“Of course I figured it was a hoax,” I said. “A few days later she called again. Same voice. It was evening. The night before, the real Allison Murrieta had robbed a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and the night before that, a Burger King. She talked about them, about this old guy who had some kind of seizure at the BK, and her gun going off accidentally. She had details you wouldn’t have gotten off the news clips of those robberies. You know, stuff you’d have to be there to know-what the old man’s wife did, and what the surfers smelled like, how when she’s wearing that mask it cuts down her peripheral vision which really bugs her but she has to have it and the crystal-she said it’s a Swarovski-adds a little bit of class. She made the mask herself, she said.”
Ruth doesn’t write much. I blather and she studies me and scribbles something, then she studies me some more.
“Why did she call?”
The espresso is extremely good. It makes me want to stand up and run around, maybe pull a gun and rob someone, just for the pure joyful rush of it. But I sit still and answer.
“Same reason, I guess-she wanted to know if there was anything I needed. I said no. She said if she knew where I was she might be able to provide some ‘meaningful security’ for me. I refused to tell her where I was. I think she wanted to tell someone about the crimes she committed. So, she talked.”
Ruth scribbles, underlines something. “Then?”
“She called me again a day or so later. Said she wanted to know how I was doing. I was wishing she wouldn’t call anymore but I was also kind of getting to like her. She said she had a feel for Lupercio, thought she’d catch up with him soon. I said, ‘What-you’re not looking for him are you?’ And she laughed and said, ‘You’re damned right I am.’ She said I’d enjoy my freedom even more when I got it back again. Said she had a kick-ass eighth-grade history teacher and loved him. Then she hung up.”
“Did she scramble her voice?” said Ruth.
“No. It was natural. A woman’s voice, no accent that I could tell. A mature voice, but not an old one. Smooth, calm.”
“Good. Go on.”
“The day after Lupercio got smashed up in his car, I left the hotel late afternoon-”
“What hotel?”
“The Sunset Tower-to buy a few things then go see Ernest and the boys. They were down in Huntington Beach. I bought a blouse and jeans at a boutique on Sunset. When I came out, Allison Murrieta was leaning up against my Sentra.”
Ruth looks up from her pad. She opens a drawer and slaps a green glass ashtray to the desktop. “Describe her.”
“I had no idea who she was. Five feet five or six, one-thirty. Curvy but stout. She wears a wig for the robberies. Her real hair is short, straight and has a red henna job. Her eyes are brown. Good skin. On TV, the mask makes her face look wide, but her face really is wide. She has high cheekbones and pretty lips and chin. She’s attractive. Sexy attractive, not girl-next-door attractive. She was wearing a workout suit and athletic shoes. She had a leather satchel over her shoulder. I can tell you I could see her every day, talk to her all the time, and not see Allison Murrieta in her-they look so little alike.”
Ruth stares at me. The pencil is poised but unmoving.
“She said, ‘I’m Allison. Get in. Let’s talk.’ She flashed that little white gun. I’d never had a gun brandished at me and it’s a very chilling thing. I wondered if she was going to do something violent and flamboyant to me, but I kept thinking that I was better PR for her alive than shot up. Anyway, I had my key out so I opened the driver’s door and hit the unlock. We sat in the car for a few minutes. She was wearing the new Tommy Hilfiger scent. She told me that she’d seen Lupercio the night before, crushed to death in a car. She didn’t say she’d done it, but it was implied. She seemed unfazed. She said I could go back to my family, go back to work. She took a plastic Blockbuster bag out of the satchel and handed it to me. I looked in-it was heavy with bills and some change. I gave it back. I told her I didn’t need it, didn’t want it.”
“How much was there?”
“Maybe a thousand. I really just glanced at it. She put it back in the satchel and said, ‘Suzanne, you can say no to money but I know you can’t say no to that.’ She nodded at this Caddy STS parked right next to me. It was black and beautiful. I remembered that joke I made to her the first time we talked and I thought me and my big mouth. ‘Drive it tonight,’ she said. ‘Go out and celebrate. You deserve to. It’s not stolen, it’s borrowed. Leave it with the Tower valet when you’re done with it and I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll make sure this pathetic heap gets back to your hotel.’ She called my Sentra a pathetic heap.”
“And what did you do?”
“Ruth, I thought about it. I loved the STS, I’ll confess to that. But I also saw that Allison really wanted me to take it. I wondered if it was just to make her more colorful, make her seem more like Robin Hood. If it was something she’d tell the press about, and exploit. I also believed that it was a borrowed car, because I figured if she’d stolen it, she’d be proud, right? But mainly, I felt that if I turned the car down she’d feel disrespected and then get angry. I thought of the gun. There was an underlying threat from the gun-at least in my mind. So I agreed to take the car.”
She grinds out the butt in the green ashtray, getting every last little ember.
“You were afraid to defy her?”
“Yes.”
“Afraid of the gun?”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“Why didn’t you report this to the police?”
“Later, I almost did. I had my cell phone in my hand to make the call. But Allison Murrieta hadn’t harmed me. In fact, she had rid me of a killer who was on my tail. She had allowed me to get back to my family and my job. I realized that with one call I could probably have the police staking out the Sunset Tower when she drove the Sentra back there. I couldn’t do that to her. At least, I didn’t. On some level I felt like I owed her something. On another, I was afraid of her. And I also… well, I wanted to touch her fame for a short time, to be a part of it. It’s been exhilarating for me.”
Ruth puts the ashtray back in her desk, dead butt and all. “Suzanne, are you telling me the truth?”
“Whole, and nothing but.”
“Would you be willing to testify on your own behalf, if this were to go to trial?”
“Yes.”
“Suzanne, I’ve seen elaborate alibis hold up under cross-examination, but not many.”
“The truth is easy to tell. I’ll stand by it, Ruth.”
Ruth nods, drops the pencil to the pad and sits back. “This won’t get that far, Suzanne. I’ve got an appointment with the DA in about an hour. I’ll outline for him what we talked about. I expect the charges to be dropped by the end of the workday.”
I sigh and look down.
“Do you want to bring a civil suit for wrongful arrest? You could win a pretty nice judgment for the damage to your reputation, the jail time, the usual inconvenience and stress. I’d demand a million dollars and you’d get maybe one-quarter of that.”
“No, thank you.”
“Good. Your decision not to press a civil case will be a large motivator for the DA to fold up and go home.”
“Yes.”
Ruth’s secretary came in just then, set a sheaf of papers in front of Ruth, smiled at me and walked back out.
“Here’s a contract, with a substantial fee adjustment because you’re a schoolteacher and I like you.”
“Thank you.”
“You won’t see the inside of a courtroom on this matter again.”
“I really do truly thank you.”
“Tell me about the deputy. Hood.”
I haven’t said one word to her about Hood. So I tell her. Basically the truth. Pretty much all of it. She listens without interrupting. She makes no notes. She looks down at her hands.