The woman’s voice from inside: “You betta not, boy. You know what dat lawyer say.”
“Shut-up, Mama. This here’s for my boy,” he said loudly over his shoulder. Then quieter, now facing us, “Mind y’own damned bid’ness.”
Charlie’s hand snatched the DNA swab and disappeared, the door closing behind it.
“Okay,” Floyd said, demonstrating it again, this time using an empty hand. “Do it like this here, Charlie . . . just kind of roll it around the inside of your cheeks . . . there ya go, like that. Now the other side . . . perfect. Okay, just drop it in that container and seal it up. That’s all there is to it.”
The door cracked open again and Charlie pushed the sealed box toward Floyd. “A’ight?”
“Thanks, Charlie,” Floyd said. “We really appreciate your cooperation.”
Walking away I heard Charlie say, “My lawyer still gonna sue yo’ ass.”
“What DNA evidence do we have?” I asked, glancing back and forth from the road to Floyd as we drove toward the office. “Other than semen, which we both know is useless in this case, especially if you think Charlie’s our suspect. Do you know something I don’t?”
“We don’t have time to talk about all the shit I know that you don’t, Dickie. But as far as DNA, no, we don’t have anything other than the semen.” Floyd leaned over to tune the radio, finding Dr. Laura and leaving it there. “None I know of anyway.”
“So, we got Charlie’s DNA, what, just in case?”
“Charlie don’t know we don’t have DNA, Dickie. I just wanted to see if he would give us a sample, see if he would cooperate. I figured if he gives us a sample, it’s unlikely he had anything to do with killing Susie.”
“I’m surprised he gave a sample at all, either way. Turn it up,” I said, nodding toward the radio, “this’ll be good. You always know when someone starts off like that, Dr. Laura’s going to get in her ass.”
“She cracks me up,” Floyd said, “telling these broads they better get to it, treat their man better. Get in there and take care of him soon as you hang up. I think we can cross Charlie off the list now.”
“I’d have to agree,” I said.
“By the way,” Floyd said over the girl telling Dr. Laura she didn’t have any choice but to shack up with this guy, it was her baby’s daddy . . . “what’s new with your girlfriend, Donna Edwards? You talk to Dwight lately?”
“They still have her under surveillance. She hasn’t gone anywhere or done anything exciting lately. In fact, we need to let D know if we want them to follow her over the weekend or not. What do ya think?”
“Fine with me,” Floyd said. “Not like we have anything else on this case.”
I waited until Dr. Laura finished telling the young girl to move back in with her parents, drop the low-life . . .
“Well, there’s still Elmer Fudd, right?”
“Yeah, Elmer. Only where do we start looking for him?”
I glanced over and said, “I don’t know where, but I can tell you when.”
“Okay, when?” Floyd asked, turning the radio back down, on a commercial now.
“Monday. Because when we get back to the office, I’m dropping your ass off and heading out. I’m not even coming in, taking a chance of getting hung up on something, or having your captain piss me off.”
Floyd looked at his watch. “How do I get hours like that?”
“What, you have something needs to be done, can’t wait until Monday?”
“I’d like to figure something out about Fudd, now that you mention him. Like where that asshole is. You have any idea how pissed off Cindy is about having the cops sitting out in our driveway? I’m ready to call it off, take my chances with Fudd coming back, blow his ass up myself. I don’t need Metro to do my shooting for me.”
“Judging by your last shootout, you might.”
“You can kiss my ass,” he said. “I didn’t see you bleeding anyone out. Now you’re disappearing for the weekend, taking off with the little woman. Isn’t that special.”
“It happens to be our days off,” I said.
“Well, you just enjoy yourself, dickhead, don’t worry about me and Fudd. I’m going to dump the protection and get back to a normal life. You ever mow the lawn with a couple cops staring at you from behind a windshield? Jesus, what the neighbors must think.”
“If they know you,” I said, “they probably think the cops are there to watch you, keep you in line. Probably think the captain put ‘em up to it.”
