Grant of Immunity (27 page)

“All right,” Fields said. “Point it out to me, if you can.”

Jordan took a deep breath. “Your Honor, the one question that is the key to this entire case is:
Who held Sarah Collins’s wrists while she was being stabbed?
The deputy medical examiner, Doctor Crowlich, testified that unless a victim is subdued or unconscious, he would expect stab wounds to the palms of the hands, indicating that the victim tried to protect herself from the stabbing. We know that Ms. Collins was not comatose. There were no drugs in her system that would cause her to lose awareness. There were no blows to the head that could have rendered her unconscious. The only possible explanation is that she was restrained. But how? Not by duct tape. The marks on her wrists were not consistent with having been bound by tape. There was no adhesive residue. Doctor Crowlich’s opinion is clear:
These marks were consistent with Sarah Collins’s wrists being restrained by someone’s hands.
So, while she was being stabbed, another person was holding her wrists so that she could not resist. This is the neutral pathologist’s opinion and it cannot be ignored.”

Jordan took out the DNA report again. “The DNA from the semen sample taken from Sarah Collins’s mouth was positive for Mr. Babbage, indicating that he ejaculated into the victim’s mouth. He testified that he was struck while he was being orally copulated. That would imply that the ejaculation had not been completed. This fact then is consistent, at the very least, with his being an accomplice. I would also point out that the acts of burning the clothing and not going to the police are also consistent with his being an accomplice. But I repeat, the one question that is the key to this entire case is:
Who held Sarah Collins’s wrists while she was being stabbed?”

Jordan walked back to her seat at the counsel table. “Perhaps,” she said, “the prosecutor has the answer. If not, there can be no case against Daniel Hart, and the court must grant my motion to dismiss.” Jordan sat down.

Fitz glanced at Sean and Hart. Sean was smiling. Hart didn’t smile, but he appeared to be sitting up straighter.

Fields looked at Reynolds and said, “Any response, Ms. Reynolds?”

She swallowed. “Once again, we’re hearing Counsel’s interpretation of the evidence. It’s up to the jury to determine Officer Babbage’s credibility. And I, for one, am not persuaded by the so-called positive semen results. They mean nothing. There could very well have been ejaculation before Officer Babbage was knocked out. So what? As for the coroner’s testimony, I see it differently. Doctor Crowlich acknowledged the possibility from a medical point-of-view. The court cannot take this away from the jury based upon a mere possibility. Officer Babbage was not an accomplice.”

She sat down.

Fields spoke. “I’ll take this matter under submission and rule tomorrow morning before the jury is impaneled. Court is in recess until tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.”

F
or the first
time in two days, Babbage was confident again. Wearing the same sport coat and slacks he’d testified in, he sat at the counsel table between Reynolds and Fitzgerald. She told him to sit next to her so that the judge could see there was no doubt that the prosecution was behind him. As was law enforcement—shown by the visible and clear support of LAPD. Two days ago he’d visited at roll call and made the arrangements. Everyone was willing to do anything to help, but it was damn awkward for Babbage, and it pissed him off to have to beg. But they came, so maybe it was worth it. The first two rows of the audience were filled with uniformed cops. Even Commander Karp showed up in uniform.

The rest of the seats were filled as well. Spectators, reporters, sketch artists, and a bunch that Babbage decided must be DAs and PDs. An overflow crowd waited in the outside hall. Word must travel fast around the courthouse.

Listening to the buzz of conversation in the courtroom, Babbage had to admit that, for once, Reynolds might be right. No way, with this much brass, this much support, and this much public, could that gutless judge do anything other than let this case go to the jury.

The bailiff, Powell, announced the judge, cutting through the din. Fields entered and squinted in the bright light of the courtroom. “Good morning,” he said. “This matter is here this morning for the court’s ruling on the defense motion to dismiss pursuant to Penal Code Section eleven-eighteen-point-one. The parties are present, and we are outside the presence of the jury. The court has considered all argument presented yesterday afternoon and is ready to rule.”

Reynolds stood. “Just a moment, Judge,” she interrupted. “Before you rule, may the People be heard one last time?”

Fields frowned. “All right, Ms. Reynolds. You have two minutes.”

“Judge,” she began, turning and motioning with her hand, “look who’s here in the courtroom to show how strongly law enforcement and the public feel about this case. They know that ruling against the People would be just plain wrong. You’d be unleashing a murderer onto the public. And since jeopardy attached the moment the jury panel was sworn, the People cannot appeal, and there’d be no way to correct your miscarriage of justice. That’s why I’m imploring you to deny the motion and let the jury decide this case.”

