“Then he’d have been wrong, wouldn’t he? Damnedest thing I ever heard of.” Beltran shook his head. “Only a woman would think of killing her husband with a snail.”
“There was no real evidence that she tried to kill him,” Elena protested.
“Why the hell do you say that? She had motive and opportunity,” said Beltran. “I suppose your feminine intuition told you she was innocent.”
“My feminine intuition told me we’d look like assholes if we busted her. Probably get hit with a suit for false arrest.”
“Assholes?” muttered Beltran. “I don’t like to hear that kind of language from a woman.”
“Well, just think of me as one of the guys.” Elena tried a jaunty grin. “Their language is certainly worse than mine.” She didn’t want to get into it with Beltran.
“Obviously we’ve got a female perp. Worrying about a messy, decaying corpse. Housewife reaction.”
Elena gritted her teeth and was saved from retorting by Leo’s entrance with Maggie.
“O.K., Leo, what have you got?” asked Beltran.
“I haven’t got anything.” Leo looked surprised. “Lieutenant Daguerre here saw to it that the suspect’s access code was canceled, but she said any third-grade hacker could get into that system.”
“I’ve been in it twice now,” said Maggie, “and the longer you look at it, the more security holes you find.” She turned to Elena. “Pretty exciting, huh? A female criminal. Using a computer to hide her crime. Son of a gun!”
“Maybe we ought to send it in to that ‘You’ve-come-a-long-way-baby’ commercial on TV,” suggested Escobedo and introduced himself to Maggie since no one else had. Maggie grinned and shook his hand.
Beltran glared at both of them.
“Well, I just meant,” Maggie continued, seemingly quite unaffected by his disapproval, “that what with feminism and all, you hate to think women are missing the boat on crime when they’re making such strides in other fields — medicine, law, police work, garbage collection. I saw just the other day that the city’s hired its first garbage woman. Or would you call her a garbage person? I’m not really up on feminist — “
A warning rumble of impatience issued from Beltran’s barrel chest. Manny Escobedo was laughing.
“I thought you were here to report on computer stuff, Lieutenant,” said Beltran grimly.
Maggie swerved nimbly back to the crime. “Anyway,” she said, “the only way you can be sure of keeping your suspect out of the university computer system is to have her watched night and day.”
“I took her modem,” said Elena, fishing it out of her large handbag. “And I had her phone service shut down.”
“Big deal. There are computer stations all over that campus, and she probably has friends with modems. Or she could go buy another one. Use a public telephone. How are you going to combat that?”
“We’ll arrest her,” said Beltran.
Elena’s heart missed a beat.
“We’ve got motive, we’ve probably got opportunity — as much as we could for anyone — and we’ve got fingerprints at the scene where she denies ever having been.”
Elena cursed herself for bringing in that birthday-gift box.
“We’ve got the computer evidence that points to her. Leo, you write up the affidavit and warrant. Elena, you sign with him. Then bring it back to me. I’ll get in touch with the judge myself.”
“There you go.” Maggie hooked the strap of her bag over her shoulder and rose. “O.K. if I head for home now?”
Beltran jerked a thumb toward the door in answer, and Maggie left. Elena could see that he disliked the computer expert. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d used the F-word, feminism, and she was at least six inches taller than Beltran.
“Lieutenant, I don’t think arresting Tolland is — “
“Your problem is you’re not thinking at all, Jarvis. You’ve never arrested a woman for murder, have you? Maybe you think a woman can’t commit murder — unlike your beanpole buddy, Daguerre, who seems to think women criminals are some great new invention. Well, there are female murderers. They’re nothing new. And we’ve got one on our hands, one you’re going to arrest first thing tomorrow morning.
“You, Jarvis, are going to arrest her.” Beltran stabbed a thick finger in her direction. “Because if you can’t arrest a woman, I want to know it before you take the sergeant’s exam. You’re lucky I’m not putting you in front of a review board for failing in your duty the last time.”
Elena bit her lip and tried not to look as anxious as she felt.
Escobedo shook his head. “She was right to ignore those charges, Lieutenant. There wasn’t — “
“Furthermore,” Beltran interrupted, “you’re going to bring the woman in in cuffs like you would any other murderer. And you’re not going to offer her any special consideration because you’ve been stupid enough to make a buddy of her. You got that, niña?”
Elena nodded. Beltran calling her niña, which meant little girl, was a demotion in itself.
“Assign a man to Tolland’s apartment tonight, Leo.”
Having put her down, Beltran was now acting as if she were invisible — or unreliable. As if she’d allow Sarah to get away. Maybe even help her escape.
