“For as long as we need.” At least Tracy hoped that was the case. She looked at the tent, and in the bright lights she saw a seasoned-looking man in a navy-blue Bellevue Police uniform talking to one of the CSI detectives. The detective looked around and spotted Tracy and Kins. He pointed in their direction.
CHAPTER 28
Faz sat at a conference room table in the Park 95 building, his hands cradling a cup of lukewarm black coffee. He’d have opted for an espresso, or caffeine IV; he was that tired. Maybe, he thought, he was just getting too old for this crap. Or maybe Vera’s illness was taking more out of him than he’d admit. He had enough years to retire on a full pension, like Arroyo, but then what would he do? He and Vera had talked of traveling, seeing those places they hadn’t been able to afford and never had the time to visit. He wanted to go back to Italy, where they’d honeymooned, and he’d promised Vera they’d get to Paris and to Barcelona, but now those trips were on hold.
He stretched the fatigue from his legs and cracked his neck, which was where he carried most of his stress. Two Advil had not yet dented the headache that had developed, nor had time silenced the persistent ringing in his ears. His arms and legs felt heavy, and he knew from experience that fatigue was to be expected after the body and the mind had undergone a stressful event. He wanted nothing more than for this night to be over, to go home and get much-needed rest, but he had a feeling the night was just getting started.
“You doing okay, Faz?” Larry Pinnacle asked the question as he walked into the conference room and shut the door. A former burglary detective, Pinnacle had become one of the six FIT investigators when that team formed in 2014. Faz had a brief working relationship with Pinnacle. They’d always been cordial, but that was the extent of their involvement. He didn’t really care. He wasn’t looking to make a new friend or hang out with the guy; he just wanted to give his statement and get home.
Faz sat up. “Just tired, you know? Let’s get this done.”
“We’ll try to make this as quick as possible,” Pinnacle said.
Faz doubted it.
“You’ve been read your Garrity Rights and signed the form?” Pinnacle asked. Garrity Rights protected public employees from being compelled to incriminate themselves during investigatory interviews conducted by their employers, a protection that stemmed from the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution, which protected a person from being a witness against himself.
Faz slid the sheet of paper he’d signed across the table. Pinnacle considered it briefly and set it aside. He slowly lowered his body into a chair. He reminded Faz of a walrus, with a drooping mustache that covered his upper lip, and a pear-shaped body and large head. “Good, okay. Any questions before we get started?”
Faz shook his head and Pinnacle adjusted a tape recorder on the table. “We’re going to record this, okay?” He hit “Record” without waiting for an answer and edged the recorder halfway between the two of them.
Faz took out his phone and said, “I’m going to record it too.” He hit the “Record” button and slid his phone next to the recorder.
Pinnacle looked at the phone but didn’t otherwise respond. Then he identified himself, his position, badge number, and his intent to interview Detective Vittorio Fazzio in the officer-involved shooting death of Eduardo Felix Lopez. When he’d dispensed with the preliminaries, Pinnacle read from a second sheet of paper. Though Faz had never been through the process, he understood from others that FIT followed a written script, and that their investigators had been trained to avoid showing emotion. It had earned them the nickname Robocops.
“Detective Fazzio, you are aware that I will be asking you questions regarding that shooting?”
“Yes,” Faz said.
Pinnacle sat back, making eye contact. “Okay, can you first explain to me: What was your purpose at the apartment building in South Park?”
“We had a last known address for Eduardo Lopez.”
“Who is . . .”
“Oh, sorry.” Faz shook his head to clear the cobwebs and sipped his coffee. “A suspect in the shooting of Monique Rodgers.”
“Thank you. Continue.”
“The apartment unit was 511. Our purpose was to conduct a noncustodial interview of Mr. Lopez.”
“And why wasn’t SWAT involved?”
“No need. It was a noncustodial interview.”
“Who made that decision?”
“I did,” Faz said.
“Did you believe Mr. Lopez to be armed?”
“Unknown.”
“So, possibly?” Pinnacle asked.
“Everyone is possibly armed, especially in this day and age,” Faz said. “Did I think he was armed and a threat? No.”
“You suspected he was your shooter in the Rodgers homicide?”
Faz shrugged. He knew the purpose of the question and wasn’t about to fall into the trap of saying yes, then have Pinnacle question why, in that case, he hadn’t assumed Lopez would still be armed. “We didn’t know he was the shooter. We knew his handprint was on a car parked in the vicinity of the shooting. He could have just been a guy fleeing the shooting who stuck his hand on the hood of a parked car who might have relevant information. That’s what we were hoping to determine.”
“Did you or your partner want SWAT to accompany you in issuing the search warrant?”
“As I said, there was no need for SWAT or a search warrant. As for what Andrea Gonzalez thought or wanted, you’d have to ask her that question. I’m not going to speculate.”
“Did she tell you she wanted SWAT present?”
Faz was trying to determine where Pinnacle was going with his questions, which didn’t sound scripted, as he’d been told. “She mentioned in the car that sometimes she felt better when SWAT was involved.”
