28

Deputy Newton took both of us to a prisoner-transport van and shackled us to opposite benches, out of reach of each other. He said, “I’ll be right back. You girls just stay there and don’t move a muscle,” and jumped down to the ground.

When we were alone, no cops in earshot, no audience to play to, Brittany looked at me and said, “Why are you doing this to me?”

At that moment I gave up on ever truly trying to understand her. Because on some level she considered that to be a legitimate question. Somewhere in her mind, she was the victim; I’d made this happen.

Then movement outside the van caught my eye, a little bit of commotion, a raised voice. I looked over to see Joel Kelleher approaching. He had changed out of his college-volunteer clothes and was recognizably a cop again in a dark blue LAPD T-shirt, black jeans, and boots, a badge on a chain around his neck. His wasn’t the raised voice. That was my friend Deputy Newton. “—without a compelling reason. Hey, are you listening?” he was saying, trailing behind with a reddening, frustrated face. He couldn’t keep up, and Joel wasn’t slowing down for him any. He vaulted up easily into the back of the van. Brittany stared at him, her mouth slightly open, recognizing the “volunteer” who’d rung her doorbell earlier and understanding the extent to which she’d been fooled. “You bastard,” she said, and started to cry again.

Joel looked at me without any sign that we’d ever met. “Hailey Cain, I’m Officer Joel Kelleher with the Los Angeles Police Department. I’m here to take you into custody.”

“You can’t do this,” Newton said, still outside the van.

“Actually, I can,” Joel said. “They gave me the authority to transport prisoners when they swore me in.”

Newton said, “You know what I’m saying. We’ve arrested her, we’ve Mirandized her—”

“Not completely,” I said helpfully.

“—and we’ve arranged for transport to the jail. There’s absolutely no reason for this.”

“None except that I’m the only officer here I know for sure won’t have her fall down a flight of stairs in handcuffs as soon as she’s out of sight of reporters,” Joel said.

“That’s offensive.”

“And painful, which is why I want to keep it from happening,” Joel said. “Look, if you have any more questions, talk to Magnus Ford, under whose authority I’m doing this. You have heard of Ford, I assume?”

Newton closed his mouth, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Joel knelt down by my side.

Newton found his voice. “No matter whose authority, I’m reporting you for this.”

“For taking a prisoner to custody?” Joel said. “That’ll excite IAD. Listen, I’m not stealing your collar. I’m only taking her in.” He nudged his chin at me. “That woman”—looking over his shoulder at Brittany—“is the one you really want to be photographed perp-walking into central lockup. That’s the AP photo you’ll show your grandkids. When all this shakes out, you’ll thank me.”

Though the big game was finished, the turnstiles kept rolling over: More official-looking vehicles had arrived, and there were several knots of uniformed and plainclothes officers around, plus a few in suits who could have been pretty high up the command chain. Joel walked me through a gauntlet of hostile gazes to the unmarked white sedan I’d seen him driving earlier.

Once I was in the backseat, still handcuffed, and he was behind the wheel, he said, “You’re not going to central lockup. I’m taking you to a sheriff’s substation until all this settles down. I know the guy in charge. He’s a good man. No one’s going to mess with you.”

“Okay,” I’d said. “Thank you” wasn’t right here. He wasn’t doing it as a favor for me personally. It was just a practical concern.

Then I said, “Do you always talk like that to other officers, like you did to Newton? In the Army someone with your kind of mouth would constantly be losing privileges and working chickenshit details.”

“He wasn’t my superior.” Joel glanced at me in the rearview. “I have a hard time remembering you were at West Point. It just doesn’t seem very you.”

“Things were a lot different then. I was different.”

Joel didn’t pursue that. He was looking out the window at the ongoing mop-up of the scene and said, “I’d better get us out of here.”

He turned the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life. Then, rather than make a U-turn, Joel cocked his chin over his shoulder and reversed all the way to the road under the malevolent eyes of his peers.