said Lashonda, pacing, a black wireless microphone dangling from her earpiece. All twelve phone lines on her board were blinking. “You got five minutes, and that’s only ’cause you say you going to write something nice about Sugar.”Jimmy followed her as she walked her spacious living room in Pacific Palisades, the house a half-acre view property with a swimming pool and a tennis court. “You were the police dispatcher who took that 911 call on the Heather Grimm homicide.”“Weren’t no homicide call.” Lashonda listened to her earpiece as the board switched lines again. It was on a thirty-second interval— Jimmy had timed it. “It was a four one five domestic disturbance call. Wasn’t till Sugar got there, it turned into a homicide call.”“Right.”“What happened to your face? You ask somebody a question they didn’t like?”Jimmy smiled, and it hurt. One side of his face was still swollen from his pick-up basketball game with the Butcher, his eye blackened. “The reason that Sugar took the call that night—”“’Cause lazyass Reese and Hargrove was on another call and wasn’t in no hurry to take a four one five.
