The Renegades

27

The next morning Hood met with three men and a woman who had partnered with Coleman Draper over the past two years. The men all rated him as a competent reservist. They said he was professional, firm but polite with the public, familiar with LASD procedures and equipment. They said they’d ride with him again but would prefer a sworn deputy.

The woman was a thirtyish deputy named Sherry Seborn. She was attractive and wore no ring, had seven years with the department. She said she drew Draper at a roll call when she started nights just before Christmas last year. She too said that Draper was professional and well mannered with the public. They had pulled over a suspected drunken driver and when he had become belligerent, Draper had talked him down, gotten him cuffed and into the back of the cruiser.

But, as she and Hood sat in a corner of the substation cafeteria, she quietly said she’d rather not ride with Draper. She’d told her superiors not to pair her with him again. She looked out at the bright cool day. A distant passenger jet left a neat contrail in the blue.

“He impressed me at first,” she said. “The drunk was getting hotter and Coleman cooled him off. Just talked him right into the cuffs. That was early in the shift. Later, after we’d booked the guy, I asked him about the Eichrodt bust. He said it was a bloody mess and it got him working on his verbal skills. He said he didn’t want another battle like that, ever. Told me about his stitches and bruises.”

“None of that sounds too bad,” Hood said.

“Too good, maybe. That was what I got from Coleman-he was too good.”

“There must have been something more than that for you to go to the patrol sergeants about him.”

She looked at him and hooked a wave of thick brown hair behind one ear. “I didn’t give them a reason. I’m not required to.”

“Give me the reason.”

She sipped a soft drink and studied him. “I don’t love IA.”

“I don’t either.”

“I’ve seen some good deputies catch some bad stuff from you people.”

“I have too. Help me.”

She looked outside again, then back at him. “On first break, he made a cell phone call. We were at a coffee pub. He talked while he ordered, talked when he paid, talked when he picked up his coffee and put in the cream and a lid. He was talking to a woman, I could tell. He’d already told me he wasn’t married. His voice was smooth and encouraging, with Spanish phrases thrown in. I know Spanish. He said beautiful things to her. A lover. He said he’d be coming home to her soon. Fine. That was more than fine with me.

“But then, later in the shift, he made another call. I was driving, and when I glanced over he was staring through the windshield, very much wrapped up in his conversation, and he didn’t even glance over at me. The radio was quiet, so what am I supposed to do? I listen. He’s talking to the woman again, but his voice is completely different. It’s a voice of calm authority, and he’s giving her very specific instructions about how to handle a situation at her work. She’s bartending or waitressing or something like that, and a guy was coming on to her that night and he was telling her exactly what to say to him and what tone of voice to use when she saw him again. He called her by name-Juliet. And I thought, this guy’s a bastard, not because he was telling her what to do and controlling her with his soft fascism, but because she was a different woman. It had to be. About the time I realized that, I realized that Coleman was playing to me. He didn’t look at me, and he never turned to me, but he was pleased that I was listening. The kicker was, when he finally hung up, he slipped the cell phone back onto his belt and gave me a little smile. The smile said, No biggie, just you and me, babe. Then he said: ‘Sherry, choose life.’ I asked him what that meant and he just shrugged. I said something wiseass. But Draper gave me the creeps. Here’s this cute guy, plenty of money is my guess, playing cops and robbers on my shift, cheating on his women and telling me what to choose. What I chose was not to ride with him again.”

“Did he call the first woman by name?”

“I didn’t hear him do that.”

“How did the shift end?”

“Professional. Brief. I clocked out and got to the lockers as soon as I could. I’ve seen him at roll call since. He smiles but he doesn’t engage me in conversation. He’s not around as much.”

“Did he say anything more about Shay Eichrodt?”

She shook her head.

“Terry Laws?”

“Said he was a good guy, learned a lot from him.”

“How about Prestige German Auto?”

“He said it was a cash cow and he didn’t even have to get his hands greasy anymore.”

“Did he talk about his family?”

“He said his father used to be a reservist down in San Diego County.”

“What about a brother and sister?”

“No mention.”

“Israel Castro?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“Recruitment,” said Seborn. “I found that odd. I don’t know a deputy alive who looks forward to handing out brochures and applications. He said he loved doing recruitment for the department-schools, job fairs, county fairs, whatever. He said he was always looking for that special person.”

“Special how?”

“He didn’t say.”

“What else? Anything else. The weather, Sherry, I don’t care.”

She looked out the window, then back at Hood. “He talked about Mexico. Said he loved fishing in Baja. Said he went down there every Friday to fish. Said he always took a load of good used clothes and electronics and canned food down to this charity in Baja. The young people love used Levi’s jeans, he said. And anything electronic. Said it made him feel good, watching people build their dreams.”

“Build a dream.”

“Something like that.”

“Every Friday?”

“Every Friday. He and Terry Laws.”