BY THE TIME Decker made it over to County Jail and went through procedure to gain entrance, Rip Garrett and Tito Diaz were already in the interview cell, sitting on metal chairs, drinking coffee from paper cups. Both of them had on typical detective dress: dark suits, white shirts and dark ties, rubber-sole oxfords. With a single swoop of the eyes, Decker did a quick overview of Diaz. His most prominent feature was a thick neck, followed by a strong chin, broad forehead, black hair, dark eyes. More muscular than Garrett but he sat shorter. Decker introduced himself with a handshake, and by the time Martel was led in by the guards, Decker had a coffee cup in his hand.
Travis appeared to have beefed up since his mug shot taken on the day of his arrest. His chest seemed wider under jail blues, and his arms were thicker. His hair had grown even longer, wavy tresses hanging down his back. In person, Decker could discern Asian influence in Martel, demonstrated not only by the black hair but also by the slight tilt of his brown eyes. His skin was coffee and cream, his cheekbones were prominent, his lips were thick, and his teeth were big and white.
His arms were shackled for transport, but the jail guard took off the cuffs when they seated him inside the interview cell. Martel regarded Decker. “You my lawyer?”
“No, Mr. Martel. I’m Lieutenant Decker from LAPD.”
“So you the boss?”
“I’m a boss but not the boss over Detective Garrett or Detective Diaz.”
Diaz said, “Are you comfortable, Travis? We have our coffee. You want something to drink?”
The jailbird thought. “How ’bout a Red Zing.”
“No alcohol, Travis. You know that.”
“Then how ’bout a Pepsi?”
“That we could probably do—”
“And a smoke would be good.”
Decker took a cigarette out of his pocket and gave it to him. He lit the smoke with a lighter, then regarded the thug as he puffed. Furtive eyes. So what else was new? A paper cup with Pepsi came a few minutes later. He finished it in a single gulp. “I’m a little hungry.”
“Lunch is in an hour,” Garrett said.
“I’m just be sayin’ I’m a little hungry.”
Decker said, “You want to know why we’re here?”
“I ain’t have to be curious ’cause you’re gonna tell me.”
Decker’s face was flat. “We’re here, Mr. Martel, because we all have something interesting to relate to you.”
Martel’s eyes narrowed as he finished up his first cigarette. He dropped it in the paper cup. “Like what?”
Garrett leaned forward. “First I want to remind you that you can ask for a lawyer whenever you want. You don’t have to talk to us because we still could use what you say against you and your case.”
“Just like the first time, it’s your right to have an attorney present when we talk to you,” Diaz said. “We’d like to keep it simple, so just hear us out.”
Travis asked for another cigarette. Decker complied. Martel sat back and puffed for a moment without speaking. He had their attention and he was going to milk it. “Now y’all be sayin’ that you want me to talk without my lawyer. And I sayin’ to you that mebbe I don’t want to talk with you without my lawyer, nomasayin’? But mebbe I do wanna hear why y’all here. I’m decidin’.”
Decker said, “That certainly is your right, Mr. Martel. So let me give you a hint. It has to do with the new evidence that could affect you.”
“How’s it gonna infect me?”
“It links you to the murder of—”
Martel levitated out of his seat. “I ain’t done no murder!”
“Sit down,” Diaz told him.
“Why you be tellin’ me the same shit you tole me before?”
Diaz stood up and appeared very tall. “Sit down now!”
“It’s cool.” Martel sat back down and held out his hands palms up. “I ain’t be throwin’ shades at you, bro, I just be axin’ a question.”
“Throwing shades?” Decker asked.
“Dissing,” Diaz said.
“Beaning you with sunglasses,” Garrett said.
“Ah.” Decker regarded Martel. “I’m doing this for your benefit. Do you want to hear what I have to say?”
“Yeah…course.”
“And you are waiving your right to have an attorney present?”
“I don’t need no lawyer if all I be doin’ is listenin’, nomasayin’?”
“I agree.” Decker gave him a few seconds to relax. “I was talking to Detective Diaz and Detective Garrett about your case. You told them you’ve never met Primo Ekerling.”
A swift shift of the eyes. “Who?”
“The guy you’re accused of murdering, Mr. Martel.”
