ELIJAH
My mouth is sour and my stomach is in knots. I feel like I might throw up, but I need to be strong for Bryant.
"You ready?" I ask him.
Bryant straightens up his stance and nods his head.
"I'll stay the whole time if they let me," I assure him.
"Thanks," he says.
I motion to the station doors. "Let's get this over with," I say.
The walk up the steps felt like the long walk to the principal's office when we were in trouble. One time in kindergarten Bryant pulled the fire alarm because he just couldn't help himself. The entire school got evacuated and when they finally figured out which kid did it, my teacher made me escort him up to the office. It feels an awful lot like that dreaded day now.
Cops pass us on the way in, and I wonder if they ever consider that the people they are looking for might be closer than they think.
"Can I help you?" an officer asks from behind the desk.
"We need to talk to the detective in charge of a hit and run," Bryant says.
"Recent?" the cop asks as if this type of thing happens all the time.
"A little over two weeks ago," I tell him.
Bryant takes a big, calming breath beside me.
The doors of the station open and a man in a nice suit walks in. "Bryant?" he asks.
Bryant nods his head.
"Great. I'm Henry, your attorney. We spoke on the phone," he says.
"Nice to meet you in person." Bryant replies. When he extends his hand to shake Henry's, it's shaky. But this time it isn't from the withdrawals. Bryant is five days sober from drinking. He's on his last day of pills and already took the dose.
The officer clearly now senses the seriousness of our visit and tells us he's going to get the detective. "You can have a seat and we'll come get you."
I think we are all too nervous to sit down. Instead, we make small talk as the officer get us the man in charge of these types of crimes.
A few minutes later, an older detective steps out into the lobby. "Why don't you guys come on back here. I'm Detective Ruiz. I work traffic," he says, shaking each of our hands as he leads us to a room in the back. "I understand you might have some information for me?"
"Yes sir," Bryant says.
The detective takes us to a large room with a table and chairs. Other officers are working, some on the computer and some with files of paper in front of them. Their eyes barely lift as we walk in.
"Please have a seat," Detective Ruiz says, motioning to the chairs. We all sit down. Bryant is between me and Henry.
I make eye contact with Bryant and give him a reassuring nod. The last five days have been hell. Bryant has slept a lot, but I have stayed by his side to make sure he doesn't drink and also that he doesn't die. The medication knocked him out which really scared me. He has never waivered in his decision to do this though. He wants to confess. His lawyer had other ideas, but in the end, they agreed that he would say what he did and ask for help. Bryant doesn't care what happens to him. He said that finding out Nathan and his passenger were alive was a relief, but he won't feel at peace until he takes responsibility for what he's done.
"I caused an accident," Bryant confesses.
Detective Ruiz reaches for a yellow notepad on the edge of the table. He retrieves a pen from his pocket. "Do you mind if I records this?" he asks.
Bryant looked to his lawyer and Henry nodded his approval.
The detective stands up and retrieves an old tape recorder from the drawer of a desk. He takes a few minutes to opens new tape an all the time it's taking seems filled with more and more anxiety. I can barely breathe.
"Tell me about it," the detective says calmly. "Start with your full name please." This isn't happening the way it does in movies. No one in the room even looks up to hear the confession. We aren't in some tiny room with one light swinging above us. The only thing pinning us to old cop shows is the tape recorded that is quietly humming as the tape deck spins.
"My name is Bryant Collier. Two weeks ago I was driving on the 110 freeway when I clipped the back bumper of a small car. The car spun out of control and hit the center divider. I didn't say around. I kept driving."
"Can you tell me anything about the other car?" he asks.
"It was an older Toyota Camry. Black. I don't know the year. I believe it had two passengers," Bryant tells him.
"Why didn't you stop?" he ask.
Bryant's lawyer had not agreed to us telling this part, but Bryant had been insistent.
"I had drank that morning. I wasn't drunk, but I thought it might still show up if I got arrested," he says.
The officer looks up, the notes had had been taking in addition to the recording come to a stop. I don't think he can believe Bryant just confessed to that. It would make any sentence longer. The lawyer told us it could be a determining factor between probation with a citation and actually hard time in jail. Bryant wanted to tell the whole truth, so he didn't follow the lawyer's advice.
"Do you know about how fast you were driving?" the detective asks.
"Probably around 90 miles per hour," he says.
"Why were you driving that fast?"
When Bryant takes a deep breath and a moment together the courage to keep going, Detective Ruiz askes, "Would you like some water or anything to drink?"
Bryant shakes his head.
"Ok go on," the detective urges.
"I haveâno hadâa girlfriend," he starts, "but I was with another girl. I ran into the girl at a take-over and we had a history."
I can see the shame all over his face. That night, it would have been hard to list a morally correct behavior Bryant was exhibiting.
"So she got in my car for us to go to the next take-over. I spotted my girlfriend behind us as soon as we got on the freeway. I don't know where she came from, but suddenly she was there. I didn't want her to see me and the other girl together and I was trying to get ahead of her so the girl could get out of my car before she would see,' he says. "I misjudged the gap between two cars. That's when I clipped the car that crashed."
"What kind of car were you driving?" he asks.
"Can I get my phone out?" he asks. "It's an older model BMW. Silver. But it has a lot of modifications that would be easier to just show you."
The detective nods. Bryant reaches slowly into his pocket.
"Here," he says, holding the phone up. His car is the lock screen of his phone.
"Got it," the detective says. He makes a note of something on his paper. "Can you send me that picture?'
Bryant nods. The detective pulls a card out of his pocket and circles one of the phone numbers on it with his pen and then slide the card to Bryant.
"And where is your car now?" he asks.
"In a storage facility in Palm Springs. I can give you the combo to the door," he answers.
The detective looks at Henry, "So we have permission to search the storage?"
Henry nods.
"Great. I'll make that arrangement. Is there anything else we will find in there?" he asks Bryant.
"No. The only thing in there is the car."
"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" the detective asks.
"I'm sorry," Bryant says. And all composure is lost. This is the only time we get the attention of the other men in the room. I rest my hand on his back and hope it conveys what I'm feeling.
"You did the right thing," I tell him quietly. "You are trying to make this right."
"My client has substance abuse problems. He is currently five days sober from alcohol, but he's going to need some help and possibly some medical treatment."
The detective nods. "Ok. I'll get this ball rolling. Mr. Collier, I am going to place you under arrest. I will have more questions for you at a later time."
We all stand up and I give Bryant one last hug.