“I think I’ll run them off when I get home.”
“You can’t take that chance, bud.” I glanced in my rearview mirror, then checked the car along our right side. I seemed to watch my surroundings lately with a renewed vigilance, added meaning and purpose. “You’ve got the kids to think about.”
“I didn’t tell you?”
“What?”
“Cindy’s parents have the kids,” he said, “which is a whole other Oprah. Get this, my mother-in-law thinks the kids are overly involved in extracurricular activities. Well, no shit, lady, why do you think I pitched a bitch when Cindy talked about going back to work? Who the hell’s going to get them to their practices, the games, the recitals, church. Shit, for that matter, to and from school? Me? Yeah, because my hours are real flexible. My partner’s not a psychotic, workaholic asshole or anything, and our lieutenant doesn’t put us first up in every goddamned rotation.”
I glanced from the road and frowned at the back of Floyd’s head as he checked his hair in the side-view mirror.
“Anyway, this is getting old,” he said, turning his head to check the other side. “Metro sitting outside 24/7—though holy shit, I didn’t tell you about the hot little cha-cha deputy that was out there the other night, did I? Jesus, I come home, there’s this little head, dark hair in a ponytail sitting behind the wheel of this big Caprice. They’re backed into the driveway, windows down, a little music playing on the radio, right? This big goon with a buffalo head and scraggly beard sitting next to her, kind of giving me the eye. I think we know him, seen him around at least. Anyway, the guy’s all sprawled out with his hairy arm across the seat behind her, his big gut hanging over his jeans. He’s sitting there chewing sunflower seeds, slobbering into a Styrofoam cup while the little doll is just sitting there pretty as can be, smiling at me as I walk up. This huge gorilla and the little minx. Anyway, I walk up and she says—all cute like—‘Good evening, Detective.’ I’m like, ‘Hey, how’s it going?’, all cool like, and I give her the slicky-boy nod, right? And I’m thinking, Jesus, I have got to invite her inside for a couple beers, right? Let the hairy goon watch the house. Not like she was doing any good out there anyway.”
“Cindy would’ve loved that,” I said.
“I’d be all, ‘Hi honey, look what I found in the driveway.’ Holy shit, can’t you just see it? ‘Can I keep it?’”
We both laughed, Floyd likely amused with himself. I laughed, picturing Cindy, the pretty little blonde cheerleader Floyd’s been with since high school, sitting there waiting for her man to come home, then Floyd coming in with the cute deputy in tow. I pictured Cindy dragging the little minx out the front door by her ear, Floyd appalled, thinking, what’s she pissed about?
“I’d love to see that,” I said, turning onto Rickenbacker Road, coming up to the office. “Listen, you need to get ahold of me this weekend—something urgent comes up—page me. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you Sunday night on our way back.”
“You’re not telling me where you’re going?”
“No.”
“You don’t want me to show up with Cindy and my new little minx?”
I glanced at Floyd, who was grinning ear to ear. I said, “No offense, but yeah, no, I really don’t want to see your ass till next week. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to hear from you, and I don’t want to have Cindy calling me up, asking if I have any idea where you are, saying she hasn’t seen you since she threw the minx off the property.”
“Fine
,” he said, “but you’re the one missing out. I’ll have to see what I can do to really piss you off while you’re gone. Maybe shoot Elmer Fudd or arrest Donna Edwards.”
“You should do it the other way around, shoot Edwards and arrest Fudd. Either way, wait until Sunday to let me know about it.”
I turned into the rear parking lot and stopped as Lieutenant Jordan crossed in front of us, coming out the back door headed toward his car. He looked over at us, changed directions and walked up to my window. “You guys done for the day?”
“Wrapping it up,” I said. “Looking forward to a weekend off.”
“How’d it go with Charlie?” he asked, resting a hand against the top of my car, the sun reflecting off his wire-rimmed cop sunglasses.
“No problems,” I said, “we had a nice little chat and got a DNA sample from him. Him and Floyd are buddies now.”
“Except he’s still going to sue us,” Floyd said.
