Judgment (7 page)

Yates described the gang members as animals with no conscience or remorse, who terrorized a neighborhood and then killed the one man who stood up against them.

Yates paused, his thumb in his vest pocket. "That man was Officer James Douglas Macklin."

Macklin sighed, impatient
. Let's give these punks to the hangman
already
. Shaw was restless, unable to get comfortable in his seat beside Macklin.

Yates described the gang members setting Macklin aflame, dwelling on the premeditation necessary to lay such a gruesome trap. Finally, Yates recalled Macklin's final moments, his flaming run across the bus's path and the two deaths it caused.

The Honorable Judge Walter MacFarland watched Yates wide-eyed, seemingly expecting the young assistant district attorney to yank a live chicken from inside his gray, three-piece suit. Six cups of coffee with the morning
Times
and a snort of decongestant, however, always gave MacFarland that look.

"I'd like to call my first witness, Your Honor." MacFarland nodded wearily to Yates. "Sergeant Ronald Shaw."

Shaw groaned.
Ronald Shaw . . . C'MON DOWN! It's your turn to play Cops 'n' Robbers!
He hated court. He hated testifying. He hated getting up early in the morning. Shaw would have been the happiest man alive if MacFarland banged down his gavel loudly and said, "Never mind, Sergeant Shaw. Go back home to your
Herald Examiner
, the cold toilet seat, and your single daily cigarette."

MacFarland looks like the kind of guy who appreciates the importance of a good shit,
Shaw thought as he was sworn in. Christ, a guy can't function without a morning sit-down and a Camel straight.

"Sergeant Shaw, describe if you will the events leading to your arrest of Tomas Cruz, Enrico Esteban, Hector Gomez, Jesse Ortega, Mario Carrera, Primo Manriquez—"

"Ayyyy, that's me," Primo laughed.

MacFarland banged his gavel down sharply. "Control yourself, Mr. Manriquez, or I'll have the bailiff remove you from the courtroom."

Primo smiled.

Yates sighed. "And Teobaldo Villanueva."

"We began our investigation by questioning people in the area the night of Officer Macklin's murder."
C'mon, Ronny, stay cool.
"From these interviews we learned that Officer Macklin had several run-ins with their gang, the Bounty Hunters, and that they were in the immediate area at the time of his death.

"Go on." Yates leaned against the witness stand, smiling at the jury.

"So I began interviewing some of the gang members about their activities that night. One of them was Tomas Cruz. I gave him my card after I talked with him and I told him to call me if he wanted to talk some more."

"And he did, didn't he?"

"I got a call from him Thursday morning. He asked me to meet him in the alley where Officer Macklin was"—Shaw caught Brett Macklin's eye—"ah . . . was immolated."

"What happened in that alley, Sergeant?"

"I met him there, like he asked. He said he wanted to confess—"

"Objection." Dexter bolted up from his seat. "Your Honor, may I approach the bench?"

MacFarland motioned for both counsels to step forward. Dexter stepped around his table and grinned.

"Your Honor, I'd like to request that the jury be excused," Dexter whispered, glancing back and forth between Yates and MacFarland. "It has just come to my attention that Shaw's testimony and the evidence he wishes to introduce may be inadmissible."

MacFarland rested his head on his hands.

"Your Honor, Mr. Dexter can't possibly know—," Yates began.

"I've just learned that this so-called confession was not voluntarily and freely given," Dexter interrupted, smiling at Yates.
Gotcha!
"I can prove that Sergeant Shaw beat my client, causing him grievous injury in order to exact this so-called confession from him."

MacFarland frowned and then looked at the jury. "The bailiff will please escort the jury out of the courtroom."

Macklin looked at Shaw. The detective couldn't hide his dread. Shaw didn't like Dexter's tight little smile one bit.

The jury members stood up and filed quietly out of the courtroom. When the door closed behind them, MacFarland sighed. "All right, counselor, call your witnesses."

Dexter bowed slightly with strained grace. "I'd like to call two witnesses, Your Honor. The first is Hilda Cruz." Shaw stepped from the witness stand and passed Cruz as he returned to his seat.

Cruz had traded in her black miniskirt and red spandex top for a flower-print cotton dress, an outfit she probably saved for tricks who wanted a little motherly love.