Fields looked at her, his expression unreadable. “As I said,” he continued, “the court has examined your arguments in depth.” The judge looked down at a note pad in front of him, then looked up.

The courtroom became still, as if everyone was holding their breath. Babbage glanced over at Hart.
The fucker looks to be frozen, staring straight ahead.

Fields continued. “Based upon the testimony of Deputy Medical Examiner Crowlich and based upon Witness Babbage’s own testimony, I find that he is an accomplice, as a matter of law.” Then Fields made eye contact with Babbage. “I specifically find that the Babbage testimony lacks credibility, and that no reasonable jury could convict based upon the People’s evidence. Accordingly, the defense motion to dismiss … is granted.”

At first there was a stunned silence in the courtroom, then commotion.

Babbage thought he’d misheard. This wasn’t possible. Not after all he’d done. Not with all his supporters in the room. Not in front of the patrol cops he’d supervised, who’d looked up to him and depended upon him. His face burned with humiliation, stung as if he’d been slapped.

The bailiff shouted to the audience. “Quiet! Court’s still in session.”

Fields looked at Powell, “Bailiff, please inform the jury that the case has been resolved, that the court thanks them for their time and effort, and that they are excused.”

“Wait!” Reynolds said. “Take a look around this courtroom. At the supporters of justice. Can you really let a murderer go free?”

“Ms. Reynolds, sit down. I’ve already warned you. Be advised that if you say anything further, I will hold you in contempt.”

“I’ll bet you would,” she retorted under her breath.

Fitzgerald reached behind Babbage and grabbed at Reynolds’s elbow. She turned and looked toward him, her face contorted in anger. “Don’t you try to hush me, Fitzgerald. This is your fault, too.” She turned back. “Just remember this, Judge. The Los Angeles District Attorney’s Office and the LAPD will never accept what you are doing today. Whatever goes around comes around.”

Babbage noticed that the bailiff had approached behind Reynolds.
The crazy bitch had stepped over the line
.

“Ms. Reynolds,” said Judge Fields, “I find that your remarks constitute direct contempt, and that your conduct occurred after you have been suitably warned. Accordingly, you are remanded and sentenced to spend the rest of today and tonight in the county jail. The sheriff is ordered to keep you in custody and release you no earlier than five-thirty a.m. tomorrow morning.”

Fields looked at Hart.

“Mr. Hart, you are ordered discharged. Your bail is exonerated. Good luck to you, sir. Court is adjourned.”

S
ean had never seen
anything like it. Not only had they won, but Doris Reynolds was getting jugged. He grinned at Jordan, who shook her head, indicating now was not the time to gloat. Sean then looked at Fitz. Was that a smile? He couldn’t be sure. Sean walked over to Hart and shook his hand. “Congratulations, Judge Hart. Justice was done—my faith in the system is restored.”

Hart didn’t smile. “Thank you. Your support has meant a lot … to me.” There were tears in his eyes.

The bailiff was behind Reynolds. “Please put your hands behind your back, Doris,” he said. “I’ll need to handcuff you.”

“Do you have to do that?” she asked. “I’m not a risk.”

“It’s policy. Please put your hands behind your back.”

“This is nonsense,” Reynolds said, starting to move away.

The bailiff put one hand on her shoulder. With his other hand he pressed the talk button on the microphone at his lapel. “I need a female deputy here for backup,” he said. Then he said to Reynolds, “Don’t make me restrain you.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll cooperate.” She put her hands behind her, and the bailiff snapped on the handcuffs.

The lockup door opened, and a dark-haired female deputy sheriff entered the courtroom. She walked over to Reynolds, grasped her by the arm, and started to lead her away. “Can’t you at least wait for my boss, Chuck Allen?” Reynolds pleaded. “I’m sure he’ll be able to straighten this out without my having to go to jail.”

The bailiff shook her head. “I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do now to get you out to the jail. But don’t worry. I’ll put you in a cell by yourself. You’ll be kept apart from the other prisoners.”

Fitz had started to accompany her into the lockup, but Reynolds shook her head. She looked past him to Babbage, who was still seated at the counsel table. “Jake, I’m sure they’ll take me to Sybil Brand and release me from there. Can you find out when I’m going to be released and pick me up?”

Babbage didn’t reply.

“Come see me before I get on the jail bus,” she said.

The female deputy escorted Reynolds through the door to the lockup. Sean, Hart, and Jordan remained standing while she was being taken away. After the door closed, Amanda, smiling, turned to Hart and hugged him. “Congratulations, Daniel.”

Hart did not smile back. He allowed himself to be hugged, but his face was grim.

