by Paul Bishop
“For lack of a better term, we’re Ray’s acolytes. Over the years, he’s hand-picked and trained several dozen of us. None of us would be where we are personally or career-wise if it wasn’t for Ray.”
“So, he’s Svengali incarnate?”
The expression on Tyler’s face went cold. “Ray is the most selfless person you’ll ever meet. If he’s picked you then he sees not only someone of value, but someone who isn’t living up to their potential. If he’s being an ass there’s a reason.”
“Sorry.”
Tyler flapped a hand and softened her expression. “No, I’m sorry. I sometimes forget how often he pissed me off in the beginning. Ray is a hell of a detective and the best interrogator I’ve ever seen. If the truth is out there, Ray will find it. But Ray’s depths run deep. He’s far more than the sum of his parts.”
We both turned our heads when we heard Pagan call my name. He was standing by a cluster of long desks shoved together in the corner of the squadroom claimed by the Homicide unit. Tyler and I moved over to join him and the other homicide detectives who were grouped around.
“Drive-by shooting,” Ray said, pointing at a cluster of crime scene photos scattered across the desk. “No witnesses who can ID. Two wits say there were three males in the suspects’ car, but we don’t know which one was the shooter. These guys were stopped six blocks from the scene. No gun recovered yet.”
“How do we know they’re the suspects,” I asked.
“Good work by the first officers on the scene,” Tyler said. “They put out an immediate crime broadcast with a description of the suspect vehicle. Another responding patrol unit saw these guys in a car matching the color from the crime broadcast. Pulled them over and recognized them as members of a rival gang with a grudge.”
“Rival gang?”
Tyler nodded. “Victim, Sander Ruiz, was the main suspect in an ADW against them two days ago. No hits, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Apparently, they found Ruiz before we did.”
“He dead?” I asked.
“Circling the drain,” Tyler said. “But he’s a hardcore gang-banger, so I have no doubt he’ll pull through. If he’d been an innocent, he’d be toes up by now.”
“Do you have the reports from the prior incident?” Pagan asked.
Tyler handed him a sheaf of papers, which Pagan quickly scanned.
“Gunshot residue tests?” I asked.
Tyler indicated some other forms on the desk. “Nothing. We swabbed all three, but their hands came up clean.”
“What about their forearms or their shirts?” Pagan asked.
“Gavin?” Tyler asked, glancing over at one of the other detectives. He was a heavyset guy wearing a shoulder-holstered .45 over a sweat stained white dress shirt, his stained tie at half-mast. He immediately blushed. “I just did the back of the hands.”
His words were met with brief silence and ice-dagger looks from Tyler before Pagan graciously came to the rescue saying, “Not a problem. Gives us somewhere to go. These guys watch CSI on TV. They know about gunshot residue. The shooter was probably wearing gloves and threw them out along with the gun. He’s confident his hands are clean and isn’t worried. Going back in and swabbing his arms and shirt will make his sphincter pucker, which is exactly what we want.”
I stepped up to the desk and riffled through the suspects’ rap sheets. Cesar Fallo Toma, Carlos Payaso Cruz, and Antonio Marino were all members of Los Locos, a small and – to this point – relatively low level local gang. Marino was sixteen. Cruz and Toma were eighteen.
“Who was driving when they were stopped?” I asked.
“Cruz,” Tyler said.
“Any of you have prior contact with any of the suspects?” Pagan asked.
“I popped Fallo twice for dope when I worked gangs,” a skinny younger detective said. “He’s the hard-ass of the bunch. You won’t get anything out of him. I’d start with Antonio Marino. He’s more wanna-be than member.”
“You think he pulled the trigger?” Pagan asked.
“Maybe. If Fallo goaded him into it to prove himself.”
Pagan picked up Fallo’s rap sheet. “Have they been advised of their rights?”
“Not yet,” Tyler said. “I know you like it left up to you.”
Pagan looked up and smiled at her. “Thanks.” He shuffled through the other rap sheets. “I want to look at them.”
