Guilt By Degrees - страница 18

“N-no.” Charlie looked at her warily.

“Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

He nodded and cleared his throat. “I’m on probation for receiving stolen property,” Charlie said. “But I wasn’t guilty. I tol’ my public defender, man. That stereo receiver was mine. That ass…uh…guy, stiffed me, so I just went and took it back. My dump truck of a PD said to just take the deal. I was scared of going to jail, so I did. I never shoulda listened.” Charlie still looked aggrieved.

I wasn’t buying the dump-truck story. My experience with public defenders, which was considerable, was that they’d happily fight a case that had any shot at all of winning. I’d bet good money our little Charlie was a thief. But I did buy the part about him being on probation.

“You’re dealing out of here, and you got nervous about the cops watching your action, so you told them what you thought they wanted to hear,” I said flatly.

Charlie gave me a wounded look. “No!”

Which meant yes.

“And you’re in trouble with your PO,” I said, sounding as bored as I felt.

I hate the predictable. Which, I guess, is one of the reasons I love my job.

Charlie sniffed. “It was a bullshit deal. I got caught with a little weed. But my PO said if I screwed up again, he’d violate me.”

“So you figured you’d earn brownie points with the cops. That way, they’d leave you alone and maybe even help you out with your PO if you just happened to get unlucky enough to get busted again,” I said.

Charlie nodded glumly. “I’m totally screwed now, aren’t I? You’re gonna bust me for lyin’.”

Bailey sighed. “Just give us the truth, Charlie. No more bullshit. What’d you really see?”

“I really did see that dude-whasisname? Yamashiro or something-”

“That’s a restaurant, Charlie,” I corrected with a sigh. “I take it you mean the defendant who was in court?”

“Yeah, him. He was there just before the homeless dude went down.”

“You mean the victim?” I couldn’t stand hearing one more person call him the homeless guy.

“Yuh, uh, yeah, the victim,” Charlie said nervously.

“How close was Yamaguchi to the victim when you saw him?”

“Real close, like from me to her,” he said, gesturing to Bailey, who was about seven inches away and still holding his arm.

He looked from his limb to Bailey, who ignored his silent entreaty and held fast.

“Was he still that close when the victim went down?” I asked.

“That’s the part I don’t know,” Charlie replied, shaking his head.

Of course he didn’t. That was the part that mattered most. “Try to picture how it happened,” I said.

Charlie stared at a spot on the pavement and played out the images in his memory. “I seen the victim reach for that lady, then I saw the Yamashiro dude there-”

I didn’t want to, but I had to stop him and ask, “And at that point, what was the lady doing?”

“I think she was moving away-”

“Are you sure?” Bailey asked.

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Charlie replied, forehead wrinkled with the effort of replaying the incident.

“So the victim wasn’t holding on to her anymore,” I said.

“No, couldn’ta been,” he answered, nodding to himself. “’Cuz she was moving, and the homeless-uh, I mean the victim was still standing there. That, I’m sure about.”

“And did you notice where the Yamashiro guy was at that point?” I asked. Having scored a major victory with victim instead of homeless guy, I decided to give up on the defendant’s name.

“No. He mighta still been there, but I just din’t see. Next time I saw him was after the cops came. He was standing with all the looky-loos, watching ’em do their thing.”

“Can you describe the lady?” I asked.

“About so high.” Charlie put his hand at chin level.

I estimated that would mean she was about five feet seven without factoring in what kind of heels she’d been wearing. So I guessed maybe five feet five or less.

“All I could see was long black hair, big sunglasses.” Charlie paused and frowned, then shrugged. “It happened really fast, you know?”

Unfortunately, we really did. Bailey took his contact information and we thanked him for his time and generous cooperation. The sarcasm was wasted on our little doper buddy, who rubbed his arm, cast a wary glance at Bailey, and said, “You’re welcome, man.”