F
itz wasn’t
sure how he felt about the outcome of the case. Fields was correct, of course, because if anything, Babbage was at least an accomplice. And Fitz didn’t believe a word that Babbage had said on the witness stand. But Fitz was still left with an unsolved murder.

He was grateful that Sean had handled himself so well. Sean was a great kid. He’d agonized about joining with Hart’s defense team, and now he was vindicated.

Doris Reynolds was another matter. She’d created her situation, and now she had to live with it. But Fitz was troubled about her trust in Babbage. He decided he had to warn her.

With the bailiff’s help, Fitz made his way into the lockup. Doris was sitting on one of the stainless-steel benches that was in the cell. She had her back against the wall. Her eyes were closed.

“Doris?” Fitz said.

She opened her eyes.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to have Babbage pick you up. I worry about your safety, especially if you’re going to be alone with him. If you need a ride, I’ll be glad to give you one.”

She frowned. “If you’d done your job, I wouldn’t be here now.” She stood and walked over to the bars separating them. “Don’t worry about Jake Babbage,” she said. “Worry about your own career. As soon as I’m out of here, you can expect a call from your captain. I’m going to do everything I can to make certain you’re never allowed to mess up another prosecutor’s case again. Get out of my sight.”

She turned, returned to the bench, and sat down. She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against the wall. Fitz shook his head.
Maybe she deserves being locked up
. He left the courthouse.

B
abbage stayed seated
at the counsel table and tried to make sense of what happened. While some—probably reporters—left, the bulk of the spectators stood in small groups talking. A bunch of reporters came by and surrounded the defense team. Lieutenant Hardy and two of the guys Babbage supervised walked over to him, but Babbage declined to discuss details, telling them it was all bullshit, and that he had to talk to his lawyer.

The judge’s ruling made Babbage look like a goddamned fool. Perhaps the time had come for him to act—to show them that no one gets away with humiliating him. All because of Reynolds. It was no surprise she got jailed. She’d deliberately pissed off the judge for no purpose, and with
nothing
to be gained. Daring him to rule against her. Acting like she had power. Like a cat hissing at one of his boas. Playing a stupid, reckless game. And now she was crying about having to spend a night in jail. Shit. A few hours in lockup, then on to her next case.

He had to get out of here.

He got up to leave, when he heard a familiar voice call his name. “What the hell happened, Babbage?” He turned. Commander Karp, face stern, looked at him.

“Sir, I’m as astounded as everyone else. But I’m going to find out.”

“Have your rep call me Monday.”

Babbage froze. “This won’t affect my chances for reinstatement, will it, sir?”

“I can’t comment. Ask your lawyer. Or check with the DA.” Karp looked at his watch. “I need to get back to a meeting at Parker Center.” He rushed away.

Babbage watched Karp leave. What the fuck did he mean? Babbage had assumed his immunity meant the Board of Rights hearing was a formality and that he’d be reinstated as soon as the trial was over. They’d better! Fuming, he decided that he’d have to see Reynolds in lockup after all, to confirm that he’d get his badge back, and that the grant of immunity meant something.

The bailiff, Powell, had returned to his desk and was filling out a form. Babbage approached him. “Do you mind if I talk to Doris?”

Powell shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Powell opened the lockup door and escorted him to Reynolds’s cell. She was pacing back and forth as he approached.

“Can you believe this?” she said when she saw him. “That buffoon Fields dismissing the case and finding me in contempt? I knew from the start he was incompetent. But this is not over. The public is not going to stand for this.”

She looked at Babbage. He knew his impassive face masked his fury. “Doris, I need some answers—”

“Jake,” she interrupted, “besides picking me up, I have another favor to ask.”

He wanted badly to hurt her.

“Can you go see my boss, Chuck Allen, for me? I’m sure he’s heard by now what happened. No doubt he’ll be here shortly. But just in case, tell him I’d like to see him before I get shipped downtown. I also need him to arrange to move my car to my house. It’s not safe to leave it here overnight. Also, that bailiff, Powell, took my briefcase and purse. Could you retrieve them from him and bring them with you tomorrow? We can discuss your case then.”

“Answers, Doris. Now. I’ve got to get my badge back.”

“No time to talk now,” she said. “Find Chuck. Get my stuff.” She reached through the bars, put her hand on his arm, and looked into his eyes. “After you pick me up tomorrow morning, we’ll talk, and we can decide what to do next. I have some ideas. Okay?”

“Like what?”

“The feds. Another immunity deal. A civil rights case against Hart. I have some friends at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. I’ll arrange it all—get them to charge Hart. More tomorrow. Trust me.” She kept her hand on his arm, kept looking at him, a ridiculous expression on her face.

