White Sister

Chapter 23.

I RELIEVED CHOOCH at ten o'clock. Nothing new on Alexa, but I made arrangements with him to return the following morning. He told me that Luther had called the ER and planned to move Alexa to UCLA tomorrow if she remained stable. Then he hugged me and headed back to the USC football dorm. I stretched out on the sofa in the trauma ward and watched the story of Slade's murder evolve on TV. My wife had graduated from a victim to a person of interest. As Rosey and Dario feared, the ballistics match from her gun had all but sealed a guilty verdict in the media. "Questions keep coming back to one fact," a concerned CNN news anchor said. "Why would the head of the Detective Bureau's gun and handcuffs be used as instruments in the death of her own detective?" This was followed by a shot of David Slade at fifteen, looking angry, all decked out in gang colors, scowling under a blue head wrap. i 20 "David Slade grew up on the mean streets of Compton, California," the anchor continued. "Despite poverty and numerous brushes with the law, he had aspirations for a better life. Early gang affiliations threatened his future, but he tore himself out of that downward spiral and at age twenty-one, joined the LAPD." Now Slade's handsome, clean-cut Academy shot replaced the scowling, angry one to demonstrate his magnificent transformation. "Slade became a force for good, maintaining a residence in Compton where he gave back to the community and served as a role model for other gang-influenced children. All of this was tragically snatched away yesterday in one dreadful moment of violence." Shots now appeared of Slade slumped forward in Alexa's car on Mulholland. "… dead in the front seat of his commanding officer's personal car. Shot with her gun, restrained with her handcuffs." Now a shot of Alexa appeared. They'd chosen one of those macho firing range photos the department takes. In the picture Alexa was wearing a black flack vest and plastic shooting goggles; her hair was pulled back under an LAPD ball cap. She was crouched low in a Weaver shooting stance, her 9mm clutched in both hands, looking mean and determined. "On the other side of this senseless tragedy is Lieutenant Alexa Scully," the anchor said. "Privileged, beautiful, and the youngest bureau commander in LAPD history. She was only a thirty-five-year-old lieutenant when promoted to acting head of the Detective Bureau by the LAPD's then incoming Chief of Police Tony Filosiani. Lieutenant Scully's career was highlighted by postings in Internal Affairs, followed by a transfer to L. A.'s hottest division, the old South Central Bureau, where she also saw action on the same mean streets where David Slade once flirted with crime as a child. What angry forces led these two officers to that place where one now lies dead and the other dying? For more on this, CNN Special Correspondent Ann Richardson Brown has a story of passion and civil unrest." An African-American correspondent took over. She was standing outside the gates of the police academy at Elysian Park. "Against a backdrop of racial strife in L. A., it appears that much more was going on between these two police officers than just a command relationship." Still shots of Alexa and Slade at the Academy appeared on screen, followed by candid photos of a police graduation party, where Alexa and Slade, both in their early twenties, were pictured together. I couldn't take any more. I could see they were leading up to a relationship gone bad story followed by a murder-suicide. The trauma unit was beginning to fill with the first-round losers in Friday Night's Gunshot Lottery. As the first victim was rushed in on a gurney, I got up and went to the elevator. A few minutes later I had found my way to the coronary care unit on the ninth floor. I asked a nurse what room Chief Filosiani was in. She gave me the number but told me I shouldn't stay long, adding that he'd just been cleared for visitors that afternoon and was still very weak. When I found his room and looked in on him, he was sleeping, so I turned to leave. "What took you so long?" His voice sounded like sandpaper from two days with tubes down his throat. He was pale and tired. "How're you feeling?" I said, turning back. "Like I got a pasta machine grinding in my chest." He beckoned me into the room. "Siddown." I walked in and sat beside his bed. "Alexa's been shot… She's…" Tony held up his hand and stopped me. "I'm getting hourly reports." "They won't tell me much," I said bitterly. "She's stable but not yet responding. They put her in an induced coma with barbiturates. Pheno-something or other. Some guy from UCLA is making arrangements to Medivac her out of here and over there." All stuff I already knew, but I was glad he'd been checking on her. "You stay pretty close to things for a guy just out of a quadruple bypass." "She's one of mine," he said softly. "She's getting a raw deal." His face was now shiny with sweat. He needed a shave. "David Slade was dirt, and they're acting like he was some reclaimed ghetto hero," I said. "He pulled guns on civilians over bad lane changes." "Yeah, I read his PSB file," he said. "But the mayor doesn't want us to hit this guy. Slade's already dead. Kicking dirt on him will only make it worse." "But it's okay to kick dirt on Alexa?" "It's all gonna come out eventually. It'll get straightened out. This is too big to push down." "And what am I supposed to do, Tony? You're over here. Mike Ramsey won't deal with it. The press is dying to hang this all on Alexa. She's in a coma and can't defend herself. How do I stop this?" "She's your wife, son. Go find the piece that's missing." "Lou Maluga is involved," I said. "I think he may have even pulled the trigger because Slade was having an affair with his wife, Stacy. But I've been so busy with Alexa, I haven't been able to do much to prove it yet." He reached out and took my hand, "I want you to remember two things." He paused and looked right at me. "There are times when you must risk everything to achieve your goal. And life's defining moments are usually played under the shadow of doubt."