“For the record, even though I don’t have your experience working homicides, I agree with you.”
“Thanks. I just hope we’ll figure it out before anyone else loses their life.”
“Do you think we’ll be that lucky?”
Parks took another swallow of his drink and watched the passing cars without commenting one way or the other.
PART
TWO
8
Assistant Chief Hardwick was having a quick late afternoon meeting with Detectives Parks and Wilkes, notifying Wilkes of a possible 459—burglary—and 187—homicide—that he was now in charge of. Detective Mark Wilkes was a short-tempered man who had worked his way up through the ranks, feeling himself to be more deserving of his position and special privileges than most others. He usually went along with the flow of the department and whatever decisions Hardwick made concerning him and his partners. Most of his career it had just been him and Cal Ramirez, though a year ago they had been assigned Detective Lewis Hayward, a twenty-year vet from the east coast. Wilkes was in his late thirties, with pronounced, becoming features, and the air of someone who used to attract attention based on his looks despite years of partying and reckless living that had yet to fully catch up with him. His face was tanned and lined, particularly around the eyes, while the stubble along his neck was starting to grey. It wasn’t hard to see why women would find him attractive. That was until he opened his mouth, usually to say something offensive.
“Are you serious? I thought you took us out of rotation?” Wilkes asked as he stood on the opposite side of her desk. He tried his best to be intimidating, with his hands on his hips and a look on his face that would have scared Medusa. At barely five nine, Hardwick stood a good three inches over him, and even if he had a good fifty pounds of muscle on her, she was still his boss and didn’t care how he stood or barked his replies. Parks knew she had seen tougher and rougher men (and women) in her career as a law enforcement agent and wasn’t about to let some snot-nosed, trust-fund brat tell her how to run her department.
“You know my team has to be ready to testify in the Cosway killings,” Wilkes continued.
“I’m aware of that,” Hardwick said. “And I’ve been informed by the DA that you and your team members will not be called for at least another week. That gives you plenty of time to process the crime scene and give your analysis of what happened. If for some reason one of your team members or yourself needs to be pulled early to appear in court, I will have the case reassigned.” Hardwick looked to Parks who acknowledged that he would be the assuming detective. “Until then, it’s yours.”
Wilkes cracked his knuckles and ground his crooked teeth, not sure which step he should take. He was a fit man, having paid extreme focus on his health with daily exercise routines and with the food that he put into his body. He believed his body was a temple, felt no reason to treat it as anything less, though apparently that rule didn’t apply to booze and cigarettes, which he went through at an impressive rate. This was also why he felt himself deserving of as many women as he could get, part of the reason he juggled both a wife and mistress—a supposedly little known fact that most of the department was well aware of. Including Hardwick and Parks.
Regardless, the information had never been used against him. And with his sister married to the mayor, it just might never be.
“Fucking hell,” Hardwick continued when Wilkes just went on staring at her. “Look, Nelson’s already handling a full caseload, and she just took on the Koreatown double shooting. And I’d give it to Parks, but it’s his team’s first week back from their mandatory hiatus”—Wilkes huffed at this comment—“and they’re already working the Tisdale poisoning and that has a high priority from the mayor himself. Until we have further details, I want him and his team focused on that. Not to mention the Kozlov bullshit, which I know you’re well aware of. Would you like Kozlov to walk?” Wilkes remained quiet. “Like I said, if you need to be pulled, then I’ll reassign it. Parks will take over. Until then, it’s yours.”
“Yeah, right,” Wilkes huffed.
“Look . . . Parks, what are you up to right now?” Hardwick asked.
“Nothing life altering. Just going over notes again.”
“You have a free hour or two?”
Parks eyed Hardwick, knowing where she was going with this but knew he should keep the peace. His team was being given a lot of leeway their first week back.
“Sure thing.”
“Good. Then I want you to shadow Wilkes on this homicide. Just stand back and observe the scene. That way if I do have to reassign the case then you’re at least a little familiar with it. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Parks said.
“That sound agreeable to you, Wilkes?”
“Do I have a choice?” Wilkes asked, turning to leave.
“Wilkes,” Hardwick said, looking down at the paperwork on her desk.
Wilkes stopped at the door, not turning around.
“Don’t worry about those two bastards. They’ll get their day in court and what’s coming to them. I won’t let you miss that or mess it up for anything in the world. Now go on.”
Wilkes left the office and Parks hung around.
“Are you sleeping okay? You look like shit.”
“Just a late night,” Parks said, shaking his head. “I’ll catch up tonight. I promise.” Truth was, ever since he had started the Tisdale case his sleep had become less and less frequent with each passing night. Most nights he stayed up too late working on the case and then when he finally did decide to hit the sack his dreams were usually muddled with images of Peter Kozlov and razor blades. But he knew better than to ever admit that.
“So how’d your deposition with Wolfe go?”
“Legal said it went positive for us. Wolfe’s still going to find a way to try and spin it. But they said as far as we’re concerned, there’s nothing more we can do about it. You hear anything?”
“Judge Vogel is going to hear pleads by the end of this week,” Hardwick said sitting at her desk.