Babbage removed her hand. “Tomorrow. Eight. See you then,” he said.

He walked out of lockup and found the bailiff, Powell. “Reynolds wants you to give me her briefcase and purse.”

“I’ll have to check with her, but no problem—it’ll save me doing an inventory. Wait here.”

Powell went back into lockup and returned ten minutes later with a brown shopping bag, sealed at the top with yellow tape. “Reynolds signed the release,” he said, and handed over the bag.

Babbage left the courthouse, ignoring Reynolds’s request to find her boss.
Fuck her. A little jail would do her good.

Twenty minutes later, he was on the 405 freeway, headed for home. It was still early in the day, but traffic was congested. The slow pace gave him time to ponder, to evaluate his situation.

He cursed his luck that his fate was tied to such a stupid fucking woman. Now that he thought about it, he realized that ever since he was a child, whenever something went wrong in his life, there was always a woman behind it. His mother … Sarah Collins … Erin Collins. Always some fucking woman.

He decided his first priority when he got home would be to call Giovanni and discuss the status of his reinstatement now that the trial was over. Maybe there was a federal angle like Reynolds had suggested, and they’d still need him. Giovanni had worked a miracle getting him back in the department before, and Babbage hoped the lawyer could do it again. He was looking forward to getting back to his regular routine.

Taking the Devonshire off-ramp, he drove east to Haskell, heading north past Chatsworth Boulevard, to his lot.

In his trailer, Babbage put the shopping bag with Doris’s stuff on his breakfast table. He reheated some coffee he’d brewed upon waking that morning, poured himself a cup, and sat at the table. He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. A good time to call Giovanni.

He dialed Giovanni’s number. The secretary answered, and told Babbage to hold on, that Giovanni was on another call but would be available presently. Babbage took a sip of coffee and looked out his rear window at the backyard shed housing his boas.

He thought about the snakes. They were something he could rely on. No emotion, just pure logical behavior based on instinct. When they were hungry, they ate. When they weren’t, they could give a shit. And they had true power, which they used only when necessary.

Babbage suddenly realized that he had forgotten to feed them this month. Damn. The trial had occupied so much of his attention that he’d had no time to devote full care to them.

“Hello, Jake,” Giovanni’s voice said. “Trial in recess?”

“It’s over,” Babbage replied. He took a sip of coffee. It was bitter, but passable.

“Over? What do you mean?”

Babbage was irritated by the surprise in Giovanni’s voice. “Over. Finished. Fields dismissed the goddamned case.”

Giovanni inhaled sharply. “That’s bad news.”

“Yeah,” Babbage said.

Giovanni didn’t reply. Babbage took another sip of coffee and waited. Finally he said, “What’s this going to do to my reinstatement chances?”

“I’ll put it this way,” Giovanni said. “Had Hart been convicted, it would have been iffy at best.”

“
Iffy?
” Babbage was incredulous. He’d proven himself on the streets, time and again. He’d trained more rookies than anyone else in his division. “What the fuck are you talking about? Don’t all the years I’ve put in count for something? Didn’t you ever look at my performance evaluations?”

“I know, Jake. And if Hart had been convicted, I’d have been able to argue that you’d sacrificed your career to put a murderer away. But now—”

Babbage interrupted. “Why can’t you still do that? Nothing’s changed.” He drank more coffee, decided it tasted like shit. “Reynolds says there’s a civil rights case that could be prosecuted against Hart.”

Giovanni laughed out loud. “A Section nineteen-eighty-three violation? Bullshit. I’ve tried a ton of those cases. Hart wasn’t a judge at the time of the murder, so no violation. He’s been acquitted and no one, not the feds, not the state, no one is going to file anything against him. And with the case dismissed, all that’s left is you smoking pot and lying on your application. Not to mention your possible complicity in a murder.”

“Bullshit!’ Babbage shouted into the phone. “They can’t use my testimony, and you know it! The immunity!”

“Calm down, Jake,” Giovanni said.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Just answer my fucking question!”

Giovanni sighed. “Jake, immunity just affects criminal issues. As far as a Board of Rights, there is no immunity. They can force you to testify against yourself.”

Babbage could feel his insides churning. He felt like smashing the phone into Giovanni’s face. He swallowed, knowing he needed to control himself. Taking a breath, he said, “You fucked up, Giovanni. You should’ve included the Board of Rights in the deal.”

“I tried. They wouldn’t go for it,” Giovanni said.

Babbage said, “This is the first I’ve heard about it. Don’t fucking lie to me—”

“Hold it!” Giovanni interrupted. “I saved your goddamned ass and don’t you forget it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the Board of Rights wasn’t included? I would’ve refused to cooperate without it.”