“Oh, yeah…him.” He sat back in his chair and spread his legs apart. “I didn’t whack that guy. I don’t even know the dude.”
“Yes, you told us that,” Garrett said. “That’s what Lieutenant Decker is saying. That you don’t know Primo Ekerling.”
“Tru’ dat.”
“You’ve never met Primo Ekerling?”
Another shift of the eyes. “Sayin’ I don’t know him be meanin’ I never met him.”
“Never talked to him?”
“I don’t know the dude!” Martel repeated. “This is what you come here to yak about, I ain’t hear nothin’ that interests me.”
“You don’t know Primo Ekerling, you never met him, you never talked to him, you never communicated with him, you’ve never even heard of him before you were arrested for his murder,” Decker said. “Is that what you’re telling us, Mr. Martel?”
“Yeah…” Again he slumped back in his chair. “That’s what I be tellin’ you over and over. Are we done here?”
“That’s real interesting.” Diaz laid the bagged jewel boxes on the table. “Do these look familiar, Travis?”
Martel picked up one of the plastic sacks. “Course they do. They’re mine. Is this a trick question or somethin’?”
“Know where I found them?” Decker waited for Martel’s attention, specifically eye contact, because when Martel was talking, he was looking at the floor. “I found them on Primo Ekerling’s office shelves.”
Martel’s eyes skittered back and forth. “So what? How do I know how Ekerling got my demos? Maybe someone thought I had talent and sent them to him.”
Garrett said, “We dusted the jewel boxes, Travis.”
“See, that’s why they’re all dirty with black powder,” Diaz said.
“We got a couple of perfect prints, Travis. You sent those jewel boxes out, and you sent them to Primo Ekerling.”
Martel’s eyes made a swipe at Garrett’s face. “So what’s the big D? My shit must have went to a million producers.”
“You sent out your stuff to a million producers,” Decker said.
“Yeah. That’s whachu gotta do to get your foot into the door, nomasayin’?”
“You sent them out?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said…to a million people. I don’t be rememberin’ who I have sent them to and who I have not sent them to.”
“When you sent them out, you addressed the envelopes,” Decker said.
A pause. “You gotta talk to my manager,” Martel said. “He’s the one who have sent out the CDs to the producers, y’all. I don’t remember no names. Why don’t you axe my manager?”
“Who’s your manager?” Garrett asked him.
“I ain’t gonna tell you shit, man, if y’all gonna start accuzin’ people.”
“We don’t have to ask your manager if he sent them out or not, because the handwriting on the envelope was yours.” Decker’s lie was smooth. The envelopes containing the jewel boxes were long gone.
Another shift in the eyes meant another shift in strategy for Martel. “Like I tole you, I have sent them out to ’bout a zillion producers. How am I gonna remember one name or the other? I thought you are here to tell me somethin’. So far all you be tellin’ me is a lot of shit that you throwin’ my way.”
Decker said, “Travis, if you knew Primo Ekerling…if you had a business deal with him, it’s better if it comes out now.”
“This is the only chance that you’re going to have to explain the relationship to us,” Garrett said.
“I don’t know what you be talkin’ ’bout.”
“Sure you do,” Decker said. “We’re talking about your relationship with Ekerling. Those jewel boxes will be entered into evidence at your trial. So explain to us why Ekerling had your jewel boxes. If you don’t, some state prosecutor will provide his own explanation and make you look like a fool.”
“I ain’t got no relationship with Ekerling. That’s whack! I did not know him and I did not have no deal with him!”
Diaz said, “Travis, we’re trying to help you, and you’re not helping yourself!”
Garrett told him, “Only way we can help you is if you tell the truth.”
“I’m tellin’ you the tru’.”
“No, you’re not; you’re telling us smack.”
Diaz said, “Help yourself out because everything’s going to come out.”
Garrett said, “The best thing you can do is to stop playing games and admit that you knew Primo Ekerling.”
“Truth is easier to remember, Martel. What’s the big deal telling us that you knew him?”
Travis dug his heels in. “’Cause you’re tryin’ to make a connection and there ain’t none there. I don’t know him—”
“Now how do you think that’s gonna play?” Garrett said. “You keep on saying you don’t know him and then we show the jury the envelopes in your handwriting addressed to Primo Ekerling—”
“I tole you I sent the CDs out to a billion producers.”
