Revision of Justice (15 page)

“Why don’t you stop being an asshole, DeWinter, and give him a break. He’s got AIDS, for Christ sake.”

“That makes him a choirboy, I guess.”

“It means he doesn’t need the aggravation.”

“Neither did Reza JaFari.”

“You’re saying you’ve got something solid to link Danny to JaFari’s death?”

DeWinter’s voice grew smug.

“Like I said, I don’t even have to talk to you.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to Alexandra Templeton instead. Let her know she’s got a juicy story about a cop harassing a kid with AIDS.”

“He’s no kid. He’s twenty-seven.”

“We’ll see how Templeton plays it on the front page of the
Sun
. How the AIDS organizations react. Then how the mayor deals with you for doing your homophobe routine in a city filled with a strong gay voting bloc. I imagine Danny’s still got his bruises. Should make a nice press photo.”

“Fuck you, Justice.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day, Lieutenant.”

Several seconds of silence followed; I could hear DeWinter breathing hard.

“I’m going off the record here.”

“I’m listening off the record.”

“I’m building a case against Romero that makes the coroner’s findings look a little hasty.”

“Tell me about it.”

“One, he was the last person to see JaFari alive.”

“The last person you know about.”

“Two, they were two punks living together, one of whom wanted to go to a party to meet some other guy alone.”

“If it was a guy.”

“Three, Hosain JaFari thinks Romero stole his son’s belongings.”

“Conjecture.”

“Four, I tell him to leave the rest of JaFari’s things alone and now most of it turns up missing.”

“He says someone broke in and stole it.”

“That’s what he says.”

“That hardly sounds like enough to book him on.”

“There’s more.”

He paused for effect, then let me have it.

“Your friend Romero had an argument with JaFari the night before he died.”

“He told me they were getting along fine.”

“He lied.”

“How do you know?”

“The neighbors heard them screaming at each other, down in the driveway. Romero’s already admitted that much.”

“Arguing about what?”

“The neighbors aren’t sure. But they heard Romero using words like ‘murder’ and ‘kill.’ Two of them heard your friend Romero tell JaFari he didn’t deserve to live another day.”

“They heard Danny say that?”

“That’s a direct statement from two of the witnesses—‘You don’t deserve to live another day, you bastard.’”

Advantage DeWinter. I could almost see his gloating face at the other end of the line.

“I consider him a flight risk. I want him in a cell.”

“Do me a favor. Hold off booking him for a while.”

“Give me one good reason why I should do you the slightest fucking favor.”

“Because I may have something for you that’s more important than a lukewarm suspect.”

There was an encouraging pause.

“And what would that be, Justice?”

“I’ll deliver it personally, if you’ll wait.”

“You got twenty minutes. Then we’re outta here.”

“Lieutenant DeWinter. How nice to see you again. Or may I call you Claude?”

Alexandra Templeton extended her hand so that her painted nails were pointed in the general direction of Claude DeWinter’s crotch. Her eyes were brown sugar, her smile as warm and sweet as oven-fresh pecan pie.

“Claude will do.”

The moment DeWinter had seen Templeton step into Danny Romero’s apartment, his roar had diminished to a purr.

Fifteen minutes earlier, I’d reached Templeton on her car phone and asked her to meet me there. I’d also asked her to soften up Claude DeWinter any way she could. She’d understood the implication and didn’t like the idea, until I explained Danny’s situation in terms both medical and emotional.

“Then Claude it will be,” she said, and let her slender fingers linger in DeWinter’s huge paw just long enough to give his penis a chance to twitch.

Danny was slumped on the couch with Maggie, fighting a dry cough. I introduced him to Templeton and they both said quiet hellos. After that, I dropped the social niceties.

“The lieutenant says you and Reza had an argument Friday night.”

“We had some words, yeah.”

“You didn’t tell me about that.”

“I wasn’t gonna mention it. Not to nobody.” He glanced at DeWinter. “But not because of what you think.”

“Why, then?” Danny got up and pulled a sweatshirt on over his T-shirt, even though the room was warm.

Then he picked up a photograph of Reza JaFari from a tabletop, which I studied over his shoulder. I saw again that JaFari had been blessed in the looks department—heavy-lidded dark eyes, a nicely shaped face, a dense growth of beard that worked well against his prettier features, including the longish hair. I wondered if Danny was about to admit after all that he and JaFari had been lovers; it wouldn’t have seemed unreasonable.

