Mrs. Vasquez nodded dutifully and answered each question. No, she didn’t know who would want to kill her son. No, he didn’t take drugs or gamble. “Rudy was a policeman,” she said proudly. “He would never do bad things.”
The conversation lasted about ten minutes and was completely unsatisfactory as far as the Bonebreaker was concerned. Up to that point he had been unable to gather any new information. Still, that meant Lee was SOL too, and that was interesting.
“Thank you,” the Bonebreaker said as he folded the meaningless piece of paper and slipped it into the briefcase. “Here’s an idea . . . I noticed a cafe out on the main arterial. Marty and I could go there and have a cup of coffee. That would leave you free to get on with your morning.”
Both of the other parties seemed to like the idea—which suggested that neither one was entirely comfortable with the other. So the Bonebreaker and Marty said their good-byes and got into their respective cars. The Bonebreaker led the way, and Marty followed.
Five minutes later, the two of them were seated across from each other in the Green Onion cafe. It was a busy place that catered to a lot of what appeared to be regulars. Once their orders were placed the Bonebreaker got to the point. “Is Mrs. Vasquez correct? Rudy didn’t use drugs? And he didn’t gamble?”
“Heck no,” Marty said. “Rudy was a full-on Eagle Scout.”
“Okay,” the Bonebreaker said. “So, how about Rudy’s sex life . . . Was he straight? Or gay?”
“We were a couple until three months ago,” Marty answered.
“What happened?”
Marty looked away. “I cheated on him. He caught me, and that was that. Rudy wasn’t a second-chance kind of guy.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” the Bonebreaker said. “So, how about other lovers? Did he have other relationships after you two split?”
The coffee arrived at that point—so there was a short wait before the Bonebreaker got to hear Marty’s reply. “I don’t know for sure,” he said. “But judging from what I’ve heard, the answer would be no. We met at a club called the Hi-Jinx—and friends tell me that Rudy was spending lots of time there.”
The Bonebreaker felt a rising sense of interest. “Hoping to meet someone perhaps?”
Marty shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”
The Bonebreaker had what he needed, which was a trail to follow. But it was necessary to go through the motions of asking more questions so he did. And when he cut Marty loose, the young man was clearly eager to leave. The Bonebreaker waited for Marty to exit the restaurant. Then, conscious of his skimpy budget, he left without paying the bill.
* * *
Two days had passed since Lee had been suspended. Two miserable days during which Lee wanted to work but couldn’t. She awoke to the sound of a repetitive noise. She thought it was the alarm clock at first but then realized that her phone was ringing. She fumbled it on. “Lee here.”
“This is Marvin,” Codicil said. “I have some good news and some bad news.”
Lee groaned. “Okay, give me the good news first.”
“The findings of the shooting review board will be announced at 2:00 P.M., and I think both of us will be pleased with the results. You don’t have to attend—but it would be good form to do so.”
Lee yawned. “Good, thank you. I’ll be there. And the bad news?”
“I had hoped that the Internal Affairs people would drop the other investigation,” Codicil replied. “But they didn’t. So you are scheduled to sit down with them at 3:00 P.M. today. I will be present as well. Let’s discuss that immediately after the announcement by the shooting review board.”
Lee wanted to ask questions but knew why she couldn’t. The shadow team was tapping her phone, and for all she knew, Heevy’s assassins were as well. And that’s why the line had been left active . . . So that the techies could look for an additional tap and try to trace it. “Got it,” Lee said. “I’ll see you at HQ. Thanks.”
Lee got up after that, took a shower, and got dressed. A two-piece suit seemed like the most appropriate choice even though she couldn’t wear that and ride the bike, too.
And, since Lee would have to enter the building through the lobby, and pass through a metal detector, the gun would have to remain at home. That left her feeling naked.
Lee took a taxi downtown, made her way through security, and was cleared to go upstairs. Once on the third floor she was able to corral both Yanty and Prospo for a meeting that they weren’t supposed to have. It took place in a small conference room behind closed doors. “So, how’s it going?” Lee wanted to know. “Have we made any progress?”
