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“The only answer you’ll believe is yes. That makes it a stupid question.”
Yeah, so, he was kind of right about that. I had a strong feeling he liked to beat up anyone he thought might have trouble fighting back. Women, children, fags.
“How badly did you beat her?”
“Who?”
“The woman who accused you of rape.”
He just smiled. I decided to move on. “I’m told there was a lineup. You were brought into a room and asked to say a few words in front of the victim.”
“Yeah, thevictim,” he scoffed. “It was her and that cunt detective.”
“You know, in the event that we need a deposition or have to go to trial, you might want to find better ways to talk about women.”
“I know better than telling the truth to lawyers,” he said.
Not exactly what I was saying.
“Do you have any reason to believe the victim was influenced by Detective Wellesley?”
“I have every reason. The bi—Detective Wellesley did everything but point at me.”
“What about the neighbor who said she saw—”
“Candy Van Dyke,” he said snidely. “You don’t forget a name like that. Not when she puts you behind bars.”
“Was there a lineup where Ms. Van Dyke identified you?”
“No. I didn’t see her until she was sitting in court pointing her finger at me. I got the kind of face people remember even when they’ve never seen me before.”
“You didn’t recognize her?”
“Never saw her before.”
“Were you interviewed by Detective Wellesley?”
“This is bullshit. How soon after I get out do I get paid?”
“That’s not what we do at The Freedom Agenda. We will give you a referral to a civil litigator. At that point you can ask him.”
“Where does the money come from?”
“What money?”
“When I get paid, who pays it.”
“I think it comes from the State of California.” I was pretty sure that was right, though maybe it was a particular jurisdiction? I’d have to ask Lydia—
“I want to sue the bitches who put me here. I want every penny they make for the rest of their lives.”
****
I found a Mexican restaurant just north of the prison in the city of Corcoran. I had a carnitas plate and a side of guacamole. Really, it was too much food, but having missed lunch I was starving. By the time I cut over to the 5 it was after seven and the sun was setting. I couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower.
The prison itself made me feel gross, but talking to Stu Whatley made me feel downright filthy. I’m sure Detective Wellesley felt good putting him away—probably still felt good about it. There was a feeling among some cops, even some prosecutors, that it didn’t matter whether a defendant was innocent of the crime on the books, they were guilty of something and therefore should go to prison. I wondered if that was part of what happened here.
Of course, that was bad police work, bad justice. If you worked in law enforcement, you had to hold yourself to a higher bar. And not just a higher bar than the people you policed, that was a bar that could be dangerously low. No, you had to hold yourself to the highest bar. It was a hard thing to do. I can’t say I did it well when I was on the job. I wish I had.