“Vogel? That good or bad?” Parks wasn’t familiar with the man enough to know how he would vote on the dismissal.
“He’s a grandparent so he’s sure as hell not going to want Kozlov out free on the streets,” Hardwick began. “But he’s also considering running for office so he’s going to follow the law. He’ll throw out all evidence that Levinson touched or had anything to do with. We’re going to have to prove we had enough without Levinson’s help.”
“I was leading the team on this investigation,” Parks began. “And he was my number two guy. He had a hand in everything.”
“I know,” Hardwick agreed.
“They’re going to throw out the entire case.”
“Most likely.” Parks looked up, concern on his face, and Hardwick shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about your case. It’s tainted. It’s all garbage. I can’t have Wilkes looking into it because he’s got the Cosway case being looked into by IA as well. So I’ve got Nelson’s team going over the entire case to see if she can find anything new.”
“But if she’s basing her new findings off my old case notes then her findings would be corrupt as well. That won’t work either.”
“There’s not a lot we can do. I know he was one of your closest friends but right now Levinson has left us royally fucked. It’s a gamble. There’s nothing new we can do. Just hope to God that the fact that this man attacked children will outweigh the illegal means through which we captured him.”
“Either that, or hope that if he goes free a pissed off parent will take justice into their own hands.”
“He better not get free,” Hardwick said. “For all our sakes. You think we have image issues right now? Hell . . . you better hope to God that man doesn’t go free. Or else then we’re all fucked.”
“What about the wife?” Parks asked, the thought just coming to him.
“What about her?”
“He attacked her. Plus, you can’
t tell me she didn’t or doesn’t know things that could be used against him. I could talk to her?”
“You, will have nothing to do with anything having to do with the Kozlov case from here on out. But it’s a solid idea. I’ll make sure she’s approached.”
Parks breathed deeply but knew she was right. If they wanted this bastard locked up for life then there was nothing he could do about it. He had to play by the rules of the game. And right now he was very close to going over the edge.
“All right. Just let me know if there is anything else I can help you with.”
“You know I will. Now go help Wilkes.”
* * *
“So the cause of death is . . .?” Wilkes stood over Amy Tanaka as she did her best to examine the body that had been called in by the building super at a little after six that evening. The deceased had been identified as thirty-four-year-old Ian Harris, an up-and-coming photographer who had recently been receiving accolades for his eccentric and somewhat extravagant setups that were planned down to the most-minute detail. His most-noted piece of work thus far in his short-lived career was a photo spread he did for Vanity Fair with the cast of Twilight, recreating the famous dinner scene from The Thin Man, even though most fans of Team Edward vs. Team Jacob probably had no idea who or what The Thin Man was. The photograph was detailed and dated to look as if it had been taken during the 1930s. Each actor was dressed in authentically recreated costumes with numerous trinkets and clues spread about the picture to give hints related to who the actors were in real life, who their famous Twilight characters were, and who the killer at the crowded dinner table was. That was if the observer was willing to put the time and patience into scrutinizing the photo to find the answer. Rumor had it that Harris had just been hired to reassemble the Harry Potter cast, though nothing had been officially announced and usually never was until the photo was revealed.
“No comment,” Tanaka replied as she lifted the orange reflective glasses from her face having finished observing the body for biologicals.
“You’re not a damn celebrity,” Wilkes shot back.
“Hold your horses,” Tanaka snapped while jotting down several notes.
Wilkes wasn’t her favorite person to work with, but she had never let that stop her from doing her job. She was, as always and no matter what, a true professional. That also happened to be Wilkes’s problem. He was a professional pain in the ass as far as most were concerned. Not that he didn’t have his pluses. He closed cases. And quite often. It was because of his ability to close cases that he felt his rough exterior was accepted. Wilkes was the “bad cop” to every other officer’s “good cop.” Most on the force agreed he was a good detective. He just wasn’t the most agreeable person to be around.
“My horses don’t need to be held,” Wilkes replied. “They need answers.”
Tanaka glared over at Parks, standing silently in the corner, and prayed for his participation in—or possibly commandeering of—this case.
Sitting before them in a sofa chair, slouched over a kitchen table, was Ian Harris’s body. Across the top of the table, underneath the victim’s head and several rolls of film, were the numbers 313 written in women’s red lipstick. The tube of lipstick had been left on the corner furthest from the victim’s head and had already been photographed, bagged, and tagged. Tanaka tried maneuvering around the body as a pool of blood had formed on the table around the man’s face and on the floor below him where it had dripped off and collected. When the victim’s head was lifted back from the table, it was discovered his face was contorted and covered with blood that appeared to have leaked out through the man’s eyes. With most of his body bloated and his hands, arms, and face discolored, it was difficult to get a positive visual identification even with the super letting them know who lived in the loft. Tanaka maneuvered the corpse’s hand and held several fingers up to her scanner, where the prints were immediately fed into IAFIS. Five minutes later, while she was examining the eyes for lacerations, the corpse’s identity was confirmed.
“Can’t you just say the man bled to death and let my men get to the body?”
“I could say that,” Tanaka replied without looking up at the detective. “But that doesn’t necessarily make it true. Now, do you want the truth or just whatever half-assed theory I can throw at you to shut you up and get me the hell out of here? It’s your report, Detective.”