Macklin whispered into Shaw's ear. "What the hell is going on, Ronny?"

"Dexter says I beat the confession out of Cruz."

Just make them talk.

Tell me, Mack, should I use a rubber hose?

"Did you?"

Shaw turned. "No."

"Where were you early Thursday afternoon, Mrs. Cruz?" Dexter asked politely. It was as if he were questioning the First Lady.

"In the alley with my son."

Shaw drew in a deep breath.

"Why, Mrs. Cruz?"

"Because I don't trust that cop," she yelled, pointing at Shaw. "He has been harassing us, pushing us around as if we were garbage. Every day he's there, threatening us and asking us questions, arresting us for no reason at all except to cause us trouble. I was afraid for my boy."

"Why did your son call Sergeant Shaw?" Dexter asked him.

"To beg him to leave us alone." She turned to MacFarland. "We're law-abiding people, but it don't help no one to be hassled every day by the cops. I'm a single mother and I got to put the bread on the table. I can't have some loony cop bugging us all the time."

"What happened in that alley, Mrs. Cruz?"

"My son asked the cop to lay off us. But
he
wouldn't listen to Tomas. All
he
could talk about was that cop who was killed. The cop kept saying 'You did it and I'm gonna get you for it.' My son said, 'No, no, quit. I didn't do it.' That's when the cop said, 'Don't give me no lip,' and tossed this garbage can at my boy. And then he just started beating him and beating him while my boy begged him to stop. 'Confess, confess' was all that son of a bitch would say."

Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Why didn't you show yourself, Mrs. Cruz, or go for help?"

Hilda Cruz began to weep. "I was scared. I thought he'd kill me." Dexter touched her hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Cruz."

"Any questions, Mr. Yates?" MacFarland asked.

Yates sat silent for a moment. "No questions, Your Honor."

"You can step down, Mrs. Cruz." MacFarland motioned to the bailiff to assist her. The bailiff gently touched her elbow and guided her back to her seat.

Dexter flipped through the papers on his table. "I'd like to call Sergeant Sliran to the stand."

Yates leaned back and whispered to Shaw. "You want to let me in on what's going on, Sergeant?"

"This is bullshit, Yates, absolute nonsense. I never touched the boy."

"Could she have been in the alley?"

Shaw glanced back at Hilda Cruz, dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex. "Yes, maybe, I don't know."

Yates sighed. It fell together with sickening simplicity. "Dexter had this all along."

"What?"

Yates ignored him. "That's why Dexter had a jury impaneled before contesting the confession."

Shaw grabbed Yates. "What are you talking about?"

"It's over," Yates said flatly.

Sliran smirked at Dexter as the attorney approached. "Where were you, Sergeant Sliran, while your partner was in the alley?"

"In the car."

"Could you see Sergeant Shaw talking with Tomas Cruz?"

"Nope."

"Could you hear them talking?"

"Nope."

"Did you hear anything at all from that alley, Sergeant?" Sliran looked at Shaw.

"Sergeant, answer my question. Did you hear anything at all?"

"Some crashes, maybe."

Shaw ran a hand over his face.

"Yes or no, Sergeant, did you hear some crashes?"

"Yes."

"What kind of crashes?"

Sliran turned to Yates for help. Yates sat impassively, his face expressionless. It had ended for him already.

"I dunno, like garbage cans being banged around."

"Did it sound like a fight?"

"Objection." Yates made the obligatory motion, casually, not even looking at the judge. "He's leading the witness on. The witness already described the noises."

"Objection sustained," MacFarland said.

"How long did these noises last?"

"I dunno, a few seconds, maybe a minute."

"And when did your partner come out of the alley?"

"I guess five or ten minutes later."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Dexter smiled at Yates. "Your witness." Yates tapped his fingers on the table. "I have no questions."

The courtroom fell silent. Shaw looked anxiously at Yates, who sat with his head down, doodling on his legal pad. Macklin watched the judge.

MacFarland sighed and cleared his throat.

"The defense has shown that there is considerable doubt as to the validity of the confession. Under the circumstances I rule that the confession is inadmissible as evidence in this proceeding."

Dexter grinned like a monk set loose in a whorehouse.

"Do you have any more witnesses, Mr. Yates?" MacFarland asked.