Decker said, “Did you also send out a billion CDs with handwritten notes, saying: ‘Yo, here’s more. Let me know what’s happenin’?”
Eyes darted from one face to another. Martel looked down, then up, then anyplace except Decker’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Blatant denial was best countered by blatant evidence. Diaz put a copy of the original note on the table. “Two experts have matched this note to your handwriting.”
Decker said, “What happened, Mr. Martel? Did Ekerling go back on the recording deal?”
Martel’s eyes scanned Decker’s face. Then he became defiant. He shoved the note away. “Someone must be copyin’ my handwriting, nomasayin’? There weren’t no deal, and I don’t know Ekerling and that’s all I gotta say.”
Decker said, “With all this evidence and the witness we have, you’re going to look very bad in front of a jury. He’s not saying nice things about you.”
“Wha’ witness?”
Now was not the right time to mention Rudy Banks. First Decker wanted Travis to admit that he knew Ekerling. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“You mean Gerry?” Martel shook his head and smiled. “Shit, Gerry ain’t telling you nothin’ he hasn’t tole you before. Talk about smack, man. That’s total bullshit!”
“Who said it was Geraldo Perry who’s talking?” Decker looked at Garrett and Diaz. “Did I say anything about Geraldo Perry being a witness?”
“Nah, you didn’t say anything about Geraldo as a witness,” Diaz said.
“Perry wasn’t even part of the Ekerling hit,” Decker said. “He didn’t know what was flying. You just took him along for an alibi or maybe to help you chuck the body.”
“You be makin’ shit up, I don’t have to be here.”
“You want to go back to your cell?” Diaz asked him. “I can have someone take you back.”
“Or you can stick around a little longer and smoke another cigarette,” Garrett told him. “Up to you.”
Martel didn’t answer.
“If I’ve got it wrong, then tell me what happened,” Decker said. “But tell the truth.”
“I tole y’all like a million times, we boosted the car, we didn’t know nothin’ about no body in the trunk.”
Decker told him, “No one is going to believe that, Travis, especially once we show the judge and jury these CDs and your note to Ekerling in your own handwriting.”
Diaz said, “You knew Ekerling, Travis. That’s very clear.”
“What happened, Mr. Martel?” Decker asked. “Did Ekerling tell you he was going to produce your CD and then did he back out?”
“Y’all talkin’ shit and I ain’t got no more to say.”
Decker had a lot more to say. But first he needed Martel’s admission that he knew Ekerling. Six Pepsis, a pack of smokes, and three hours later, the magic moment came.
Martel kept raking his hands through his black strands, sweat pouring off his nose. “You keep hammerin’ at me.”
“We need the truth if we’re going to help you,” Garrett said.
“Hep me?” Martel sneered. “You ain’t gonna hep me. You ain’t gonna do shit for me. If you be heppin’ me, I wouldn’t be in my cons, man.”
“Of course we want to help you,” Diaz said. “That’s why we’re here. Do you think we’d be wasting our time, talking to you, if we didn’t have something in mind?”
Garrett said, “We know that you’re not going to talk to us unless we help you. But we can’t do anything for you, Travis, as long as you continue to lie.”
“Once you lay off the bullshit and start telling us the truth, then maybe we can help you out.”
Decker said, “Because we know that you knew Ekerling. Just get it over with and tell us that you knew him and then we can begin helping you.”
“Don’t deny the obvious facts, Travis,” Garrett said.
Decker said, “That’s just plain stupid. It’s stupid when you say you didn’t know Ekerling when obviously you did.”
“So what if I knew him!” Martel blurted out. “Don’t mean I pinched the dude. I be havin’ nothin’ to do with his murder!”
The glory hallelujah words took a few seconds to sink in. Decker broke the silence. “Great. That was step one…that you finally admitted that you knew Primo Ekerling.”
“I didn’t be knowin’ the mofo.” A long pause. “Mebbe I have had met him once or twice.”
“See, that’s smart,” Decker said. “To admit that you knew him…that’s smart. Because we knew that already.”
“I said I didn’t know him. I just be meetin’ him a couple of times.”
“Met him where?” Garrett asked while looking at his hands.
“I don’t remember,” Martel told him.
