Guilt By Degrees

75

It was late afternoon when we headed back downtown. The time of day when I always wanted to curl up and nap. And the time of day when I was invariably stuck in the office or in court. With Bailey driving, and the monotony of the sluggish traffic, the pull of sleep dragged on my eyelids and I had to struggle to stay awake. My head had just fallen forward for the third time when Bailey spoke.

“You know, we’re on the Westside,” she observed. “Didn’t you say you wanted someone to check out the Venice free clinics, see if Tran used one of those doctors for his glasses prescription?”

I had. I knew that if we did find a stash of evidence that included a pair of glasses, it’d be important to be able to prove that they’d belonged to Tran. I didn’t expect to get lucky enough to find Tran’s fingerprints on the glasses after all they’d been through. But if I could match the strength of the lenses to a prescription in his name, it would be a big help. Now I jerked myself awake and tried not to sound foggy. “You think anyone will still be around?”

“It’s only four o’clock,” Bailey replied. “They’re usually open until five.”

“I’ll call and confirm,” I offered.

It’d give me something to do so I wouldn’t drop off and start drooling on myself. “You have a copy of his ID card on you?” I asked.

Bailey patted her jacket pocket. “Yep.”

I typed in “Venice clinics” and hit search. “Venice Family Clinic,” I said. “A few locations. But the one on Rose Avenue helps the homeless-”

“I’d be willing to bet Tran found himself in that condition a time or two,” Bailey said. “Do they provide eye care?”

“Yep.”

Bailey got off the freeway, but at this hour, the surface streets were even worse. It would ordinarily take us ten minutes to cover the distance, but now we crawled along for half an hour before the clinic, a small, white, low-roofed building, came into view. It didn’t look like much, but the people who worked in places like this were about as close to angels as you could get.

The receptionist, a young Latina with long, shiny brown hair that was held back with a stretchy headband, said, “Do you have an appointment?”

I knew I didn’t look my best, but I hadn’t thought I looked homeless. I was going to have to take a little more time getting my act together in the morning.

Bailey introduced us and explained why we were there. The girl motioned to hard-looking plastic seats lining the wall and picked up her phone. Ten minutes later, a nurse beckoned us inside. We followed her to a tiny office that barely allowed room for a desk piled high with files and an aging computer.

“Vera,” she said, putting out her hand.

We both took turns shaking with Nurse Vera, then, without further discussion, she sat down behind her desk and began to type. After a few seconds, she asked, “Do you have his name and date of birth?”

We did. Nurse Vera typed some more.

“Tran Lee…yes,” she said. “He’s been here.”

I told myself we deserved to have something be this easy as I crossed my fingers and asked the critical question. “Did he ever have an appointment with the optometrist here?”

Vera tapped a few more keys, then squinted at the screen. “He did,” she said. “Dr. Scarmoon. But he’s not in today, I’m sorry.”

“That’s totally fine,” I said. I didn’t need to talk to him today anyway. I needed just one piece of information. “Did he give Tran a prescription for glasses?”

Vera clicked through a couple of pages. “I can’t tell you exactly what the numbers mean, but I can tell you his prescription was pretty strong.”

Bingo. “When does Dr. Scarmoon have hours here?” I asked.

“On Mondays and Wednesdays between one and three,” Vera said. “If you like, I can ask him to call you.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I need to show him something, but I didn’t bring it with me. No need to waste his time until then. Thank you, though. You’ve been so helpful.”

We took our leave of Vera and the clinic.

“And that’s how the big boys do it,” Bailey said with a smirk as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“If the big boys had to work any harder than that, they’d pawn it off on us.”

My cell phone rang. “The Crystal Ship” by the Doors, one of my favorites, which was why I’d given Toni that ringtone.

“What?” I answered.

“I’ll start without you,” she threatened.

“Biltmore bar in half an hour,” I said. Toni hung up.

Bailey stopped for a red light, and I looked outside. A teenage boy danced around a pretty girl seated on a bus bench. She tapped his chest playfully, and he pretended to fall off the curb. She laughed, and he grinned with pleasure, a smile of almost unbearable sweetness.

“Is Drew on tonight?”

“Should be,” Bailey answered. “Why?”

“Romy,” I replied. “It’s time to get it over with.”

Bailey called Drew and told him he needed to come in a little early. When we got there, Toni was already at the bar. I motioned her over to a booth. We’d just slid into our seats when Drew sauntered in, hooked his sunglasses over the neck of his shirt, and joined us. Talk about timing.

Even though I’d already told Bailey the story, I felt my stomach tighten. I was perilously close to chickening out when Bailey forced my hand.

“Rachel’s got something she wants to tell us.”

I made myself take a deep breath. And so I told them about Romy and the fight that’d led to my breakup with Graden. I can’t say I enjoyed it in the doing, but I can say I was glad when it was done.

Drew looked at me with pain in his eyes. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am.” Then he shook his head. “Girl, the trouble you’ve had in your life, I’d have thought you were black,” he said.

Toni smiled. “Amen, brothah-man.”

We all laughed. I appreciated their efforts to lighten the moment.

Toni, who was sitting next to me, rubbed my back. “I’m glad you finally told us, Rachel.”

Then her brow knitted, and she turned to face me, her expression perplexed.

“And you didn’t want to tell us because…why, exactly?” she asked.

“Because when I was a kid, everyone either felt sorry for me or looked at me like I was a freak,” I explained. “And I know what you’re thinking. We work with ‘victims’ all the time. But I didn’t want you to think of me that way.”

“And what way is that?” Toni asked, eyebrows raised. “Everyone gets a bad break here and there. Some get worse breaks than others. Why’s that anything on them?”

I opened my mouth to answer, then found I had no answer and closed it.

Toni continued, somewhat heatedly, “Rachel, there’s a difference between victim and volunteer. I can’t even imagine why I’d look at you any differently because some monster…” She delicately refrained from spelling it out. But then very undelicately continued, “I feel like smacking you upside your goof-assed head really hard. You know that?”

Drew kissed my hand and pulled himself out of the booth. “I’ve got to get to work.”

After he left the table, Toni calmed down and smiled. “Your whole thing with Graden makes more sense now,” she said. “It’s about boundaries. If he didn’t respect this one, then what happens next? Right?”

“Exactly.”

“He can learn,” Toni said. “You two have issues that’re on a collision course, that’s for sure, but it’s nothing some decent communication won’t fix-”

“You’re talking?” I interjected.

“So? I can still spot the problem. When things calm down with this case, you and I are going to talk,” she said, her voice sympathetic but firm.

I smiled. “It’s a deal.”

I didn’t tell her that the way this case was going, by the time things calmed down Graden would probably be married and have grandchildren.