Yates frowned. The case was lost. Without the confession, there was no way to convict the gang members. "No, Your Honor."

Dexter was jubilant. "Your Honor, the defense respectfully requests that judgment be made in my client's behalf."

"The charges are dismissed."

The youths broke into laughter, clapping each other on the back and shaking Dexter's hand. Macklin stood up slowly, his eyes on the gang members doing their happy dance. Primo flipped him off.

"So that's it, they're free," Macklin said.

Yates was standing, stuffing his papers into his briefcase. "Yep."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"No, it's the law, Mr. Macklin."

"The kid confessed."

Yates glanced angrily over his shoulder at Shaw. "
Maybe
, but that doesn't matter anymore."

Macklin grabbed Yates by the arm. "That scum killed my father. You can't let them slither out of here."

"Let go of me, Mr. Macklin," Yates said coolly, carefully. Macklin glared at Yates. Fury raged in the pilot's eyes. Yates, for a moment, feared Macklin would crush his arm like an empty beer can. "Let go."

"Mack . . . ," Shaw said quietly.

Macklin saw his father, screaming in agony, fleeing across the street. He saw the blackened shape, twisted and smoking on the pavement. In that second, part of Brett Macklin died.

Macklin sighed and released Yates. Shaw felt something pass, saw the strange flatness in Macklin's eyes.

The prosecutor rubbed his upper arm. "Believe me, Mr. Macklin, I know how you feel." Yates slipped around Macklin and paused beside Shaw, who was still bewildered by Macklin's unnerving expression.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sergeant," Yates said, leaving.

The gang members began to file out, Primo strutting proudly and grinning as he walked past Macklin. "Hey, Jesse, I feel like some barbecued pork. How 'bout you?"

"Sure," Jesse cackled. "Sure, barbecued pork sounds
good
."

Baldo grunted, strolling casually out of the courtroom with Hector Gomez at his side. Mario, grinning, pretended to sleepwalk out of the courtroom, his arms held out straight in front of him and his eyes barely closed.

Dexter smiled proudly, wheeling Cruz past Macklin and Shaw. "Next time, Sergeant, try to control your aggressive tendencies."

Esteban skirted by quickly, bumping Shaw and Dexter on his way out.

Shaw was left with Macklin. He didn't know what to say. Somehow, sorry just wasn't good enough. Shaw reached out to touch Macklin, hesitated, and walked out slowly, leaving Macklin alone with his thoughts.

Macklin slumped in his chair, the defeat sapping him of the energy to get up and walk out. The unfairness of it all, and his inability to do anything about it, drained him. He felt utterly powerless.

The justice system Macklin had believed in, the system his father had dedicated his life to, had turned around and kicked him in the teeth. Justice wasn't blind. To Macklin, it was comatose. And there was nothing he could do about it. The murderers would go unpunished.

They killed my father
.
How could the system let them free?

As he asked himself that question again and again, the despair began to fade and he became aware of another voice trying to be heard. He stared at the judge's bench, trying to clear his head so he could hear it.

Macklin enjoyed a moment of mental peace, the judge's bench the only image in his mind. Then he heard the whisper of his anger.

He felt his heartbeat quicken. The whisper was telling him something, he wasn't sure what, but it seemed to lessen the crushing feeling of unfairness. It offered him a way out of his defeat.

The whisper grew into a defiant shout that echoed in his head. The shout, thick with danger and violence, was a stony coldness that drowned memories and feelings and left anger in their place.

The shout became a scream, evoking a fury that burrowed deep inside him and carved a warm niche for itself in his heart. Suddenly Macklin felt energized, alive again, and he understood what the screams were telling him.

Make them pay.

"Lieutenant, this is craziness," Shaw screamed, pacing in front of Lieutenant Bohan Lieu, who was leaning forward in his chair, unbending a paper clip.

"Ronny, I'm sorry. But you know the rules. You're doing desk work until this is cleaned up."

"You don't
believe
that
shit
. I didn't lay a hand on Cruz!"

"It doesn't matter what I believe." Lieu arched his head towards the squad room. Two guys from Internal Affairs were talking with Sliran. "It's what
they
believe."

One of them looked like Liberace, though he dressed better. The other guy, the one who was doing all the talking, was Mr. Regulation. Shiny shoes, short hair, Disneyland employee face. Trouble.