Decker took a chance. “Travis, you were at his office. We’ve got your prints in his office.”
Martel’s eyes skated across the jail cell. “Mebbe I was at the mofo’s office once.”
“Maybe?”
“Okay, I had been there just once. Mebbe ten minutes. In and out. The bitch at the desk wouldn’t let me get pass no door. She kept saying he wasn’t in.”
Garrett said, “Why’d you go to Ekerling’s office?”
“’Cause I had not heard from the dude,” Travis said angrily. “He wrote me that he liked my shit and I sent him more shit, nomasayin’? But then I never had heard from him again. He coulda called. How long would that have took?”
“About one minute,” Decker said. “Must have pissed you off.”
Martel waved him off. “You gotta get past the bullshit if you want to be big, nomasayin’? You don’t got a thick skin, you ain’t gonna make it.” He looked around the interview cell. “If I didn’t have a thick skin before I had came here, I got one now. Fuckin’ mofos here dig my shit, though. Once I get out, I got my credentials, nomasayin’?”
“Nice to be appreciated,” Decker said.
“True dat.”
“Must have pissed you off when Ekerling went back on his promises.”
“’Course it pissed me off, but that don’t meant that I whacked him!”
“Then it’s too bad that we have someone who is saying that you did.”
Finally Martel made eye contact. “Say what?”
“That you whacked Ekerling.”
Martel squirmed in his chair. “For the last time, I didn’t whack Ekerling.”
“We have someone who said you did,” Decker said again.
“Then he be lyin’.”
“Interesting that you don’t ask who we have as a witness against you,” Diaz said.
Decker pulled the trigger. “C’mon, Travis. Tell us the whole story. Somebody set you up. You’re taking the rap for someone who isn’t worth it. Who set you up and why?”
“If you got a witness, why don’t you axe him?”
“We have asked him,” Garrett said. “We’ve heard his side, and it doesn’t look good for you.”
Diaz said, “Now we want to hear your side.”
Martel folded his hands across his chest and looked smug. “You’re total bullshittin’ me, man. You ain’t got no witness!”
“We’ve got a witness,” Decker said.
“Yeah?” Another sneer. “Who?”
“We know who set you up, because you’ve told the world in your download on MySpace.” Decker leaned toward him. “‘Like music and the crime—the shit of B and E.’”
Martel’s head snapped back. He attempted to recover and tried to stare down the cops, but he couldn’t pull it off. He finally figured out that the best way to combat undesirable information was to remain silent. Decker started to reel him in.
“B and E,” he repeated. “Very clever. To anyone not in the know, it’s just breaking and entering, right. But we know what the real crime is.”
Martel remained silent.
“Once we arrested him, how long do you think it would take Mr. B to start talking against you? Do you want to talk about Mr. B? He’s sure as hell talking about you.”
Martel didn’t answer. Decker kept at him without mentioning specifics.
B and E.
B and E.
The music and the crime—the shit of B and E.
The shit of B against E.
It took another hour before Martel’s cracks began to appear.
Martel opened and closed his mouth. “Mebbe I know whachu mean, mebbe I don’t.”
“We need more than a maybe if you want us to help you,” Garrett said.
“Mebbe I know, mebbe I don’t know.”
“So which is it?”
“If it be the same dude, mebbe I met him once or twice.”
“Once or twice, Travis?” Garrett questioned.
“Somethin’ like that.”
Decker said, “Mr. B liked your music?”
“That’s what he said.” Martel talked under his breath.
“He wanted to do a record deal with you?”
“That’s what he said.”
“But only if you’d whack Primo—”
“I didn’t do no whack and if Banks be sayin’ that, he’s lyin’! That’s whack!”
Yes, Decker said inwardly. The name has been verbalized! He wanted to play the video back just to make sure that it was recorded for posterity. The only thing lacking was the first name. He still wanted Martel to call him Rudy before Decker mentioned the name. “So what was the arrangement between you and Banks?”
“I didn’t do no murder! And if you pootbutts don’t know righteous from smack, that ain’t my problem, nomasayin’?”
Decker’s brain was firing snippets of past and present. Using the parallel from Little to Ekerling…Leroy Josephson is to Little as Travis Martel is to Ekerling. If his assumption was true, it made sense that Banks used Travis Martel in the same way as Leroy Josephson—either to do the hit or to dispose of the body and car.
