was going to be close.
She took out her cell phone and dialed the restaurant to get Jimmy’s home number. The line was busy. No surprise when people were phoning in for reservations.
At Wilshire Boulevard there was a traffic jam, and it took her nearly twenty minutes to get through the two miles of stop-and-go traffic. Finally, she was through it and the freeway was moving again.
She was about a mile from the Getty Center Drive off-ramp, when she saw the flashing red lights of the police car in her rearview mirror. Shit, she thought, her heart pounding. She decided to call Fitz. It was dinnertime, and he might be eating, but this was an emergency. She dialed his number, turned on her blinker, and slowed down, pulling over to acknowledge the red lights behind her.
Fitz answered on the first ring. “Fitz? It’s Erin. I’m just being pulled over by a black-and-white. What should I do?”
“Why are you driving?” he asked. There was surprise in his voice. “You know you can’t be out tonight.”
“I’m on my way to work. The regular bartender is sick, and I’m filling in for him, on my way to get his keys. The point is I’m about to be stopped. I’m near the Getty Center off-ramp of the San D Freeway, and a black-and-white is right behind me with its lights flashing.”
“Get off at Getty Center and park. Don’t hang up the phone. Tell the officer I’m on the line, and that I’ll speak to him.” Erin followed Fitz’s instructions. As she stopped, the police car pulled in behind her and also stopped. Its high-beam lights were on, and its spotlight illuminated her from behind. The light blinded her, so she could not see who was getting out of the patrol car. She kept her cell phone in her hand, while she rolled down her window.
The officer stepped out, and she recognized Jake Babbage at once.
“It’s him,” Erin shrieked into the phone. “Babbage.” She had the sudden urge to drive off—to run away.
“Should I leave?”
“No,” Fitz said. “That’d be the worst thing you could do. Just follow my instructions. I’ll be listening to everything. If necessary, I’ll call Captain Becker and radio to get someone to your location ASAP. In the meantime, hang in there.”