Tyler moved back. “The video cameras are running.”
“Okay,” Pagan said. Moving past Tyler, he put a hand on my shoulder and directed me along with him. “Give us a minute,” he said to the detectives. “Then we’ll start with Fallo.”
“I told you,” the younger detective said. “Fallo won’t tell you anything. You should start with Marino.”
“Shut it, Pierce,” Tyler said with steel in her voice. “Maybe you’ll learn something and be able to sit at the adults’ table come Thanksgiving.”
Pagan continued on as if he hadn’t heard the exchange. In his wake, I could see the set of his shoulders had changed. He was charged, electric, a closed force unto himself.
Chapter 5
“Of course I lie to people. But I lie altruistically, for our mutual good.”
- Quentin Crisp, Manners from Heaven
We entered the small video room. I started to flip on the lights, but Pagan stayed my hand. He was staring intently at the three video screens, each one showing a different suspect in their individual interrogation rooms. The rooms were stark, several hard wooden chairs, a very small table pushed into one corner. On the wall of each room was a battered white board.
I recognized each of the suspects from the booking photos on their rap sheets. Carlos Cruz was sitting in one chair, his feet resting on another. Marino was pacing back and forth. Fallo Toma was sitting, slumped in a chair, which he had scooted over to the small table. He was resting his head on his arms, eyes closed.
“Since Cruz was driving, chances are either Fallo or Antonio was the shooter.” I ventured.
“Possibly,” Pagan said, but I could see he was only humoring me.
Pointing at Fallo’s screen, he said, “Tell me why he’s guilty.”
“He’s asleep. Put a guilty man in an interrogation room and he’ll go to sleep.”
“Yes, an old detective axiom, but tell me why?”
I felt my ire begin to rise. I was an experienced detective, not some rookie being worked over by a training officer.
Pagan turned his head to look at me. The back glow from the video screens hid his features in shadow, however, I didn’t need to see him to read him.
“I know this isn’t your first rodeo,” he said suddenly. It was disconcerting – as if he knew exactly what I’d been thinking. “But to become an extraordinary detective, you have to go beyond axioms and understand the reasons underlying the behavior.”
I didn’t reply because I was processing the bit about becoming an extraordinary detective. Plus, I could see he was telling the truth.
His teeth flashed in the shadows hiding his face. “Everybody lies, Randall,” he said. “But very, very few can see the truth.”
I felt my stomach clench. How could he know? Nobody knew…
“Anxiety,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady – backing up the conversation. “When anxiety gets elevated it begins shutting down non-essential body functions. Anxiety overload can cause fainting. If a suspect’s anxiety gets high enough, his body will put him to sleep if left alone.”
“Exactly,” Pagan said. I could see his white smile widen. “So, let’s go wake him up and drive his anxiety even higher.”
As he moved past me to exit the video room, Pagan again caught the point of my cane with his foot. I did not have my complete weight on it, but I still almost went down as I was forced to put unexpected weight on my injured leg.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, but he hadn’t even stumbled as he’d done it.
I was getting more and more pissed, but I stuffed the feeling down and followed in his wak
e, determined to keep up.
Pagan made a beeline for Tyler who held out a yellow legal pad and a black Sharpie. Pagan nodded his head toward me and Tyler turned to give me her offering. Pagan was already moving on, determination oozing from him.
He didn’t hesitate outside the door to the interrogation room where Fallo was being held. He popped the door open sharply and moved inside in a rush. By the time I’d entered, Pagan was already sitting down in a hard backed chair directly to the side of where Fallo sat with his head down on the table. I could now see the table was secured to the walls in the corner.
Pagan reached out and grabbed a leg of Fallo’s chair and, seemingly without effort, pulled the chair around so Fallo was facing him. He smoothly reached up and pulled the hoodie off Fallo’s head and dropped it down his back.
“Hey!” Fallo said, startled out of his sleepy state.
“Relax,” Pagan said, as I was closing the door behind me.