“So you’re saying he didn’t die from bleeding to death from his eyes?”
“I’ll have to get him to the lab to do a full autopsy to know for sure,” Tanaka answered. Wilkes’s internal groan could be heard throughout the room so she continued. “Did he die from blood loss? It’s possible. There is a lot of blood here. Was it enough to kill him? Only if he didn’t quickly receive the proper medical attention. But you’re looking for what caused the blood loss as his reason of death. What that cause is, I don’t yet know.”
“But what could cause that?”
“Officially?”
“Just whatever you can tell me off the top of your head. I know you need to wait for your damn autopsy to be official. Your guess will do me fine just now.”
“Off the top of my head? Trauma. Infection of some sort. Thrombocytopenia. That’s decreased blood platelets. Leukemia has been known to cause bleeding from the eyes. Hereditary disorders. Liver disease. Hemophilia or an anticoagulant of some sort. And there’s also hyphema which is bleeding between the cornea and iris. Or a face fracture.”
“Does his face look fractured to you?”
“No it does not, Detective,” Tanaka answered, studying the body. “But this is one of the most violent crime scenes I’ve seen in a while.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. You want a reason, then pick one of those. I won’t know for sure until—”
“You complete your autopsy,” Wilkes finished for her as he waved her off. “Son of a bitch. All right. So when will that be?”
“The autopsy?” Tanaka knew she was about to disappoint the man. “Sorry, but I have a backlog a mile long. On top of that, it’s Monday evening and today’s Labor Day. Half the department’s working overtime already, and it isn’t exactly a slow time with it being a holiday. Probably won’t get to it until Wednesday. Maybe Thursday.”
Wilkes breathed deeply to let it be known he was disappointed. But this wasn’t his first homicide, and it wouldn’t be the last time she would tell him to wait. He usually had someone he could call somewhere and get strings pulled and people pushed around. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be done about a line of dead bodies.
“All right,” Wilkes said, giving in. He wasn’t done with this yet, but as far as she needed to be concerned, he was. “One last thing. I need to know how to pursue this investigation. Was our guy here possibly the victim of homicide?”
Tanaka stared at Wilkes, feeling sorry for the man. “Look . . . officially, I can’t tell you anything just yet. Off the record, the door and windows were locked, so how did someone get out of here? Then again, it appears there was some sort of violent spasm by the victim before he died. Was that from contact with another person? I have no idea. There are no obvious markings or lacerations on the body anywhere to show signs of violent trauma. So who’s to say? For everything that says this is a homicide there’s something that says it isn’t. Have I ever seen anything like this before to suggest one way or the other, homicide versus accident? No, I haven’t. But my gut, based on other crime scenes, would say this is.”
“Thank you.” Wilkes smiled sarcastically. “That will do just beautifully for me for now. Contact me as soon as you know anything definitive.”
“Will do, Detective.”
“You get all that down, Boy Scout?” Wilkes asked Parks as he walked by the man and out of the room.
Parks shrugged at Tanaka who rolled her eyes and went back to her body.
Thirty minutes later she finished her inspection of the body and backed off to make room for the members of Wilkes’s team. De
tective Cal Ramirez was a family man with a pockmarked face and beady eyes who always had a joke ready to be told. The third man in Wilkes’s team was Detective Lewis Hayward, who had been with the department for almost two years, though, at forty-five, he was far from its youngest member.
Hayward relayed that he had been going door-to-door to interview Ian Harris’s neighbors, checking for signs of anything out of the ordinary, from suspicious people lurking around the building to vehicles that didn’t belong, which along that area of Beverly and Western wasn’t all that uncommon. An hour later he had come to the conclusion that while Ian Harris may have been a dick from time to time, most of his neighbors knew little about him.
No one appeared to be holding any grudges.
No one appeared to wish him any ill will.
Overall, most people didn’t know him.
“All right,” Wilkes said, addressing his two men in the front room of Ian Harris’s loft. The forensic people had finished with the scene, having lifted numerous fingerprints and other hairs and fibers, all labeled and ready to be taken back to the lab to be analyzed. There were several glasses of half-drunken booze and a brown-paper-wrapped package that was empty of whatever it had contained. Hopefully they would get lucky with the fingerprints that were all over the box.
Unfortunately, he had to wait for the autopsy results before he could give any definitive direction to the case, but until then they would hit all of the usual channels. Family. Friends. Neighbors. Business associates. The works.
“Tomorrow, I want you two to hit up the vic’s work space. Hayward, you’re better with computers than Ramirez or me. I know he was a freelance photographer, but get a hold of his agent and manager if he has one. See if he has any shows in any galleries. Assignments he may have been working on. See if he’s pissed anyone off lately or if he’s behind on anything. There’re a few photos around the place that make it look like he might have been hanging with the paparazzi lately, and we know how loved they are. Then, if you can, go over his financials and see if there’s anything outstanding there. I want to know if he was in any sort of trouble. I’ll be notifying the family and coming up with a timeline leading up to his death. Okay. Any questions?”
The Poisonous Ten Page 8