His voice grew quiet as he gazed at the photo.

“Reza helped me out. Gave me a place to stay, let me use the garage to make my furniture. Even loaned me money a coupla times for the wood. I was grateful to him for that.”

He studied JaFari’s face a moment longer, then put the photograph back in place and faced us. His next words came quickly, spit angrily from his mouth.

“What I didn’t like was that he had HIV and he was still sleeping around. Without telling his partners. I think he was even lying to ’em, saying he was negative.”

Templeton put a hand to her mouth.

“My God. That’s evil.”

Danny ignored her, directing himself straight at DeWinter.

“I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want Reza’s family to know. The way he talked about ’em, they seem like good people. It’s bad enough they just lost him without finding out what a bastard he was.”

DeWinter studied Danny a long moment without blinking.

“Suppose I believe this story about him doing what he did, and you suddenly getting soft toward his family. That still doesn’t explain why you threatened to kill him.”

“I didn’t threaten to kill him.”

“That’s not what the neighbors say.”

“I told him that when he spread the virus, it was the same as killing people, almost like murder. I told him he didn’t deserve to live another day doing shit like that. That’s what I said.”

“You were angry. Angry enough to draw half your neighbors to their windows.”

“I still am. It was wrong, what he was doing. Dead wrong.”

Dead wrong.
The words hung there like an indictment.

“Maybe he infected you. Maybe you decided it was payback time.”

“I was infected before I met Reza, way before. I can show you medical records, if that’s what you want.”

DeWinter kept pushing.

“But Friday night, when you found out he was exposing people to the virus, you felt he had to be stopped.”

I could see Danny wearing down. He was already worn down enough. I wanted to end it.

“He explained the argument, Lieutenant.”

“He offered his version.”

“At the very least, it weakens your case against him.”

Templeton interceded, gently but forcefully.

“To a jury, it might even put Danny in a sympathetic light, Claude. And cast JaFari as the villain. If it ever got as far as the courtroom.”

Once more, she found the right button. DeWinter stared at the floor while he fished around in his pockets for a stick of gum.

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

He turned to me as he fed the gum into his mouth.

“You told me you had something for me.”

I handed him the paper bag I was carrying. He looked inside.

“A Grolsch bottle.”

“Capped, with some liquid trapped in the bottom.”

“So?”

“I think you should send it to the lab, have it tested with the bottle you found near JaFari’s body.”

“Those tests are back. Clean as a whistle. All they found in the bottle was expensive beer.”

“Then I definitely think you should have this bottle checked.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“An old lady found it. She was scavenging the canyon below Cantwell’s house.”

“How far from Cantwell’s house?”

“A hundred yards, thereabouts.”

“That’s a fair distance. I don’t see the connection.”

“How often do you see a Grolsch bottle littering the landscape, Lieutenant?”

Templeton stepped in again.

“Claude, Justice is just asking you to have it tested. And to give Danny the benefit of the doubt, at least for a while.”

DeWinter smiled a little; it was a remarkable sight.

“Why do I feel like I’m getting gang-banged, here?”

Templeton smiled coyly.

“I’ll bet you can handle just about anything, Claude.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He cast a harder look toward Danny.

“Nothing’s changed, Romero. Ten to one you’re booked and behind bars before the week’s out.”

“Whatever,” Danny said.

What little hope had shown in his eyes was gone. I couldn’t stand to see any more hope drain out of him. DeWinter had played his best card, the argument between JaFari and Danny. I decided to play mine.

“What if I told you I heard someone threaten to kill Reza JaFari Saturday night, not long before his body was found? Someone other than Danny?”

“If you did, you damn well should have told me before now.”

“Then you’re interested.”

“Maybe you heard someone make this alleged threat, Justice, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you’re just trying to blow smoke to create a cover for your sick friend here.”

“Then you’re not interested.”

“What would this alleged person’s motive be?”

“I’m working on that.”

DeWinter stared at me with a look that was somewhere between curiosity and disgust.

“All I’m asking, Lieutenant, is that you have the contents of that bottle tested. And lay off Danny for a while.”

“And what if Danny boy disappears on me?”

“I can’t. I gotta stick around.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m on Medi-Cal. My treatment program is with the AIDS Healthcare Foundation. My doctor’s here, my clinic. All my prescriptions come out of AHF.”

“His life literally depends on them, Lieutenant.”