“I want my…”
Pagan got his hand up in front of Fallo’s face and spoke sharply, cutting Fallo off in mid-sentence.
“What you want is to listen to me, Fallo,” Pagan said, surprising both Fallo and me with his rapid Spanish. “I know you are going to tell me you didn’t do anything.”
Fallo was clearly caught off guard. “Yeah. I didn’t do anything.”
He was leaning back in his chair, uncomfortable with Pagan sitting so close to him. Pagan, clearly recognizing this, scooted forward to the edge of his chair – placing one of his legs on the floor between Fallo’s legs and the other outside Fallo’s left leg. He leaned forward and placed his hand on Fallo’s shoulder.
“You didn’t do anything. That’s the truth.” Again his rapid Spanish seemed to befuddle Fallo. Again his sentences were declarative, not questions.
“Yeah.”
“Then you won’t mind signing a statement saying you’ve told the truth.” It wasn’t a question, but a command. Pagan held out his hand and I passed him the legal pad and Sharpie. Pagan placed the pad on the table next to Fallo. He took the cap off the Sharpie and held it out to Fallo.
“Just write you told the truth, sign your name, and we’re done.”
Fallo looked confused. “All I got to write is I told the truth?”
“And sign your name.”
“Then I can go?”
“You told me the truth. Write it down and sign your name.”
Fallo hesitated for a moment, but then reached out and took the Sharpie from Pagan. He turned toward the table and began to laboriously print on the pad. Then, more quickly, he scribbled his name in juvenile handwriting under the printed sentence.
Pagan looked at what was written. “You’re Los Locos. You should be proud. Put your tag and gang sign.”
Fallo didn’t even hesitate. He leaned forward and used the Sharpie to decorate the paper with his personal graffiti.
“Thank you,” Pagan said when Fallo was done. He took the Sharpie back and picked up the pad. He stood up. “Sit tight,” he said, and signaled me to lead the way out of the room.
Outside the room, he closed the door and we moved away.
“What about the Miranda admonition?” I said.
“What about it?” Pagan said, while scribbling something on the yellow legal pad. “You need three things for Miranda, right?”
“Police, custody, and accusatory questions,” I said by rote, seeing where this was going and answering my own question. “And you didn’t ask anything accusatory about the crime, so Miranda doesn’t come into play.”
“I didn’t even mention the crime. All I did was agree he was telling the truth. He says so right here…” Pagan wagged the legal pad.
“Okay, so what?”
Pagan smiled. It was his go-to expression. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s see what Antonio has to say.”
Moving down the hall, Pagan opened the door to another interrogation room and we slipped inside.
Antonio Marino looked up like a startled squirrel. He was light-skinned, acne-cheeked, and scrawny. He wore a dirty t-shirt over baggy khakis and oversized Nikes. He was trying to look cool, but his whole body language screamed fear.
Pagan pulled two chairs away from the wall, sat in one, and pointed to the other. “Please sit down,” Pagan said. No Spanish this time.
Antonio sat crossing his arms. Pagan scooted his chair forward, violating Antonio’s personal space. He reached out and gently pulled Antonio’s arms loose. Pagan’s expression was petulant.
“It’s over, Antonio.”
“What’s over?”
“Fallo has told us the truth about what happened. He doesn’t want you to go down for attempted murder.”
“Fallo didn’t tell you nothing.” The sneer in Antonio’s voice and on his face was anxiety-fueled bravado.
“I don’t speak Spanish,” Pagan said. “So I need you to read this and tell me exactly what it says.” He held the legal pad out in front of Antonio.
Antonio’s eyes dropped to the choppy scrawl on the front page.
“Read it for me,” Pagan said, his voice engaging.
Antonio hesitated then, in a dull voice, read, “Payaso hizo los disparos. Le dije la verdad.”
“What does it mean in English?”
“Payaso did the shooting. I told the truth.”
I was thrown for a second, knowing Fallo hadn’t written anything about Carlos Payaso Cruz doing the shooting. Then I remembered Pagan scribbling on the yellow pad in the hallway.