Jordan leaned down, his cologne coming through the open window. “Did you hear about the guy in the van?”
“No,” Floyd and I said in unison.
“He’s a judge. Alexander Nessbaum, Inglewood Superior.”
“You’re shittin’ me!” Floyd said, leaning toward me and looking up at the lieutenant. “Did he make it?”
“Yeah, it looks like he did. I guess he had a heart attack, but he’s supposed to recover. Not his first, apparently. You guys know him?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. I glanced to see Floyd shaking his also. “Don’t think we ever heard of him. We don’t get cases in Inglewood very often.”
“Jesus, Dickie,” Floyd said, “good thing you didn’t shoot the poor Honorable bastard.”
“Good thing you were there to stop him, huh Floyd?” the lieutenant said, now standing erect, straightening his tie and then combing his fingers through his thick blond hair. “You boys will probably be credited with saving his life. Saving a superior court judge’s life might get you a medal.”
Floyd and I exchanged glances, each of us grinning a little now.
“Anyway, you gentlemen enjoy your weekend, get some rest. I have a feeling we’ll be busy next week.”
“See ya, boss,” I said.
“See ya, L.T.,” Floyd said.
Floyd, still showing the wide grin, said, “Jesus, Dickie, I saved the judge’s life!”
Sunday night concluded a magnificent weekend away from the job, away from the city, away from the stress of worrying about cases, crooks, and captains. Valerie and I were enjoying the rush of cool evening air through the opened windows of her Lexus as we traveled down a winding mountain road when the shrill beeps of my pager pierced the howling wind.
Valerie smiled as I reached for my belt. “Probably your partner,” she said, reaching over and stroking my leg. “You know how he hates having to share you with me.”
A smile crossed my lips as I confirmed her suspicions; it was Floyd.
I powered up my cell phone thinking how relaxed and comfortable things were after the short but much needed getaway. Thinking it was good spending time with Val, prioritizing my personal life for a change, putting things into perspective now as the mountain air massaged my face. I leaned toward the door and caught a glimpse of my smile in the side-view mirror, liking what I saw for the first time in a while.
The phone’s display came to life with a full signal so I made the call.
“What’s up?” I asked when Floyd answered.
“I shot Fudd, arrested Donna, and ran away with the minx, just like we had all planned out. Thought I’d better let you know.”
“You’re an idiot. What do you want?”
“I found your boy, Fudd, and Donna Edwards is in custody.”
After a moment of silence, Floyd said: “How do you like me now, Dickie?”
28
DO YOU HAVE to go in?” Valerie asked, as I ended the call with my partner.
“Nope, I’m all yours. Work can wait.”
“I’m honored,” she said, glancing over from behind the wheel with a smile.
I stroked the brown ponytail jutting through the back of her L.A. Dodgers ball cap, and said, “No way I’m cutting this weekend short.”
Four hours later I pulled into the parking lot and walked through the back door of the East Los Angeles Sheriff’s Station, turned through a short hallway past the gun lockers, and stepped into the detective bureau. Floyd sat at one of the dozen or so empty desks, his feet on an adjacent chair and a cup of coffee in his hand. “It’s about time,” he said, and glanced at his watch. “Did you go by the office?”
“No, why would I?”
“You don’t have to be testy.”
“After you called the second time,” I said, “I hauled ass home, dropped Val off, picked up the county car, and headed straight here. You have any idea how much I didn’t want to see you tonight?”
“Not nice, Dickie, but I’m going to shake it off. I know you love me and didn’t mean anything by it.”
“How long have you been here?”
Floyd dropped his feet to the floor, stretched and yawned, maybe exaggerating a little. He looked at his watch again. “Good hour or so.”
“I thought we said eleven.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“What’s the deal with Donna?” I asked as I slid into an adjacent chair.
He handed me an arrest report.
As I began reading it, Floyd filled me in. “Dwight’s team watched her and that dazzling urbanite in the Tahoe make a buy. Two-kilo deal with a little Jamaican asshole and a couple Bloods from the jungle backing him up.”