He said, “Banks said you whacked Ekerling…” When Martel tried to protest, Decker held his hand up to silence him. “That’s his side. If you didn’t pull the trigger, tell us who did.”
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell y’all,” Martel cried out. “I don’t know who did it cuz I wasn’t there. All I did was boost the whip, you got it?”
“Okay, Travis, let’s have it your way,” Decker said. “All you did was to steal the car. So how did that work?”
Martel thought long and hard. For a minute Decker thought he lost him. Then Travis made eye contact. “First I want to hear what Rudy be sayin’ ’bout me.”
There it was. The first name. Rudy…Banks. He had said them both.
Decker said, “You know what Rudy’s saying.” He fired an imaginary gun with his fingers. “That’s what Banks is saying.”
“I didn’t whack Primo!”
“So what happened, Travis?” Garrett said. “Just tell us the truth and maybe we can help you out.”
Decker said, “Don’t go down for capital one murder if all you did was boost a car.”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ y’all!” Travis was hot with frustration.
Garrett said, “If all you did was boost the car or help out as accessory after the fact…then let’s hear it all. But let’s hear the truth. Then maybe we can help you out.”
Martel looked away. “I need a smoke.”
“I ran out,” Decker said. “I’ll get you another pack just as soon as you tell us what happened.”
“I don’t zackly know what happened cuz I wasn’t there.”
“Just tell us what you know,” Garrett said.
Travis started out very slowly. “Banks be sayin’ that he wanted to produce me, nomasayin’?”
“Yes.”
“That he thought my shit was real good. The man had plans. He tole me his plans. He could do stuff.”
Decker said, “Rudy is a successful producer.”
“Yeah, that’s what he tole me.”
The three detectives waited. Martel said, “I need a smoke.”
Decker made a show of patting down his pockets. He found a cigarette and gave it to him.
A few drags later, Martel began to talk more quickly. “Rudy tole me that there was a problem with Ekerling. Y’see, Ekerling had my shit, and Banks tole me that I had gave permission to Ekerling to produce the CDs.”
“How did Rudy know that Ekerling had your demos?” Decker asked.
“I tole him when I met him. I tole him how the mofo dissed me, nomasayin’?”
“You told Rudy Banks that you had a deal with Primo Ekerling?”
“There was no deal. Ekerling blew me off. But Rudy sez that he can’t do my shit because Ekerling has the rights to the CDs and he weren’t gonna give us the permission back.”
Decker said, “Rudy Banks told you that he wanted to produce your songs but Ekerling owned the CDs and wouldn’t give you your rights back?”
Martel’s eyes clouded. “Yeah, zackly.”
“Why would Ekerling own your CDs?”
“’Cause Rudy said that it looked like we had a deal.”
“Okay,” Decker told him. “Go on. So you need Ekerling’s permission, but he isn’t giving it to you.”
“Yeah, zackly.” Another drag on his smoke. “So Rudy said that he would fix the problem if I would give him permission to fix the problem. So I sez, ‘Yeah, I give you permission to fix the problem.’ I don’t know what he means by fixin’ the problem, nomasayin’? I thought he just be talking as one producer to another. Maybe he get a lawyer or somethin’.”
“Makes sense,” Garrett said. “That makes total sense.”
When Travis stopped talking, Diaz prodded him to continue.
“Then…mebbe it was about a week later after we had had the conversation…yeah, it was about a week.” A pause. “We’re at the Bitty Bit party over in Hollywood at Citizen recording studio. Man, everyone was there. Everyone and everybody. Mo’ fine-lookin’ ladies than I ever saw in my whole life. Wearing fur and bling and…everyone was there.” His eyes got far away. “I’m eatin’ all this fancy shit, I’m drinkin’ all this free drinks, I’m chattin’ up the biggies…” A smile. “People listenin’ when I talk…it was fine.” He landed back on earth. “Rudy comes over to me and sez he got somethin’ big to do and he be back later to pick me up.”
Decker said, “How’d you get to the party?”
“Rudy took me. That’s why he come over to me and sez he’ll pick me up later.”
“Ah. Makes sense. So Rudy came over to you and said what…he had something big to do?”