“See that she doesn’t leave; keep her under surveillance until you’ve made the arrest. I want those affidavits tonight.”
“He’s gonna use his judicial buddy,” said Elena wanly as they left Beltran’s office and headed for Homicide Row.
“Yeah, but he’s not gonna roust a judge out at this time of night. Probably won’t be able to arrest her till noon.”
Escobedo told Elena to cheer up and asked how tall she thought Lieutenant Daguerre was. When Elena said, “A good five inches taller than you, Sarge,” he sighed, said good night, and left the department.
As soon as he got to his own cubicle, Leo made a call to set up the surveillance Beltran had ordered, after which he grumbled, “I don’t see why he couldn’t have had you do the warrant. You know how to type.” Two-fingered, he was putting in his I.D. number, then the password.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t trust me,” said Elena, dropping into her chair across the aisle. She had just begun to picture how awful it was going to be — handcuffing Sarah, marching her off to jail. “It’s a mistake — this arrest.”
Leo shrugged. “So it’s a mistake. He’s the one who’s making it. Not me. Not you, which is good, ’cause you don’t need any mistakes. You need to concentrate on getting off his shit list. He can do you a lotta damage.”
Elena knew it. Beltran, if he demanded a hearing, could get her canned or demoted. She’d hate to end up back on patrol. Frank, on the other hand, would love to see it happen.
“Hey, don’t look so down. He’ll forget about it in a year or so.”
Leo guffawed, and Elena glared at him. She knew Leo was on her side, but he could be a real pain. He had a sense of humor only slightly less raucous than Frank’s. She just didn’t mind it so much in Leo, but then she wasn’t married to him. If the warrant came through in time, maybe he’d agree to come in early so they could arrest Sarah at home rather than at her office where her colleagues would see it.
“You gotta admit she’s the best suspect we have,” said Leo. “Everything points her way. Motive, opportunity, and the acid bath.”
“Lime. We don’t know about opportunity because we don’t know when he was killed. She could have been out of town, probably was.”
“You’re too mixed up in this personally, Elena; Beltran’s right about that.”
“Hey.” Maggie Daguerre strolled up the aisle from the other end. “You know this murderer, Elena?”
Both Leo and Elena turned in surprise. “Sure, she knows her,” Leo replied. “Elena let her go the first time she tried to do in her old man.”
“Oh, come on,” drawled Elena. “An exploding snail? That’s an attempted murder?”
“An exploding snail?” Maggie started to laugh. “Well
, since you’re going off duty, how about a beer and a taco? Is that sergeant still here? He can come along.”
“He’s too short for you, Maggie,” said Elena. “And I thought you wanted to get home to bed, get a good night’s sleep before your four A.M.backpacking date.”
“Jesus, that sounds awful,” said Leo, looking up from his computer terminal. He took the minimalist approach to exercise. His one stab at nonprofessional physical activity in recent years had been tap dancing — classes, videos, sudden bouts of exuberant tip-tapping when the impulse overcame him. He called it soft shoe when he didn’t have his taps on. Leo took his dancing seriously.
“What I wanted was to get out of that office,” said Maggie fervently. “Man, that Beltran transmits hostility like vacuum cleaners radiate magnetic rays.”
“I didn’t know a vacuum cleaner had magnets,” said Leo, turning on his printer. “I’m always fixing Concepcion’s. Where’s the magnet?”
“Damned if I know,” said Maggie. “I’ve never had an apartment with carpets, but a vacuum cleaner will screw up your floppy disks. Now how about that beer?”
“Sounds good to me,” Leo agreed. “Just give me a minute.”
“I’m dead beat,” said Elena, who was depressed about her relations with Beltran and sick at the prospect of arresting Sarah the next morning.
“Tough,” said Leo. “You promised me a taco. Even if you threw in a beer, it wouldn’t add up to the steak I missed.” Having pulled the printout from the computer, he put an arm around Elena, bent down, and whispered in her ear, “A drink might cheer you up, kiddo.”
True, she thought. Four might be even better. They both signed the affidavit, and Leo took it in to the lieutenant.
Sarah was as good as arrested, Elena thought despondently.
Twenty-six
* * *
Thursday, May 28, 1:55 A.M.
Elena waved cheerfully to Leo and Maggie, who were hanging out the windows of the squad car, shouting and waving back. She waved to the patrolman who was taking them home because they were all too drunk to drive. Four margaritas had a bigger effect than she would have imagined — or had she drunk six — or eight? She hoped Beltran never heard about this. Flagging down the squad car had been bad enough. But flagging down a squad car when you were drunk and staggering around in the middle of the street down near the bridge from Mexico made a bad impression on the brass — and on the general public, who, fortunately, had been in bed, and on your fellow fuzz. Fellow fuzz — Elena started to giggle. “Bad, bad impression,” she mumbled, trying to take the evening’s transgressions to heart.