“I think Claude understands,” Templeton said. She moved to his side, touching his shoulder. “Don’t you, Claude?”

He glanced at her lovely hand draped over the shiny polyester blend of his discount suit. It was probably the closest he’d been to a woman as beautiful as Alexandra Templeton in a long time. Maybe ever.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He shook his head, trying not to smile, a smart man who knew exactly what was happening but was grateful even for that.

“I’ll have the Grolsch bottle checked out, Justice. And I’ll give Danny boy a little breathing room. But understand, it’s only temporary. And if you have any new information pertinent to Reza JaFari’s death, I want to know about it.”

“As soon as it’s solid, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t wait for it to get too solid.”

DeWinter hitched up his trousers, cast a last, appreciative glance at Templeton, then took his big body out the door.

Danny sat forward on the couch, massaging his temples.

“Deal straight with us from now on, Danny. It’s the only way we can help you.”

“Yeah, all right.” He got to his feet, shifting his eyes from Templeton to me. “I got to take my meds. Thanks for stickin’ up for me.”

Maggie trotted after him into the kitchen. Templeton picked up the photograph of JaFari, looking for something in it she didn’t understand.

“What kind of person would do what he did?”

“The same kind that sells crack to kids or cheats old people out of their life savings.”

She shivered, as if the room had suddenly gotten cold, as if she might be able to shake off the truth of things and feel better.

She was twenty-six, well-read, sharp as a Buck knife. But she’d also been raised protectively by wealthy parents, educated in exclusive prep schools, and now lived high above it all in a west side condo with a half-million-dollar ocean view. Her apprenticeship as a reporter wasn’t complete, nor the loss of innocence that inevitably went with it.

I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her to face me.

“You handled DeWinter well. It means a lot.”

Her troubled look gave way to a wan smile.

“I guess you owe me.”

“What’s the debt?”

“How about dinner at Musso & Frank’s? We’ll sit in the same booth William Faulkner shared with F. Scott Fitzgerald when they were out here writing movies for the money and hating every minute of it.”

“Those damn movies again.” Then: “Rain check?”

“You have plans?”

I glanced toward the kitchen, where Danny was plucking variously colored capsules from the compartments of a plastic pill box.

“You’re not falling into something that could get you into trouble, are you, Justice?”

“I like him.”

“You’re on assignment. He’s a suspect.”

“The assignment’s about the screenwriting game. We’re using the party as our setting. He’s not a screenwriter. He wasn’t at the party.”

“You’re walking a thin line.”

“I guess I am.”

“How about Thursday, then? There’s a press screening of
Thunder’s Fortune
. We could grab a bite afterward at Spago in Beverly Hills. My treat.”

“At their prices, it has to be.’’

She touched my face, gave me a chaste kiss, and left me, saying good-bye to Danny on her way out.

I stood beside him as he washed down the pills one by one with bottled water.

When he’d gotten the last one down, he said quietly, “This is no way to live.”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“Is it?”

I reached for him, but he moved away from me, nearer the door.

“You don’t need to get involved in my shit, Ben.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

“Getting involved?”

“Knowing I don’t have to. Knowing I can cut and run if I want.”

“If that’s your choice, man, I’ll understand. My life’s all fucked up. Worse than you even know.”

Tell me then, Danny. Tell me all your secrets
.

“You want some company tonight?”

“Yeah, sort of. But it’s better if you go.”

“Why?”

“Just is, that’s all.”

It felt like both a rejection and a reprieve. I held him for a while, pressing my lips to the smooth slope of his neck, aching for more of him, but just as afraid of him as ever.

Before I left, I told him I wanted one more look at Reza JaFari’s room.

“What for?”

“I wish I knew.”

I entered the room alone, and switched on the desk lamp. The thief—whoever he or she was—had left little behind except JaFari’s Hollywood magazines and resource books.

Most of the drawers were pulled out. Those that weren’t, I opened. I found odd scraps of paper—laundry receipts, business cards—but nothing very interesting.

Then, one by one, I went through the books, turning them upside down, shaking the pages loose. One or two Samuel French bookmarks hit the floor.

JaFari’s copy of
The Cantwell Method
yielded something more—a sheet of white paper, folded four-square. I picked it up from the littered floor, opened it up.

Under the lamp light, I saw the name and insignia of the Writer’s Guild of America printed at the top.

Below that was a WGA script registration receipt for a screenplay titled
Over the Wall
, signed by Reza JaFari and dated three days before his death.