“I don’t know that you could call it progress,” Prospo said soberly. “But it looks like the Bonebreaker paid a visit to Mrs. Vasquez.”
“What?” Lee demanded. “How so?”
“A man claiming to be Detective Lou Harmon called, made an appointment, and stopped by the house,” Prospo replied. “We found out about the visit when Mrs. Vasquez tried to call you and was referred to me. She wanted to thank you for putting another person on the case.”
“The bastard,” Lee said tightly. “He chose Harmon in order to piss us off.”
“True,” Yanty agreed mildly. “And we know it was him because only he could have Harmon’s ID. And that supports our theory. The Bonebreaker didn’t kill Vasquez, and he’s trying to tell us that.”
“So what did Wolfe and Jenkins say?”
Prospo made a face. “They took it upstairs. But Chief Corso wasn’t buying. He says the fact that the Bonebreaker stopped by could mean that he’s trying to see how much we know, he’s rolling in his own shit, or he’s jerking us around.”
“So you aren’t allowed to work the imposter theory?”
“It’s the old chicken-and-egg problem,” Yanty said. “We aren’t supposed to look at the imposter theory unless we have hard evidence to support it and, since we aren’t looking for that sort of evidence, we aren’t likely to find any. The whole thing is bullshit.”
After the get-together with Prospo and Yanty, Lee made her way to the conference room where the shooting review board was scheduled to deliver their findings. And, in keeping with Codicil’s prediction, it was a good shoot. The killing had been justified—and Lee could return to duty.
Unfortunately, the suspension was still in effect pending the findings of the IA investigators into “. . . what may have been unauthorized travel and activities during the time that Detective Lee was on administrative leave.” So any good feelings that Lee might have felt at that moment were erased by the knowledge that her job was still on the line. And that was very much on her mind as she went to meet with Codicil in the cafeteria.
“One down, and one to go,” the lawyer said matter-of-factly, as they sat down. “Okay . . . The best way to prepare for the interview is to review general concepts rather than rehearse lines. The thrust of your defense is that you suffered a job-related trauma so severe that the department not only put you on administrative leave, but placed you in the care of a psychologist. And that’s where you need to open up and show some vulnerability.
“Mark my words, Cassandra . . . Your hard-assed-cop persona is fine for the street, but it could hurt you here . . . The ‘nothing bothers me’ manner that you project most of the time will give them the impression that the video of your father’s death didn’t bother you—and that would imply that you knew what you were doing when you entered the red zone. So keep that in mind. And cry if you can.”
Lee wasn’t about to cry—no damned way. But she understood what Codicil was telling her and promised to do her best. The interview lasted twenty minutes and Lee kept it simple. She was distraught, and when she received a letter from her dying mother, she took off for the red zone without checking on the rules. Then she found herself at the center of a family feud and left as quickly as she could. The end.
There were two investigators. One male and one female. Lee had met both on previous occasions but wasn’t acquainted with either one of
them. She marveled at how expressionless their faces were. Had they gone to a special class or something?
The male was a guy named Farrow. Detective Dave Farrow. He had a round face and the manner of a Jesuit priest.
The other investigator was a beady-eyed woman named Marlo Orkov. Her black bangs were so straight, they might have been cut with a laser—and Orkov’s long nose was reminiscent of a bird’s beak. And, judging from the expression on her face, she was sucking on a sour ball. “So,” Orkov said, once Lee had finished her narrative. “You indicate that Dr. Kane can verify the severity of the trauma you suffered. But isn’t it true that you are currently having an affair with the doctor? A fact that could influence what he says?”
Lee felt the blood rush to her face and saw Codicil frown from the corner of her eye. She had neglected to mention the relationship with Kane, and he was pissed. “Yes,” Lee admitted reluctantly. “I guess it could.”