Still giggling, she attempted to fit her key in the keyhole. No luck. The keyhole wouldn’t stop dodging. Maggie was going to be sorry tomorrow, Maggie was. She was very drunk, so drunk she’d probably barf on her hiking boots — much to the disgust — Elena made another stab at the keyhole — much to the disgust of her fellow — fellow what? Fellow who? She tried the key again, and it tumbled out of her hand and clinked onto the doorstep. Oh lord, how was she going to find it when the lights weren’t on — why weren’t they? Elena always left the outside lights on.
Well, it didn’t matter. She pulled out her flashlight and played it on the cement while she leaned her head against the door and stared at the beam, following it by rolling her head, which, she found, caused a similar rolling sensation in her stomach. She spotted the brass twinkle of the key in the moving light and dropped quickly to her knees, as if the key might hop away from her.
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, her knees stinging from the rough cement. “And good-bye to another pair of hose.” She consoled herself by remembering that pantyhose were cheaper than slacks. She could have scraped a hole in the slacks that matched her jacket. Nodding solemnly at that piece of budgetary wisdom, she weaved into an upright position, key in one fist, flashlight in the other. Considering the way her stomach felt, she decided that Maggie might not be the only one barfing on her hiking boots, only — suddenly Elena remembered Sarah, her good friend and fellow divorcée. Both married to assholes. Only Sarah’s asshole was dead. Deceased. Croaked. And tomorrow she had to arrest Sarah. And handcuff her. Because Beltran said she had to.
Blinking hard against tears of self-pity, she focused the flashlight on the lock and pushed the key into the pool of light. The next moment she was stumbling into the house, the flashlight rolling on the tiles, casting a looping beam on the living room floor. The hair on Elena’s neck rose. Things were on the floor that shouldn’t be. Before the flashlight stopped rolling, she’d pulled her gun and flicked the light switch with her left band.
The sight of her living room — upholstery woven by her mother slashed, books torn and pitched everywhere, a big jagged hole knocked into the TV screen, the brass and wood chandelier lying twisted and broken among the crazily tilted springs of the sofa — the malicious violence of it all made her want to weep. Everything. Everything had been trashed. Her comfortable room that she’d accumulated piece by piece was gone.
Grasping the gun firmly in both hands, she moved from room to room in the house, her arms in position to shoot. She took the corners and the doors with care, just as she’d been taught, just as she and Leo did on a case when they anticipated the presence of someone dangerous. She covered every inch of the house, but no one was there.
Hell no, no one was here. He was home in bed. Elena hurled herself into the living room, found the telephone buried under the wreckage, plugged it back into the wall, and called him. He sounded sleepy when he answered.
“You son of a bitch,” she screamed. “I’m calling the police. Do you understand? This is the last time — “
“What happened?”
“You know what happened, you bastard. You sick, twisted — “
“Ellie, I haven’t done anything. I swear — “
“I hope they throw you in jail forever. I hope they kick your butt off the force. I hope — “ She choked on the tears as they began to flow.
“I’m coming over there.”
“Try it. Just try it, you scumbag. I’ll shoot you. That’s a promise, Frank, you — you — “ Unable to think of anything else to call him, she slammed down the receiver, took two quick breaths, wiped the escaping hair away from her forehead, and called headquarters.
“Look, Detective Jarvis,” said the young cop who arrived in response to the call, “if it was Frank Jarvis, why would he leave that message?”
“What message?” asked Elena, who felt terrible — tired to death, nauseated, trembling.
“On the mirror.” The patrol officer looked at her peculiarly.
Elena looked at the message and wondered how she could have missed it. In sloppy lipstick letters if said, “Quit it, bitch, or you’ll be sorry.” Elena blinked. Frank, even at his most angry, had never called her “bitch.” He’d knock her down, but he wouldn’t call her a dirty name. And quit what? Who had written it, and why? Elena took a mental rumble through her cases, itemized what she’d been doing the last few days. She couldn’t think of anyone who would do this sort of thing — unless it was that she had been trying to tie the Bonaventuras to Gus’s death.
Would Fat Joe order this, thinking that Elena was about to arrest his daughter or because Elena was getting close to one of his henchmen, some Willie-Spozzo type? They were mad as hell that Lili hadn’t been given permission to leave Los Santos, but there had been no active investigation of them until the last few days. Should she call Beltran and tell him about this? Could she stall Sarah’s arrest by — Elena shook her head wearily.
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