“You remember her saying that?”
“Words to that effect, yes.”
“What exactly do you remember her saying?”
Faz blew out a breath. It seemed as though an eternity had passed since he and Gonzalez had been in the car driving to the building. “She said something like she felt more secure having someone with an AR-15 ready to put a round up somebody’s ass.”
“But you didn’t think SWAT should be present?”
“In this instance? No. As I said, it was a noncustodial interview. We had no evidence Lopez was armed or that he was Rodgers’s shooter, and there was no indication he knew we were coming and would consider us a threat. So, noncustodial interview.”
“What evidence did you have, besides the video of Lopez touching the parked car and leaving his print?”
Faz sipped his coffee and set the cup down, picking at the rim with his fingernail. “That was it.”
“Would it have been a reasonable assumption that Lopez would be armed, given that you suspected him to be the shooter of Monique Rodgers?”
“How many times do I have to say this? I’m sure there are videos out there of a lot of guys who were in that area. Should we consider each of them to be armed and a threat? We just wanted to talk to the guy, find out what he was doing over there, if he saw anything, determine if he started acting squirrelly, and take it from there.”
“But you didn’t ask that question of your chain of command, correct?”
“What question? If we should get SWAT involved? No, I didn’t ask them that.”
Faz could see the hamster wheel spinning in Pinnacle’s head, and he suddenly realized he’d made a mistake—damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If they were proceeding under the assumption that Lopez was unarmed, then why had Gonzalez been so quick to shoot? She’d have to answer that question on her own.
Pinnacle quickly pressed on. “So, you went to the apartment for a noncustodial interview.”
“And to ask if we could search his apartment.”
“Were you looking for anything in particular?”
Faz paused. Then he said, “A gun and a hoodie.”
“A hoodie being . . . what exactly?”
“A hooded sweatshirt. In the video, Lopez had a hood pulled over his head.”
“What did you deduce from that?”
“Possibly that he was trying to conceal his identity.”
“And what type of gun were you searching for?”
“If we had the chance, we were looking for a revolver, a .38. We didn’t find any shell casings at the site of Monique Rodgers’s shooting. So we were proceeding under the assumption that her shooter used a revolver. The slug that killed her was a .38.”
“And what happened when you arrived at the apartment?”
Faz took a moment. With fatigue, the ringing in his ears had become more persistent. He tugged at an earlobe, like a swimmer trying to dislodge water. “I was standing on the north side of the door frame. Detective Gonzalez was standing on the south side.”
“Detective Gonzalez is not your regular partner, is she?”
“No. My regular partner, Del Castigliano, hurt his back and took a personal day.”
“You’d never worked with Detective Gonzalez before?”
“No. She’d just started Monday.”
“Did you have any concerns bringing a detective with unknown experience to execute a dynamic search warrant?”
“I didn’t say it was a dynamic search warrant,” Faz said. A “dynamic” warrant was a label given to a search warrant if the person to be confronted was suspected of being armed and dangerous. “I said it was a noncustodial interview. Did I have any concerns bringing Gonzalez along? No. I understood that Gonzalez had been a detective in Los Angeles and had significant experience.”
“And where did you gain that understanding?”
“That’s what she told me.”
“You didn’t attempt to verify the information?”
Faz chuckled. “Verify how, Larry? Somebody tells me they have experience, I don’t call them a liar.”
Pinnacle remained all business. “So, you didn’t attempt to verify the information?”
Faz didn’t immediately answer. He knew Pinnacle was only doing his job, but what was it about bureaucratic posts that made detectives forget their own experiences and become officious assholes? “I assumed, since she’d been hired to the Violent Crimes Section, that she’d been properly vetted during the interview process, but that’s above my pay grade. Maybe that’s a question better asked of Lieutenant Laub or Captain Nolasco.”
“You were describing what happened when you arrived at the apartment.”
Faz paused to recall where he’d left off. He was starting to feel like this was an interrogation designed not to get his recollection but to trip him up—get him talking, change subjects, create confusion, anything so he couldn’t pick up on a rehearsed thread. Faz had used similar tactics conducting his own interviews. Only this wasn’t a rehearsed thread, and Faz wasn’t a suspect. Or was he? Shit, he was tired, and not just from the evening. He was emotionally tired from the past few days, since Vera’s diagnosis. And he wasn’t getting any younger.
He took a moment, sipped his coffee. The ringing in his ear persisted and he again tugged on his earlobe.
“Are you all right to continue?” Pinnacle said.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Faz said. After another moment he said, “I was on the north side of the door frame and Detective Gonzalez was on the south side. This was apartment 511. She was about to knock on the door to the apartment when I heard a voice that sounded like it was coming from inside the apartment and I put my hand up to stop her.”
“Had you or Detective Gonzalez removed your firearms from their holsters at this point?”
“Not at that point.” Faz was trying to recall when he had removed his gun.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Detective Gonzalez identify you both as Seattle police officers?”
“She never got the chance. As I said, I heard someone—”
“What did they say?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like the person was speaking Spanish.”
