No Witness But the Moon(10)
He identified himself as a police officer—that much he was sure of. But he couldn’t recall squeezing the trigger. He had no memory of firing off four shots. It had all seemed so clear in those moonlit woods, his actions so steeped in procedure, his choices so unavoidable. But now, under the bright damning fluorescents of this small interrogation room, he felt weak and ashamed of what he’d done. He wondered if Isadora Jenkins hated him yet. He certainly hated himself.
“Whenever I used to hear about cops shooting unarmed civilians, I always figured them for cowboys, you know?” said Vega. “Especially when the civilians were black or Hispanic. I figured probably the cops were profiling. Definitely they were undertrained and letting their emotions get in the way.” Vega shook his head. “I never thought I’d end up right alongside them, being the kind of cop people hate—the kind of cop I hate. I don’t want to end up on Ruben Tate-Rivera’s Wall of Shame.”
Jenkins nodded. Everyone knew about the former college professor who’d made a national reputation by spotlighting controversial police shootings, particularly of blacks and Hispanics. When he put a cop’s photo on his Internet Wall of Shame, it was a virtual guarantee that that cop would go on trial, maybe even land in prison.
Jenkins rummaged through her briefcase and pulled out some unlined sheets of paper and a pencil. She pushed them across the table to Vega.
“Perhaps if you drew what happened?”
The paper helped. It took the onus off Vega’s words and allowed him to concentrate on the three-dimensional rendering of events on the page. He spoke and drew and tried to give approximate distances. Jenkins asked questions.
She took notes. She helped him string together a coherent sequence of events. Gradually, Vega’s stick-figure memories got a semblance of flesh and blood. But one thing kept bothering him.
“Do you know if the police found the suspect’s car?” asked Vega.
“Car?”
“Wickford is very rural. Luis’s house is in the middle of nowhere. It seems sort of strange that this guy just walked there. Plus, he must have planned to get away afterward.”
“I don’t believe the police found a car, but I’ll check.”
They went through Vega’s actions until he felt comfortable explaining them. Then Jenkins excused herself to let Captain Lorenzo of internal affairs know that Vega was ready to make a statement to him and Captain Waring.
Vega had no illusions that Lorenzo and Waring were concerned about the dead man or even Vega, for that matter. All they were really worried about was negative publicity and lawsuits. Win or lose, a lawsuit would cost the county money. Which meant county officials would pass their displeasure on to the police brass who would in turn make Vega’s life a living hell. Vega wondered why departments even bothered to give cops guns. They seemed to get you into far more trouble than they ever got you out of.
When Vega’s session with Lorenzo and Waring was over, Sergeant Lasky came in with the paperwork that officially put Vega on paid administrative leave until further notice along with a referral to counseling. Vega didn’t like the sound of either of those.
“How long before I can return to full duty?” The last thing Vega wanted right now was to have nothing to do but sit and brood.
“Typically, the administrative leave lasts for a week or two while your department and the district attorney’s office sort through the evidence,” said Jenkins. “After that, it’s up to the department whether you go back to full duty or modified desk duty.”
“In other words, punishment detail.”
“That’s an administrative matter, Vega. I have no control over that. The faster this is resolved in your favor, the better your chances of putting it behind you.”
“Will my name be in the papers?”
“The department won’t put it in any official releases for twenty-four hours. But it will be in the public record,” Jenkins explained. “If the press wants to get ahold of it, they can. It just depends on how newsworthy they consider it to be.” She thrust out a hand. “I’ll be in touch if there are any developments.”
They parted in the hallway. Vega began heading toward the back of the building to sneak out to his truck. Teddy Dolan caught up with him and began steering him to a conference room.
“I got you a personal escort.”
“I don’t need an escort.”
“You’ll want this one. Trust me.” Dolan opened the door and there was Adele, sitting by herself at a long table. Her bob of silky black hair looked ruffled and static-charged from some hat she’d just removed. Her lipstick had long ago faded. Her mascara had gone soft like a water-color around her eyes. She was still the most beautiful thing Vega had ever seen.
“You came.” His voice was hoarse and throaty. He tried hard to control the pitch.
Adele’s full lips parted slightly. Her deep brown eyes searched his. She reached up a delicate hand and tucked a wad of hair behind one ear. It was such a simple gesture, one she did so often. But it brought an instant lump to Vega’s throat. It made him want to bury himself in her arms and cry right there. But he knew he couldn’t. And so he stood frozen in the doorway, afraid to touch her with his darkness, afraid to contaminate her world with the poison that was now his own.
“He needs to decompress,” Dolan told Adele. “Take him out the back way.” Then he flicked a gaze at Vega. “Take care, Jimmy. See you around, okay?”