“That where it went down, the jungle?”
“Jesus, no,” Floyd said, his hands locked behind his head now, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not a surveillance team in the state that could go into those projects and not get burned. Went down a couple miles from there, a little parking lot off of La Brea. Sorry about jacking up your weekend, brother, but when Dwight called and said she’d probably make bail, I figured we’d better come up with a plan.”
“Where’d you get the coffee?” I asked, ignoring the apology since I didn’t feel like forgiving him.
Floyd nodded in the direction of the door I had just walked through. “Up at the jailer’s desk. It sucks, but it’s better than nothing. Plus, you don’t have to pay two bucks for it. So, what do you think, take her on for a while, see if she gives something up now, or flat out offer to make the dope case go away?”
“Did you forget she lawyered up last time around?” I rose from my chair and nodded for him to follow. “C’mon, get me a cup.”
“You think she killed Susie, or the other one?” Floyd asked as he rose from his chair.
“No. You?”
“No,” Floyd said. “I don’t think she was involved in any of this, truthfully. I can’t even imagine she knew about it. That’s why I don’t care if she lawyered up. Worst thing that can happen is her statement’s inadmissible against her. She gives up Gilbert, or dipshit in the Tahoe, we’re good. Won’t matter how we got there.”
“I don’t know, man, it seems a stretch to think Gilbert and company could be involved, and she wouldn’t know about it.”
Floyd opened the door and stepped into the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to say, “She’ll put it on them for sure, if they’re involved. And that’s fine, we’ll use that to get them to turn on her. Gilbert’s a puss, and all of them are going to have different attitudes sitting on a two-kilo rap. You watch and see.”
We walked into the jailer’s office, a small room constructed of cinderblock walls painted slate gray. The booking cage, a small holding cell with nothing more than a metal bench, sat unoccupied, which told me Donna had been moved to the back and placed in a cell. Or she had been released.
“You talk to the jailer?” I asked, concern in my voice.
“Yeah,” Floyd said, looking around as if we could have missed him in the small room, “he said they’d hold her for us.”
I nodded, looking at the metal desk with a phone and an assortment of three-ringed binders with handwritten labels: CUSTODY LOG, SECURITY LOG, JAIL PROCEDURE MANUAL. I flipped through a small stack of magazines: Men’s Health, Body and Fitness, Outlaw Biker’s Tattoo Review . . . Floyd reached to fill two Styrofoam cups from a metal urn on an adjacent table.
“Have you talked to anyone from Narco?” I asked.
“They’ll let her walk if it solves a murder,” he said. “Terry Washington—you remember him from Century, right? He worked Gangs.”
I shook my head.
“You’d know him if you saw him,” he said, and handed me a cup while propping half his ass on the edge of the jailer’s desk. “He said either way we want to go with it was okay with him. They’ll let her walk if she gives us something, slam her if she doesn’t. So, are you going to tell me about your weekend, or what?”
“It was fine, until you called. I swear she thinks we’re gay.”
Floyd laughed. “So, she’s pissed you had to go?”
I took a sip of the coffee. Thirty-weight. Maybe forty, I thought, with the second sip. Typical inmate coffee. I winced before continuing. “No, actually, things are pretty good. She said thanks for the great weekend, now get your ass in there and solve that case so your partner doesn’t call here crying again. I haven’t told her the captain’s splitting us up. Did you tell Cindy?”
“Yeah, matter of fact.”
“Oh?”
“She said, ‘Great, who’re they putting you with, Fitzpatrick?’ She’s had a hard-on for him ever since he was caught cheating on Joanne, her new best friend since the Christmas party. They talk on the phone every day, get their nails done together. Joanne’s constantly bitching to her about Fitz, then I get to hear about it all night, during dinner, after dinner, in bed. Last thing she wants, is me working with him.”
“Fitz was caught cheating on his ol’ lady?”
“About a year ago, Dickie. Do you ever talk to anyone other than me?”
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