But then she heard the RTO’s radio voice say, “All units in the vicinity of Ogden Drive between De Longpre and Sunset, officer in foot pursuit of prowler, eastbound through residential property, toward Genesee. Six-X-Forty-six, handle, code three.”
Hollywood Nate, unaware of the prowler sighting, was writing a crime report and having a cup of coffee in the living room of the Teller home with Naomi’s father, who he learned was a cardiologist at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Naomi’s mother was up in the bedroom, cleaning up broken glass and patching the window with cardboard. Dana and Naomi were alone in Dr. Teller’s study, where Dana had closed the door for privacy.
Naomi had continued to adamantly deny knowing who had yelled and thrown a rock through the upstairs window. Nor had Naomi told Dana Vaughn how guilty she felt because her bedroom was in the rear of the residence, and the bedroom that was attacked belonged to her younger sister. Something had made her lie defensively when Clark had asked if that was her bedroom facing the street, and now she felt cowardly and remorseful for having done it.
Naomi thought that the police officer was a very attractive woman with eyes that were alert, yet calm and patient. Even though she was fairly certain this officer would understand, Naomi just couldn’t bring herself to look at her while they chatted.
Finally, Dana said, “Naomi, I think you might have some idea who threw the rock. Someone could’ve been hurt. Certainly your family is frightened. Why don’t you tell me who you think it might’ve been. We won’t go charging over to the person’s house, but we’ll take some steps to see that it doesn’t happen again.”
Naomi looked straight into Dana Vaughn’s eyes and started to speak. But she stopped, looked away again, and said, “I just don’t know who he was. Maybe some crazy boy from middle school that just doesn’t like me. I really don’t know.”
Dana said, “Naomi, I’m sure you have a cell phone, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to give you my card with my personal cell number on it. I’d like you to give me your cell number. If you think very hard about it and decide you might have an idea who the rock thrower is, please give me a call. You don’t have to tell your parents about it if you don’t want to. We’ll keep this between the two of us until we’re sure we can quietly determine who actually did it. Is that a deal?”
“Okay,” Naomi said in a voice barely audible.
“We’ll help you, honey,” Dana said to Naomi Teller.
R.T. Dibney had been dropped off on Sunset Boulevard. He was out with his mini-flashlight, searching in an alley east of Ogden Drive, not just for the prowler, but for Aaron Sloane, who hadn’t been heard from since he’d leaped from the car and started running. There was plenty of chatter on the tac frequency that he was picking up on his rover but nothing from Aaron. He’d heard Sheila Montez talking to Mindy Ling twice, and Sheila’s voice was growing desperate.
Then he heard Aaron’s voice in bits and pieces, and Sheila’s voice said, “You’re breaking up!” and Aaron’s voice said, “Can you… lost… can’t… radio!” And everyone but Sheila Montez thought that at least he was probably okay even if his rover wasn’t, but where in the hell was the prowler? And within moments, two more black-and-whites from Watch 3 were cruising slowly along streets and alleys, searching with spotlights.
R.T. Dibney saw an open gate in a rear yard. He entered and heard a dog bark but realized it was coming from the house next door. By now, several homes in the area had their exterior lights on, and residents were outside, trying to see what was going on. Then another dog barked, and it sounded like a big one. R.T. Dibney was ready to draw his nine, when he thought he heard a sound behind him. Before he could turn, somebody slammed a shoulder into him and he was propelled forward right into the unlighted swimming pool, where he sank to the bottom and lost both his rover and his flashlight. By the time he came up, sputtering, choking, and gasping for air, he neither saw nor heard anything but the dog next door barking wildly.
When Aaron Sloane finally showed up on Ogden Drive, his uniform dusty from climbing into three yards after a shadow, he was limping and frustrated, and he slashed at a hedge with his baton. He’d been close enough to the prowler to see that the guy had dark hair and wasn’t very big, but that was all he’d seen.
When Sheila Montez spotted him standing alone in the moonlight beside a purple flowering jacaranda tree, she jammed on the brakes, leaped from the car, and ran straight at him, not knowing or caring that Mindy Ling was out on foot less than thirty yards away, shining her light into cars parked on the street.
Aaron was massaging his leg when he saw Sheila, and he said, “I pulled my hamster.”
Sheila threw her arms around Aaron’s neck, and he was astonished. He was even more astonished to see her eyes glistening and to hear her say, “When I couldn’t reach you on your rover, I thought… I thought…”
“I’m okay, Sheila!” he said. “I’m okay.” And now he wasn’t even thinking about the prowler, or his injured hammy, and he didn’t want her to stop holding on to him, and all of his anger at the prowler and his malfunctioning rover had morphed into unbridled joy.
Mindy Ling pretended to be searching very intently when the partners of unit 6-X-66 got back in their shop, and Mindy saw the silhouette of their profiles only inches apart and closing.
Driving east on Sunset Boulevard, Malcolm Rojas was more excited than he’d ever been in his life. He couldn’t contain himself and began laughing, overwhelmed by the unimaginable thrill of what he’d accomplished that night. He wished there were a way he could share it with someone, but of course he could not. He wished they all could’ve seen what he did to the cop. Especially all those cholo punks in Boyle Heights who’d bullied him and called him Li’l Hondoo. He wished Naomi could’ve seen it.
There was just a twinge of anger left in him when he thought about Naomi, but most of it was gone now. He’d go home and relive this evening in his mind and masturbate. And now he was actually looking forward to having a meal at a nice restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard tomorrow evening with Bernie Graham and his secretary, Ethel. That was exciting too because it would mark the beginning of his job. He felt now like he could accomplish anything he wanted to do. This was the start of a new life for Malcolm Rojas. He felt like a man. Then he thought he might legally change his name to Clark Jones.
Some of the cars belonging to residents and visitors previously parked on Ogden Drive had driven away by the time the searchers were ready to give up. A few of the drivers getting into those cars had been interrogated by police, but most had not, including the driver of an old red Mustang, who by then was nearly home.
It was 6-A-35 from Watch 3 that first spotted R.T. Dibney standing on Sunset Boulevard in his socks, holding his shoes in his hand as heavy traffic sped by and headlights lit him. His Sam Browne and holstered pistol were slung over his shoulder, and his uniform was still dripping. As soon as the extraordinary encounter between the prowler and R.T. Dibney was described on the tac frequency by 6-A-35, at least four cars sped to the pickup location. Half a dozen cops from Watch 5 and Watch 3 jumped from their shops to take cell phone shots of the soppy cop, now stripping off his T-shirt, with his Kevlar vest and uniform shirt spread across the roof of the first black-and-white to arrive.
There, under a bright summer moon and a relatively smogless sky over Hollywood, they chattered and chuckled and clicked photos like crazy while R.T. Dibney shook his fist and cursed them and the mothers who’d spawned them.
Dana Vaughn was one of the cops taking photos, and Hollywood Nate said to her, “I wish we had a video cam with a zoom lens. R.T.’s normally twitchy mustache is vibrating like an electric toothbrush.”