Private Vegas (Private 9)

Chapter 59

I WAS IN court on time, clean-shaven, appropriately dressed, my face still the color of boiled shrimp from the car explosion. My brother was relaxing in the back row of the gallery, tanned and toothy, looking like a PR flack at an Oscar party. He fanned his hand in a wave.

I turned my back on Tommy and shut off my phone because there was nothing more important than being here for Rick. Didn’t matter what happened anywhere else in the world.

Judge Johnson entered the courtroom with her little dog underfoot, and in a few minutes, the jury filed in and court was called to order. After Her Honor had a chat with the jury, Dexter Lewis, fittingly dressed in a gray sharkskin suit, called a witness, Sergeant Michael Degano, a detective with the LAPD.

Sergeant Degano was balding, about forty, and had the kind of five o’clock shadow that colors the jowls by noon. When he took the stand, he looked at Lewis in a way that suggested this wasn’t his first testimony at a criminal trial and he wanted to get on with it.

Lewis asked, “Sergeant Degano, how did you come to be involved in this case?”

Degano said, “Our division was called and I was available to go to the victim’s house. I went into the room where she was lying, and Ms. Carmody was going in and out of consciousness. The EMT didn’t give her much chance of survival, so I went with her in the ambulance to the hospital.

“I sat right next to her, and when she was having what they call a lucid interval, I questioned her. I thought if she could speak, maybe she could tell me who her attacker was. That might be our best chance of bringing him to justice.”

The detective swung his head a few degrees and gave Rick a short, hard look, then turned back to the ADA.

“And did you interview Ms. Carmody?”

“I did.”

“And did you record this interview?”

“Yes. I got it on my phone. Later, I transferred the interview to a disk.”

The computer was booted up, and the lights went down as the monitor was wheeled into the courtroom. Degano sat comfortably in the witness box and watched as the video lit up the screen with his image.

It was clear that he was recording from inside the ambulance. Degano gave his name and division, the date of the interview, and the circumstances.

The camera eye panned to a woman, whom Degano identified as Victoria Carmody. She was strapped to a stretcher and in a neck brace; she had an IV going into her arm, and she was getting oxygen through a nasal cannula. Her face and head were bruised and bloody, making it impossible to tell her age, race, or even gender.

On camera, Degano introduced himself to Carmody, said his name was Mike Degano, that he was a detective. Then he asked her if it was okay to ask her a few questions.

Ms. Carmody grunted, and Degano took that as affirmation.

“Can you hear me okay?” he asked her.

Carmody made the sound again.

Degano said, “You were found inside your bedroom. On the floor. I don’t know if you know that you were badly beaten.”

Carmody tried to jerk her head and made a mewling cry. It seemed to me that she knew what Degano was asking her, and the memory was fresh and very painful.

Degano said, “I’m sorry to have to ask you, Ms. Carmody, but I’m here to help you. Do you remember what happened to you?”

Carmody made a sound. It seemed to be yes.

“Tell me what you remember.”

To Degano’s credit, he used simple words, spoke softly, and had the patience to wait out an answer.

“Fight,” Carmody said.

“You were in a fight?”

No answer.

“Who beat you up, Ms. Carmody? I want to find the guy who did this to you.”