Swim Move

by David Chill

  “I don’t know. In fact, Ed’s career in Largo Beach may or may not be directly related to what happened here. But cops who are dirty often have other skeletons rattling around in their closet. Take a look around. This seem like the house that a retired cop would own? I heard he had a curious departure from Largo Beach. Took disability, wound up getting an awfully nice severance package.”

  “Doesn’t mean anything. Lots of cops end their careers like that.”

  I nodded. But when someone broke the rules on one thing, they often broke the rules on other things. Once they crossed the line and gave up their values, it was easy to keep sidestepping the boundaries whenever it suited them. The rules became nothing more than an inconvenience, or in some cases, a challenge to overcome.

  “So how was he crooked?” Gottschalk asked. “Was he on the take?”

  “No. He was ripping off drug dealers. Busting them, but some of their stash and most of their money never found their way to the evidence locker. Ed wound up living a nice lifestyle,” I said, gesturing to the living room.

  “Okay. Probably not a perfect guy, but I’ve seen worse. You think any of those drug dealers might have come up here seeking revenge?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, starting to wonder if any of Ed’s collars might have gotten released from prison recently. The timing of that, however, seemed like it might be awfully coincidental, given everything else that had happened this week.

  “Right, you don’t know. Okay. Tell me about the granddaughter. Amanda, you say? She’s the one that seems to be connected with all of this.”

  “Yeah, Amanda Zeal.”

  “And she disappeared after the bodyguard was killed.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the boyfriend? He have a name?”

  I shrugged. “Wyatt Angstrom. The Beverly Hills PD is looking into him.”

  “Uh-huh,” Gottschalk said. “Funny thing. We checked Ed Zellis’s phone. He’s had a number of calls with this Wyatt Angstrom the past couple of days. Mostly short, a minute or two. Know what they might have been talking about?”

  I frowned at the revelation. “No idea. I spoke with Drew Slick yesterday, he’s the lead detective in Beverly Hills. They haven’t been able to make contact with Angstrom. Said something about getting a warrant to search his apartment.”

  Gottschalk sniffed. “A warrant? Hmmph. Leave it to Beverly Hills to do everything by the book. Okay, I’ll talk to Slick. Lots of pieces to turn over in this one. So the deceased was looking into the granddaughter disappearing. Tell me about her.”

  “Amanda Zeal. She’s an on-air reporter for Fox. Works the sidelines during football games.”

  “Good looking?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Maybe a stalker involved?”

  I thought back to what Moose had told me a few days ago. “I heard she’s had a few of those in her past, so you can’t rule it out. But my sixth sense tells me no. As I said, she and her boyfriend were assaulted on the street. Haven’t found out by whom or the reason why, but there are plenty of people around who had problems with her.”

  “Like who?”

  “People she worked with weren’t crazy about her. Neither were some of the fans. The coaches she harangued on the sideline got annoyed with her. She had a thing with a few players, too. Didn’t end well.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that,” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t have to go further than football players to find a bunch of violent guys.”

  I frowned. “Maybe.”

  “Need some names.”

  I turned my head and looked out the crystal clear window. The view was as marvelous as ever. I thought about Xavier and Rhett, and didn’t like the idea of passing their names along to law enforcement. I also didn’t like the idea of two dead bodies who had loose associations to me, and ultimately to them. I wondered if either player was capable of murder, or why they’d pick Amanda’s grandfather. I doubted Xavier had any lingering issue with Amanda. And while Rhett certainly did, he didn’t strike me as the type who would go out seeking vengeance.

  “You can’t have them,” I finally said.

  “And why not?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “Oh, it’s confidential, huh? Maybe we just run you in for obstructing justice.”

  “Won’t matter. You can toss me in the can, but eventually you’ll have to release me. And then you’ll have a civil suit on your hands. But you still won’t have the names.”

  “You’re a real wise guy,” he glared.

  “I’ve been called worse. But I promise you this. If anything turns up regarding these players, I’ll call you right away.”

  Gottschalk sighed. “So Phil’s got some women problems, huh?”

  I peered at him. “Phil’s on his third marriage,” I said. “My guess is he’ll be on his way to the fourth soon.”

  “That have anything to do with Ed?”

  “Doubt it, but I guess you never know.”

  “Have anything to do with Amanda?”

  I stared at him for a long minute. “I don’t know.”

