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“I don’t believe you. Police can always tell police.”
“Just like police can always tell a bad guy?”
She smiled, hard and mean. “Yeah, just like that.”
I was about to explain that policework should be about facts, not hunches, when Lydia and Ramon came back into the room. “We’re finished,” Lydia said. “I want to thank everyone for coming. Elaine, you can stop the video now.”
Wellesley looked stunned as she and Colson stood. “What do you mean we’re finished?” she said to Ramon. “Aren’t you going to ask me questions?”
“We’ve reached an agreement,” he said.
“No! You can’t do that. We have to fight this. We have to stop this.”
“Brenda, calm down,” Colson said. “We’ll make sure whatever agreement they made protects you.”
“I’m not talking about me!”
Gutierrez tried to guide her by the elbow, but she snatched her arm away. “Don’t touch me.” She gave Lydia and me a final dirty look and stormed out of the room.
When they were gone, Lydia smiled at me, and said, “Our clients are getting out of prison.”
“Just like that?”
“They couldn’t possibly go to trial. And not just because of the DNA evidence. The identifications no longer have any credibility.”
“Do you think there are others? Do you think Wellesley convicted other innocent men?”
“I would say it’s likely.”
“Are we going to find them?”
“I just promised the ADA I wouldn’t do that.”
That was horrible. That meant there could be more, possibly many more, innocent men in prison because of Wellesley and we couldn’t help them.
“Was that a good idea?”
“I have to represent my clients’ best interests. That’s what I did.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. I promised not to pursue any more cases involving Detective Wellesley. I didn’t promise not to tip off other attorneys. I’ll be flipping through my Rolodex when I get back to the office.”
That made me feel better about it all. “When will they be out?”
“Hopefully by the end of next week.”
17
April 13-14, 1996
The weekend
Ican’t say what Ronnie saw in me. I was getting closer to fifty than I ever thought I’d get, my hair going gray at record speed, my skin crinkling up like used wax paper. My face looked like I’ve been punched too many times—probably because I had been—and I was thin to the point of scrawny. And yet there were times when he looked at me that I was sure I was the sexiest beast on the planet. I had no idea how I’d be able to leave him. But I was going to have to. Hamlet Gilbody was getting close.
I got back to Long Beach around noon. I circled the neighborhood a few times looking for a blue Neon. When I didn’t see one, I parked a couple blocks away, then walked home. Once inside, I made myself a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. I ate it quickly with some potato chips and a root beer. Then I went upstairs and woke John up—again.
“Can you take me to the airport? I need to rent a car.”