Pagan began to press. “Who told the truth? Whose handwriting is it? Who signed it?”
“Fallo.”
“Okay,” Pagan said, standing up. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“A ride?” Antonio sounded more scared than ever.
“Sure,” Pagan’s voice was back at its most engaging. “I told you Fallo didn’t want you to go down for the shooting. He said you could show us where the gun was dumped.”
“Why didn’t he tell you?”
“He told us the hard part. He told us about Carlos. But he knows how the system works. He knew you would have to have something to tell us, so he said you’d show us where the gun was dumped.”
Antonio looked at the yellow legal pad again. Then stood up slowly.
An hour later, we had fished the gun and a pair of latex gloves out of a storm drain near Santa Monica Boulevard.
Two hours later, after waiving his rights and having his arms and shirt swabbed by Pagan for gunshot residue, Carlos Payaso Cruz copped to pulling the trigger. Once Cruz admitted, Fallo cracked open like a bad melon. Antonio was already cooked.
All three of the suspects were booked for attempted murder. Tyler and her crew were happy to handle all the paperwork.
It was kudos all around. However, I still wasn’t any closer to figuring out how Pagan knew from the start Cruz was the culprit.
Chapter 6
“When you commit a crime it tells me about what you did. When you lie about it, it tells me about who you are.”
- Rebecca Stincelli, Victims From Both Sides of the Badge
I didn’t know where we were going when we left West L.A. It was dusk as Pagan pointed the Escalade onto the 405 freeway north and into the heavy early evening traffic. He was humming infuriatingly, as if he was the only one in the vehicle. He had gone interior, thriving on his own central energy which was burning off him in waves.
“Where are we going?” I asked, breaking down almost immediately after vowing to myself I wouldn’t ask.
“Heading for The Hacienda.” Pagan’s lips twitched in what I had to assume was amusement. He knew he hadn’t given me an answer…knew I had no idea what or where The Hacienda was.
I let it go for the moment. I’d just have to figure it out when we arrived. There was a more pressing question.
“How did you know Cruz was the shooter?”
“Did I?”
“You know damn well you did…right from the start. Can we please stop playing games?”
“Are we playing games?”
“Damn it, Pagan!”
“All right…all right,” he said, making a tamping down gesture with his right hand. “Bad habit. I always get on the jazz after an interrogation and turn into a pain in the ass.”
I could see he was sincere, but I still couldn’t help myself. “Like you weren’t a pain in the ass before the interrogation?”
Pagan laughed, a deep rumble from the back of his throat. “You are absolutely priceless, Randall.”
“So, how much is it going to cost me to find out how you knew it was Cruz?”
Pagan sighed, releasing pent up tension I had been unaware was in him till that moment. “People look, but they either don’t see or see just what they want to see. Objective observation is like a muscle. If it isn’t used it atrophies. If you consciously apply BPEs it becomes second nature.”
“BPEs?”
“Behavior. Personality. Environment.”
“And this applies to Cruz how?”
“The victim of the ADW committed by Sander Ruiz – the drive-by victim – had the same last name and address as Carlos Payaso Cruz. Also his moniker was Little Payaso.”
“His brother?”
Pagan shrugged. “Who knows…Brother, cousin, nephew…It doesn’t matter. What matters is if you apply BPE to those facts, who would you think was the shooter?”
“Okay…I get Cruz would want to pull the trigger, but he was driving.”
“Behavior again – It’s standard gang behavior after a drive-by. They stop the car a couple of blocks away and everybody inside does a Chinese fire drill to switch up their positions and throw the cops off if they get stopped.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before we started the interrogations?”
“If you reveal the trick, the magic goes away.”
“Then why are you telling me now? Why not explain it to the young guy, Pierce?”
“You asked. He didn’t. Anyway, Tyler will explain it to him. That’s her job.”
“Are you saying Tyler knew?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then why call us?”
“Because she needed to teach her people a lesson and she would rather have them resent us than her. She has to work with them every day.”