“Yeah. He had somethin’ big and he pick me up later.” Martel scratched his cheek. “It must be like three hours later—the party’s still on and I’m havin’ a real good time. Rudy finds me, pulls me over, and tells me we got a problem.”
The detectives waited.
“I was drinkin’ lots, nomasayin’? I don’t be rememberin’ too clear.”
“Tell us what you remember,” Diaz said. “Rudy comes over to you and tells you that there’s a problem.”
“Yeah, that we got a problem.” Martel nodded. “He tells me that he went over to Ekerling to talk to him and get the CDs but there was a problem.”
“Rudy tells you this,” Diaz clarified.
“Yeah, Rudy. I’m talkin’ to Rudy. Rudy tells me that Ekerling was being a real motherfucker and wouldn’t be givin’ him no permission to produce my own CDs.”
“Okay.”
“Rudy was sayin’ that it was my CDs and Ekerling wasn’t being righteous, not givin’ me my own CDs back.”
“All right.”
“Then it all kinda gets a little fuzzy…I was drinkin’…mebbe doing some other shit.”
In other words, his brain was fried with mind-altering materials.
Martel said, “Rudy be sayin’ that Primo got all wired. Then bam! Primo starts coming at him with a blade. He starts swipin’ at him. So Rudy defended hisself.”
“What did Rudy tell you he did to Primo?” Garrett asked.
“That he shot him in self-defense. ’Cause Primo kept comin’ at him with the blade.”
Decker said, “I’m confused. Who shot Primo?”
“Rudy shot Primo. They was only the two of them.”
“Got it,” Decker said. “Rudy told you that he shot Primo in self-defense.”
“Yeah.” Martel tried the story on for size and liked it. “That’s what Rudy tole me. That he shot Primo out of self-defense. But now there was a problem, nomasayin’?”
“What was the problem?”
“That he had to get rid of the body and that I had to help cuz it was my fault that it happened in the first place. Cuz this was all about my CDs and that’s the way a white jury was gonna see it.”
The detectives nodded encouragement.
Martel sighed. “So Rudy tells me he parked Ekerling’s Benzene a few blocks away. He had gave me the keys and told me to dump the car somewhere in the ’hood. And for my efforts, he gave me a couple hundred bucks. And he sez if anyone axe me where I got the money, just tell ’em from drugs, nomasayin’?”
Decker said, “Weren’t you curious why he had Primo’s Mercedes-Benz and why he wanted you to ditch it?” When Martel just shrugged, Decker said, “C’mon, Travis, you must have figured it out. Which ’hood did he want you to drop the car in?”
“Huh?”
“Did he tell you to dump the car in Hollywood or South Central?”
“He sez to dump it in my ’hood at Jonas Park. That it would look like some nicca boosted the whip, made a deal down there, and left the car cuz it was hot.”
“Lots of drug deals at Jonas Park?” Decker asked.
“Whatever you want.” Martel paused to organize his thoughts…or to concoct a plausible story. “So I call up Gerry from someone’s cell at the Bitty Bit ho’down and I tell him I gonna pick him up and we gotta go dump a Benzene somewhere in the hood.”
“Okay.”
“So I go pick up Gerry and we go cruisin’ in the whip and then we go to dump it in Jonas Park. But then we don’t got anyone to take us home, nomasayin’? I ain’t gonna ask no runner for a hike.”
“Let me see if I understood you correctly, Travis.” Decker tried to keep his face even. “Rudy gave you the keys to Primo Ekerling’s car.”
“Yeah.”
“Where was the car parked?”
“Down the block.”
“Down the block from the Bitty Bit party.”
“Yeah.”
“So you took the car with Primo Ekerling’s body in the trunk of the car and called up Geraldo Perry—”
“No, first I call up Gerry and then I took the car.”
Decker said, “Yes. Sorry. First you called up Gerry using someone’s cell at the Bitty Bit party and told him you had a Mercedes-Benz with a body in the trunk that you had to get rid of and you were going to pick him up.”
“I didn’t know there was no body in the trunk. Just that I had to dump the whip.”
“Whose phone did you use?” Garrett asked.
“Wha?”
“You said you called up Gerry at the Bitty Bit party. Whose phone did you use?”
“I don’t remember. Some ho.” He seemed annoyed by the question.