Farrow nodded. “There’s something else as well . . . According to the suspects arrested on the pier—you killed a number of people during your visit to the red zone. And you were working for the LAPD at the time.”
“Detective Lee was attacked and forced to defend herself,” Codicil interjected. “And, as you stipulated, she was in the red zone at the time. Based on the way the department’s regulations are written, they apply to members of the LAPD who are operating in the city of Los Angeles. No mention is made of the red zone. That means that Detective Lee was under no obligation to follow departmental regulations while visiting the Republic of Texas.”
The look that Orkov directed at the attorney was so pointed that Lee feared it would strike him dead. But Codicil smiled as if immune to anything other than an actual spear. “Is there anything else?” he inquired sweetly.
Farrow shook his head. “We will submit our report in a week or so . . . Until that time Detective Lee’s suspension remains in effect. You can and should report to work . . . But your activities will be limited to administrative matters. Is that clear?”
Lee nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Good. This hearing is adjourned.”
Lee left the room with Codicil right behind her. Once they were out in the hall, she turned, and he took her to task. “That was stupid, Cassandra. Very stupid. If you want to keep your job you must tell me everything. Is there anything more that I should know?”
Lee shook her head. “No, that’s it.”
* * *
Cora and her husband had been found by a relative who, having been unable to reach them via phone, entered the house with predictable results. All of the media outlets carried similar stories. Why had such a nice couple been murdered for what couldn’t have been more than a few hundred dollars? It was tragic, it was scary, and the police were determined to find the killer or killers.
Meanwhile, the Bonebreaker had been holed up in a motel waiting to see what would happen. By now the police should know that he wasn’t responsible for the Vasquez murder and that a copycat killer was on the loose. All they had to do was announce that, clear his name, and he’d be able to return home.
But no . . . Either the idiots didn’t know that somebody was pretending to be him, or they did and had chosen to let the imposter get away with it. That’s why the Bonebreaker was going to visit the Hi-Jinx Club. He had abandoned the first stolen car shortly after meeting with Marty and was riding in a taxi. The Bonebreaker waited for the car to pass the club on the right, told the driver to pull over, and paid the exact fare. Tips were a luxury he couldn’t afford.
The club wasn’t open yet and wouldn’t be until midafternoon. So the Bonebreaker had time to kill. Sunshine was a rarity for the Bonebreaker, and as he ambled down the street, he gloried in the warmth of it on his neck and hands. Were it not for the sound of God’s voice in his ear and the mission he had accepted, the Bonebreaker would have been in San Diego. He wouldn’t need much . . . Just a room within walking distance of a beach. Then he would go fishing every day. Never mind the fact that he didn’t know anything about the sport. It was the idea of doing something while doing nothing that appealed to him.
Such were the Bonebreaker’s thoughts as he bought a paper and carried it into a small bakery. There, with a sweet roll and coffee at his elbow, he read the LA Times. It felt strange to eat while wearing the mask—but it didn’t take long to get used to it.
After breakfast the Bonebreaker walked another three blocks to the Rialto Cinemaplex. It was open twenty-four hours a day and was the perfect place to get off the street. And for twenty nu he could watch all four of the movies that were currently playing.
So with the briefcase at his side, the Bonebreaker bought a ticket and made his way through the lobby to Theatre 3, where an escapist fantasy called One World was about to start. According to the ads he’d seen on TV, the story was based on the premise that the effort to spread the plague had been foiled by a team of brave CIA agents. A stupid plot to say the least. But a scenario in which the Bonebreaker’s family would still be alive. And that appealed to him. The darkness took him in.
The Bonebreaker watched three movies, and consumed a large bag of popcorn, before falling asleep in the middle of the fourth. And by the time he woke up the film was starting over. So he got up, took the briefcase off the seat next to him, and made his way out into the quickly fading sunlight. A glance at his watch confirmed that the Hi-Jinx Club was open, but just barely. And the Bonebreaker knew that a man of his age and appearance would stick out in a nightspot that was mostly empty. Besides, it was dinnertime.
