“What question?”
“Does your wife know you’re gay?”
“I am not-”
“Henry, we’re civilized men. Lying to each other doesn’t become us. It’s not polite.”
Henry bit his lower lip and looked away. He said, quietly, almost as a whisper, “No, she doesn’t know.”
“What would she do if she found out?”
“She’d leave me of course. She’s a good Christian woman. She wouldn’t tolerate that.”
“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry you have to be in this situation.”
“Please,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes, “just let me go. Just let me live my life and I swear you’ll never see me again. Never.”
Stanton reached out and held his hand. “All right, Henry. I’m going to trust you. I’m going to assume that you can get those witnesses to me. I want them to call me tomorrow. Can they do that?”
“Yes, of course. First thing.”
“Okay, have them call me and if they verify your story, we won’t file charges.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you,” he said, weeping. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
“I’m being honest with you, but I want you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Were you having an affair with Michael Cisneros?”
“Yes,” he said, breaking down, his head lowered.
“Did you do what you did because he was going to tell your wife? Because he was trying to destroy you?”
“Yes, yes,” he wiped the tears away from his eyes. “He said he was coming to my house. He wanted me to leave my wife and I said no. I love my wife. But he wouldn’t stop. He just wouldn’t stop. And then he showed up at my house. At my house!”
“What did you stab him with?”
“I don’t know. Some kitchen knife. Something I had on hand.”
“Okay, okay, it’s okay, Henry. You’re going to be okay.” Stanton rose. “Wait here for me.”
“Can I go now?”
“Not yet.”
Stanton walked out. Gunn and another three detectives were standing in front of the two-way and they started clapping.
“That,” Gunn said, “is how you get a fucking confession.”
“What about his asking for a lawyer?” one of the younger detectives asked.
“No good,” Gunn said. “Jon asked him again if he could talk to him without a lawyer and he consented, twice. In California consent negates the askin’.” Gunn pretended to bow to Stanton. “The master.”
Stanton walked past them without saying anything. He had done his job; the Supreme Court of the United States had long held that police officers were allowed to lie about everything to garner a confession. But every time he did it, it took a piece of him. He didn’t enjoy it in the least and felt no triumph, no joy in the act of catching a killer. But there was no choice; no one else could do it, and he wouldn’t have stopped killing. Not after he saw how easy it was.
“What’s the matter?” Gunn said, walking up behind him.
“I’ve never enjoyed that part of it.”
“You kiddin’ me? That fucker cuts up some young kid and you’re broken up for lyin’ to him?” Gunn put his arm around him. “Come on, we’re goin’ to a bar to celebrate.”
“I don’t drink.”
“I know, but you’re still comin’ out with me. I know just the place.”
Coochie’s stunk of beer and old vomit. It was a surfer bar that had been converted to a cop bar after several officers made a habit of going there after their shifts. Eventually the owner accepted the new branding and offered the officers a discounted rate on beer.
Stanton, Gunn, and several uniforms sat in the corner booth, drinking and telling war stories. Stanton sipped a Diet Coke and listened. The drunker they got, the more outlandish the stories and the more heroic their behavior. One officer was telling the story of how two drug dealers, lesbians, had offered him a threesome to let them go. He said he didn’t take them up on it and the men started laughing and shoving him and he appeared to blush and didn’t say anything further about it.
“What about you, Jon?” one of the uniforms said. “You ever take some cream or a bit of pussy?”
“This guy?” Gunn laughed. “This guy feels bad ‘cause he lied to a queer murderer.”
“Oh shit,” one of the uniforms said, “you goin’ queer on us Johnny boy?”
“Goin’?” Gunn said. “Nah, I’m just playin’. He’s going skydivin’ with me tomorrow and that takes balls.” Gunn shot the remnants of a glass of whiskey. “You know what? Fuck that, let’s go now.”
“What?” Stanton said.
“Let’s go now. I ain’t kiddin’.”
“In the dark?”
“Hell yes in the dark.”
“I don’t think we can do that.”
“I’m an instructor; we can do whatever we want.”
“I’ll pass, Stephen.”
“I’ll tell you what. You come skydivin’ with me tonight, right now, and I’ll tell you why your little girlfriend won’t help us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I did some checking up. I’ll tell you why she won’t help us.”
“Why?”
“Nope. You gotta go night-divin’ with me. Right now.”
The men started tapping their fists against the table chanting, “Go, go, go, go, go.”
“Do you really know?” Stanton said. “’Cause if you don’t, and I do this, I’m going to shoot you in the knees.”
“Hand to heaven. I know exactly why she won’t help us.”
“Stephen, that’s an important case. An entire family was killed. If you know something-”
“I seen kids spattered in the gutters and old men beaten to death by eight-year-olds. You ain’t tuggin’ on any heartstrings, my man. You want the info, you gotta come with me.”
“You’ll tell me eventually.”
“Nope. I’ll get super drunk and probably forget what it was. I swear to you, I won’t tell you.”
Stanton finished his Diet Coke. “All right, let’s go.”
The other officers cheered as they climbed out of the booth and headed out to their cars. The airfield was a good twenty miles away and Gunn called ahead as Stanton drove them there. The pilot was called in as a special favor in exchange for a case of Jack Daniels-which Gunn got at a fifty percent discount through a source he never talked about-and the plane was fueled and ready to go.
The airfield was in the Otay Mesa community right near the US/Mexico border. They drove through the local neighborhoods and several crowds of young men were gathered in the streets, smoking weed and drinking. The officers honked their horns and yelled out the windows at them. A few were in cruisers and many of the men ran inside their homes as soon as they saw them, thinking a raid was about to occur.
The plane was already on the strip and the pilot was sitting outside smoking. He threw his cigarette down and boarded when he saw them drive up.
“I really don’t want to do this,” Stanton said.
“You got one life, Johnny Baby, you gotta enjoy it, man.” Gunn slapped his chest. “You’re gonna have a blast. Or you’re gonna die. Either way it’ll be a story to tell. Come on.”
They hopped out to the shouts of the other officers who were sitting on the hoods of their cars and cheering them on. Gunn went aboard the plane and got out two packs.
“It’s gonna be cold as hell and you’re gonna freeze your nuts off. Them Mormon underwear you got on, are they warm?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you may wanna put on a dive suit. We got one on the plane.”
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“You ever dive before?”
“You’re drunker than I thought. I told you I’ve never been.”
“Calm down now, booze affects the memory. So ‘cause you never been, you’re gonna hang on to me. Easy-peasy. You spread eagle, don’t arch, don’t get your knees too far down, don’t have your legs too far apart, don’t have your arms too far out front. You seen the position on TV right?”
“I think so.”
“Well, we got some time on the plane. Come on, we can practice.”
They boarded and the plane roared to life. It jerked forward and began its run down the strip, gaining speed and then slowing as it made a turn. Then, with open pavement before it, it began gaining speed to the point that Stanton had to hang on to something. It jerked a couple of times and lifted into the air. The wheels groaned as they were folded underneath and they began to soar, higher and higher.