Grant of Immunity (9 page)

F
or today’s court appearance
, Sean had come along with Erin for moral support. She was surrendering on the bench warrant, which had been recalled, and was to be arraigned in Division 103 at 8:30 a.m. Her public defender, Beth Daniels, had told her that the judge, Daniel Hart, was a fair guy. Sean knew and worked with Beth and had nothing but good things to say about her. Erin agreed. Beth did nothing to fix herself up, wore no makeup, didn’t color her hair despite some premature grey strands of hair, and, as a consequence, looked older than her twenty-nine years

But she had a warmth and inner beauty that Erin admired. She gave Erin her cell phone number and told her to call if she had any questions at all. For today’s hearing, Beth was optimistic that Erin might qualify for the thirty-month alcohol rehabilitation program. If she did, she could avoid the mandatory 120-day jail sentence and the equally mandatory revocation of her driving privileges. But if she didn’t complete the program, or if she consumed even one drink, she’d go to jail for sure.

Erin made her way up the steps to the Van Nuys courthouse. She was very nervous, almost as nervous as she’d been for the Babbage trial.

She was terrified of Babbage. He was sure to be twice as dangerous now that he’d been acquitted. Fitz had told her that Babbage wouldn’t dare try anything, but Fitz didn’t know Babbage the way she did. Now that he’d gotten away with what he’d done to her, he must think that he was invincible. When the jury came back with its verdict of acquittal, Babbage, after grinning at Fitz, had turned to look at Erin and smiled.
That son of a bitch,
she thought.

Maybe it was her imagination, but ever since the trial, she saw police cars everywhere she went—in the parking lot at the market, across the street from her gym, even at the car wash. She didn’t know what she would have done if it weren’t for Fitz. He’d given her his home phone and cell/pager numbers. He’d promised to keep an eye on her, to see that she was okay, and he had. He called her every evening, and drove by her apartment during the days when she slept in late. He had even taken her out for breakfast twice.

Fitz had promised to be at the hearing, and Erin was glad to see him waiting in the hallway as soon as she and Sean got off the elevator.

The three of them entered the courtroom, which was already crowded and noisy. In the rear were two rows of uniformed cops. Beth, her public defender, had told her it was going to be a busy day in court, with lots of cops there for a high-publicity case. Erin averted her eyes from them. She was to check in with the bailiff, and Beth said that she would be there by the time the court called Erin’s case.

J
ake 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.

R
emaining 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.

B
efore 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.

B
abbage 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.