After a short walk he happened across the Athena Restaurant. A menu was posted in the window. There was no chicken noodle soup; nor did the Bonebreaker expect to find any. There was mention of Greek Lemon Chicken soup however . . . And he figured that it might be an acceptable substitute. So he went inside and was shown to a small, linen-covered table. It was positioned so he could place his back against a wall and keep an eye on the front door. Had it been otherwise, it would have been necessary to request a different table.
The Bonebreaker ordered the Lemon Chicken soup and was more than satisfied when it arrived. Not only was it thick, hearty, and flavorful—the triangles of pita bread were the perfect accompaniment. In fact, he was so satisfied with the meal that he actually paid the tab.
The Bonebreaker felt an increasing sense of fear as he walked the short distance to the Hi-Jinx Club. Not regarding the possibility of being arrested—because there was very little chance of that. No, the anxiety stemmed from the fact that he would have to mix with a large group of people. Something he perceived as being threatening in and of itself. It had to be done however . . . So he kept going despite the empty feeling in his gut and a case of sweaty palms.
The Bonebreaker heard the primal thump, thump, thump of bass well before he arrived at the front of the club. And the sound was nearly deafening once he went inside. The place was packed with customers, most of whom were male. A DJ was hard at work next to the dance floor, clutching his headphones to his ears, and bobbing his head to the music.
About a dozen people were dancing and the rest were seated at small tables with drinks in front of them. Just as he had expected, the crowd trended younger rather than older, and he felt out of place. He wanted to talk to people but where to start? Maybe the bartender could help.
The Bonebreaker approached the bar, waited his turn, and made his pitch. It was necessary to raise his voice in order to be heard over the music. “Hi! My name is Nathan Como . . . I’m a reporter from the LA Times. My editor asked me to write a story about Officer Vasquez—and one of his friends told me that he was a regular here. Could you point me at someone who knew him? I’d like to get some background stuff. You know, so our readers can get a feel for the real person.”
The bartender was extremely busy and eager to rid himself of the reporter. “Sure thing . . . See the guys at that table? The one next to the tall plant? Both of them knew Rudy. You’re going to say nice things about him, right?”
; “Absolutely. Everyone I’ve talked to agrees that he was a good person.”
“All right then. I’ll send a drink over. What will it be?”
The Bonebreaker didn’t drink. So he named the first thing that came to mind. “A bourbon on the rocks.”
“Got it,” the bartender said. “It’s on the house.”
The Bonebreaker felt awkward, and his stomach was churning as he made his way over to the table next to the tall plant. “Excuse me . . . The bartender said you might be able to help me. I’m a reporter for the LA Times—and I’m writing a piece about Officer Vasquez. I’d love to get your impressions of him.”
“Have a seat,” the man with blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses said. “I’m Peter.”
“And I’m Jim,” the other man said. He had a buzz cut, a nose stud, and lots of tattoos. “We were friends of Rudy’s. What a terrible tragedy.”
“Yes,” the Bonebreaker said lamely as he pulled a chair up to the table. “As you probably know, this is where he was seen last. Were either one of you here that night?”
“I was,” Peter replied soberly. “Rudy was in a good mood or seemed to be.”
“I see,” the Bonebreaker said, as his drink arrived. “So what kind of person was he? How would you describe him?”
Everything that Peter and Jim had to say during the next five minutes was positive—and that was what the Bonebreaker expected to hear. He let the men run on and took meaningless notes as they did so. Then he bought them a round of drinks. “So,” he said, as the waitress departed, “what was Rudy doing that evening? Just hanging out?”
“He was basket shopping,” Peter replied. “And that’s how he wound up with Prince Charming.”
“Who?”
“A guy I had never seen before. They were sitting over there.” He pointed to a table that was about fifteen feet away. “Rudy was pretty picky—so I figured nothing would come of it. But no . . . They left together.”
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