“Like hell you would,” Giovanni retorted, his voice ice-cold. “Without me and the immunity I got you, your ass would be in jail right now, with capital murder charges hanging over your head.”

“Goddammit!” Babbage was shouting again. “You didn’t save shit! The immunity was my idea! If that’s all I got, I could’ve done this by myself!”

Giovanni didn’t reply.

For a moment, Babbage wondered if the connection had been lost. Then slowly, deliberately, Giovanni spoke into the phone.

“Fine. If that’s really the way you feel, then do the rest without me.”

Babbage calmed himself down. He tried to keep his voice even, low, “You’re not getting out of this so easy. You owe me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been paid. And for every damn minute you worked. Now do your job.”

“I’ll do my job, all right,” Giovanni said. “If you keep your temper under control. Disrespect me again, Babbage, and I’m off your case. Period. Because if not, we part company here and now.”

Babbage took a deep breath. “I’ll uphold my part of the bargain if you do yours. Don’t tell me what might have been had Hart been convicted. Just find a way to get me back to work and you’ll hear no complaints.”

“Going back to work is not a possibility,” Giovanni said. “Best case, we save your pension. Maybe get you early retirement.”

“I don’t want early retirement. I’m a cop, goddammit. I want my job back.”

“You don’t have a chance in hell of getting your badge back. Trust me on this. And do what I say, or else face losing everything.”

“And just what are you telling me to do?”

“You’ve got to make a deal. Admit you lied on your application, and then resign. Give up your right to a hearing. Do that and I think we might still save your ass. You’ll be able to work somewhere else. Another city. Maybe become a deputy sheriff.”

“No one is going to hire a cop who lied, you stupid, fat fuck.”

Silence. Then slowly Giovanni said, “I think you’d better get yourself another lawyer.”

“You’d better watch your fucking back, Giovanni.” Babbage slammed down the receiver.

He hurried outside to his truck and got in. He forced himself to calm down, fighting back the urge to drive straight to Giovanni’s office and shoot the motherfucker. Forcing himself to be logical. As pissed off as he was, he really couldn’t blame Giovanni. The lawyer had tried to do his job, had actually tried to look out for Babbage.

The real problem is Doris Reynolds
. That stupid, stupid woman. By showing such blatant disrespect for Fields. By forcing the judge to retaliate at Babbage’s expense. Another woman screwing him over. Another woman thinking she could make everything right for Babbage, just by allowing him to fuck her. And she claimed she could make things right. How in the hell did she think she could do that? He stared out the windshield, watching the wind blow through the naked branches of the trees on the hill in his backyard, then it hit him. He could find out what Reynolds had based her comments on when she told him he could go to the feds.

He got out of the truck, went back into his trailer, ripped open the bag, and went through Reynolds’s briefcase. Inside he found yellow pads, scribbled notes, and mostly stuff he couldn’t read. Behind a thick case file marked “People v. Hart,” he discovered an LAPD evidence envelope sealed with red tape, a typewritten note stapled to it from Lt. Hardy. DNA comparisons ordered by Fitzgerald, telling her that unless she saw relevance to these results, no further action would be taken.

What the fuck?

He tore open the envelope and read the report. It was a comparison of three DNA samples. Babbage studied it carefully, trying to make sense of it. Two of the three comparisons matched, but the third was inconclusive, and the report suggested sending the samples to a private lab. The report didn’t mention names, only included DR numbers. He recognized one of the numbers as the Sarah Collins case. According to the report, that was the inconclusive comparison.

But the other two samples did match. One was a Sheriff’s case, the other LAPD’s.

There was only one possible reason Fitzgerald would send out this comparison. To see if the same perpetrator committed all three crimes.

Babbage knew that if Biotech Markers were sent the samples, they’d uncover that the same perpetrator raped all three victims. Babbage had to make certain that those DNA results never got compared to the DNA found on Erin’s blouse—his life depended on it.

That settled it.

He spent the rest of the day preparing. Planning had a calming effect on him. He knew that but for exceptional luck, he was a dead man. Luck had favored him before—but only because of careful planning. He’d need to have another phone call made — one like what he’d arranged to make Erin think she was needed at work. But this time he wasn’t going to use a hooker to make the call. He had a better idea — one that was sure to convince.

Just before dusk, Babbage visited his boas one last time. They were hungry and alert, their tongues flicking in and out in anticipation of their next meal.

They’d never survive without him.

Using his .22 caliber Derringer pistol wrapped in a towel, he fired one round into each snake’s brain. He owed them that much. Carefully, he dragged them halfway up the hill behind their shed.