“Was the person speaking Spanish?”
“Gonzalez thought so. She mouthed the word ‘Spanish’ to me, and she speaks the language.”
“From where did you hear the voice?”
“Inside the apartment, I thought. But I wasn’t certain so I was asking Gonzalez and that’s—”
“You didn’t know?”
“I wasn’t sure. I thought it was from inside Lopez’s apartment. So did Gonzalez. But it could have been in the apartment next door.”
“Could you hear what was being said?”
“I told you, I could hear it. I couldn’t understand it.”
Pinnacle made a note on his pad of paper. “Go on.”
Had there even been a question? Faz didn’t think so, but he was anxious to get the interview over with. “Detective Gonzalez went to knock and suddenly I hear something, a door opening behind me, and I see her eyes go wide, like there’s a big surprise behind me.”
“She was looking at you or the door to the apartment she was knocking on?”
“She was looking at me—not at me, but just over my left shoulder.” Faz made a vague gesture with his hands. “And I see her eyes go wide, big as two saucers. Next thing I know she’s taking a step toward me and raising her arm holding her gun over my shoulder.”
“Did you hear anything before you saw her looking over your left shoulder?”
“Like I said, I heard the voice speaking Spanish and I heard a door opening behind me.”
“Did you turn around to find out?”
“I don’t specifically recall that. I was looking at Gonzalez and my focus was on the door she was about to knock on.”
“What happened next?”
“She shoved me and I stumbled backward against the other side of the hall.”
“She shoved you off balance?”
Faz detected a hint of disbelief in the question. He was six foot four and 270 pounds. Gonzalez was five foot six and maybe 130 pounds. “Yeah, she did, and she raised her arm and yelled Gun!”
“She yelled Gun!?”
“As she was raising her weapon she yelled Gun! and gets off three quick shots one after the other.”
“She pushed you backward before or after she yelled Gun!?”
“It was all about the same time. She yells Gun! as she’s raising her right arm, and shoves me with her left arm.” Faz used his arms to demonstrate.
“And you said that she yelled Gun!?”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t yell Gun!?”
Faz paused, staring Pinnacle in the eyes. “What?”
“You didn’t yell Gun!?”
“I told you I had my back to the door. Why would I yell Gun!?”
“I’m just trying to get the story straight.”
“No, you’re not. You’re provoking me, seeing if I say something that doesn’t match with what I already said, and you’re pissing me off.”
Pinnacle didn’t respond to the comment. He said, “You were facing the door you were knocking on, correct?”
“No,” Faz said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice and using his hands to explain where he was standing in relation to the door. “I was standing at an angle facing the window at the end of the hall and focused on the door to Lopez’s apartment. The door Gonzalez was about to knock on.”
“You never saw the suspect come out of the door?”
“How could I? The door was behind me,” Faz said, becoming angry.
“I’m just asking.”
“And I told you. Let’s move on.”
Pinnacle seemed to give this some thought. Then he said, “Is there any doubt in your mind that it was Detective Gonzalez who yelled Gun!?”
“Do I have any doubt?”
“Yes.”
Faz had interviewed enough suspects to detect tells. Pinnacle lowered his gaze and sat back, pen in hand. He thought Faz was lying. “No. I have no doubt,” Faz said.
“And you
have no doubt that she looked over your shoulder, saw the suspect, and advanced, knocking you out of the way?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You said she was knocking on the door?”
“I said she was preparing to knock on the door.”
“So she was facing the door, preparing to knock on it.”
“Right.”
“You didn’t draw her attention to the suspect?”
“Draw her attention how?”
“You didn’t yell Gun! ”
Faz chuckled. “What is this shit, Larry?” Pinnacle didn’t answer. “Did she say I yelled Gun!?”
“So you didn’t yell Gun!”
“I told you, Larry.”
“Did you yell Gun!?”
“I told you I didn’t.”
“And you didn’t otherwise draw Detective Gonzalez’s attention from the door to the suspect coming out of the apartment?”
“I’m done with this shit.” Faz pushed back his chair and stood.
“I’ll tell you when we’re done, Detective.”
“No, you won’t. I’m done. Or else I want a union representative before any further questioning.”
Pinnacle had also stood. He held his pen in one hand but raised both palms. “All right. All right. Let’s just move on. Okay? We’ll move on.”
“What is this shit? Did she say I yelled Gun!?”
“Let’s move on. Tell me what you recall happening after she pushed you into the hall wall.”
Faz adjusted his chair and sat, taking a moment to sip his coffee, which was no longer warm. When composed he said, “My ears were ringing from having her Glock go off by my left ear. The next thing I heard was Gonzalez asking me if I was all right.”
“Why, what had happened?”
Faz stared at Pinnacle. “I just told you, she fired three shots close to my ear. I couldn’t hear anything she was saying.”
“Was she saying something?”
“I couldn’t hear.”
“But you heard her ask you if you were okay?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
“How much time passed before you could hear her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Seconds? Minutes?”
A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6) Page 18