Decker said, “So you picked up Gerry and you two are riding around with Primo Ekerling in the trunk of the car and…then what happened?”
“We take the whip to Jonas Park to leave it there. But once we there, there ain’t no one to get a hike from. So Gerry sez we got the Benzene, let’s cruise and have some fun. And I figure, the man is dead, it don’t make no difference now.”
Travis Martel had just contradicted himself with the admission that he knew about the dead man in the trunk.
“…we take the whip back to the Bitty Bit party, but by then it was almost two in the morning and all the food’s gone and all the liquor’s gone and Gerry…” He leaned forward. “See, we be riding around for over two hours, so Gerry’s hungry and tells me he’s in the mood for pancakes. So we get back into the whip and ride around until Gerry sees Mel’s. So he sez, ‘How ’bout Mel’s?’”
“Gerry’s hungry and says how about Mel’s?”
“Zackly,” Martel said. “So we dump the car ’bout a few blocks from Mel’s. We still don’t got no hike home since we left the car a few blocks away, so I call up Rudy on the number he gave me. But I musta copied it wrong cuz it ain’t working.”
“Maybe he gave you a wrong number on purpose,” Garrett said.
“Yeah, I thought about that.”
“So you’re stuck without a ride home. What happened next?”
“Gerry calls up a whoadie of his and tells him we’ll buy some pancakes if he come pick us up. And his whoadie sez okay but he’s with a bro so we has to buy him some pancakes, too. So Gerry sez okay, he’ll buy everyone pancakes. So we wait for ’round an hour and then Gerry’s buds come in Mel’s and I buy everyone pancakes with the money that Rudy gave me. I bought everyone pancakes and eggs and bacon and shit. It comes to like a hundred dollars. But that’s okay cuz I still had about two hundred left over even with buyin’ everyone breakfast. So we all ate pancakes and eggs and shit and then we went home.”
Martel shrugged.
“That’s it.”
The cell was silent.
Decker said, “Let me recap this very briefly. Rudy told you that he went to Ekerling’s office to get your CDs back.”
“Yeah.”
“Rudy said there was a problem. That he and Ekerling argued.”
“Yeah.”
“That Ekerling came at Rudy with a knife and Rudy shot Ekerling and stuffed him in the trunk of the Mercedes.”
“Yeah.”
“So you knew about the body in the trunk, Travis.”
“He was dead. I checked it out with my own eyes. He was already dead.”
“I understand that.”
“I didn’t do no murder.”
“I know,” Decker soothed. “Rudy said he needed you to get rid of the body. He gave you the keys to the Mercedes and told you to dump it in the hood.”
“Yeah.”
“You picked up Geraldo Perry and went to Jonas Park to get rid of the car. But then you realized that you had no one to pick you up from the park. So you took the car all the way back into Hollywood to dump it.”
“Yeah. Like I tole you, Gerry wanted to go to the Bitty Bit party, anyway. And I figure why not cuz Ekerling be already dead.”
“Got it,” Decker said. “So you drove the car back to Hollywood, to the Bitty Bit party, but by that time, the party was over and Gerry was hungry. He wanted pancakes.”
“Yeah, that’s why we dumped the Benzene where we did. We saw Mel’s and figured we’d get some pancakes. We bought everyone pancakes.”
“Why didn’t you tell us all of this in the first place?” Diaz asked.
“’Cause Rudy tole me that if somethin’ happens, that I shouldn’t talk. That he’d get me a white-assed lawyer and everything would be fine.”
“And you believed him?”
“He’s a white boy,” Travis said. “He sez he’s a lawyer.”
“That much is true,” Decker said.
“He knows the system. Besides, I knew that he weren’t goin’ be producin’ my shit if I ratted him out.”
Garrett pushed over a yellow legal pad. “You want to write your story down for us? Then maybe we can talk to the district attorney and help you out.”
Martel regarded the paper and pen and then Garrett’s face. “All this talk about food…it’s way past lunch. I’m starvin’. I need something to eat.”
“Start writing and I’ll order in some food,” Diaz said.
“I don’t want jail shit,” Martel insisted. “I be heppin’ you out, I deserve a good lunch.”
“What do you want?” Garrett asked.
“All this talk about pancakes…” Martel shrugged. “How ’bout some pancakes?”