  “You seem to know a lot about some things. But nothing that does us any good here.”

  I averted my eyes and focused on the shag carpet. “Sad, but true,” I agreed.

  *

  I spent another half hour talking with Gottschalk and then one other detective before they said they had all they needed. I asked Phil to call me later in the day. I walked out of Ed Zellis’s house and looked both ways for the thuggish-looking cop with the pasty face, but he wasn’t nearby. I decided not to wait for him, and gave some thought to just what it was I’d do next.

  It was almost ten now and getting warm. I tried to figure out why Phil hadn’t told me about the kidnapping and the ransom, but all I managed to do was give myself a headache. I called Drew Slick and learned his people had indeed spoken with Wyatt Angstrom, but they learned little. They felt Angstrom acted suspiciously, but they couldn’t hold him just for that. I told him about Ed Zellis and Aaron and my breakfast in Largo Beach, but Detective Slick didn’t express much interest.

  After I hung up, I imagined the problems of trying to bring together multiple crimes in multiple jurisdictions. The city of Los Angeles spreads out from the port in San Pedro up through West L.A. and into the San Fernando Valley. But the greater Los Angeles region spreads out much further. It is a patchwork of communities, and there are nooks and crannies like Beverly Hills, Culver City, and Santa Monica that have their own municipalities, usually with their own police forces. Other cities like West Hollywood contract with the L.A. County Sheriff for law enforcement. The different agencies sometimes work together on things, but territorial issues introduce complications. I wondered if there was a way to uncomplicate them.

  My old friend Juan Saavedra was in the process of transitioning from heading up LAPD’s Westside Division to a new position at the downtown headquarters. I called and asked Juan if he was busy this morning. He snorted his reply.

  The LAPD had been stationed for many decades at Parker Center. But Parker Center had been a flash point of controversy in the community, a symbol of the old style of policing that alienated many residents in the inner city. That some of these residents were actual criminals was immaterial. The LAPD brass decided their image needed an overhaul, and a few years ago they moved into an award-winning architectural masterpiece on First Street, just south of City Hall.

  Once I weaved through their security protocol downstairs, it took me a while to find Juan’s office. Only I didn’t find Juan. An admin nearby told me he was in a meeting. I waited for about an hour, mostly thinking up ways a defense could stop the Rams’ potent offense. Not many ideas came to mind. I felt my eyes begin to close.

  “Well, looky here,” finally came a voice from behind me. I turned to see Juan Saavedra looking very dapper in a navy suit, white shirt and maroon ivy league tie. His gray hair was freshly cut, and he projected the look of a professional politician more than a
police officer.

  I stood up and shook his hand. “You’re looking like a newly promoted man,” I said.

  “Got to dress for success,” he beamed and then sat down behind his desk.

  “Is this how commanders dress?” I asked.

  Juan still smiled. “The whole idea is you dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”

  “Smart. You’re moving up in the world,” I said, knowing I had played a role. When I helped crack the Tyler Briggs case recently, the deputy chief in charge of the detective bureau, Larry Herzog, was publicly humiliated. He had mishandled the Briggs investigation, and Juan was able to delicately remind the chief of a few other missteps Herzog had made. Soon afterward, the deputy chief was reassigned to Special Projects, which was a nice way of telling him to retire, or else.

  “Remember Kevin Perlow? He was commander in charge of detective services, but with Herzog on the outs, he got a bump up to deputy chief. Someone needed to replace Kevin’s position. Guess that someone’s going to be me.”

  “Nice.”

  Juan leaned back in his overstuffed leather chair. “Well, the wife’s happy about my raise. My oldest is applying to Princeton. He’s a straight-A student, the college counselor thinks he’ll get in. Hey, you know how much higher education costs nowadays?”

  “Oh, yeah. You recall I was a college football coach not too long ago.”

  “I swear. Over seventy grand. Every year for four years. He’ll probably get some financial aid, he’ll have to. I can’t afford all that on my own,” Juan said, his voice getting a little sad. “But if he’s got his heart set on Princeton, we’ll find a way to get him there.”

  “That’s what happens when you sign on as a parent. You’re supposed to sacrifice for your kids.”

  “Heck, my dad threw me out of the house when I was eighteen. Said sink or swim. I learned to swim. But it’s harder today. A lot harder.”

  “Very astute,” I remarked. “The world’s changing.”

  “Yeah,” he said and gave a sly smile. “But we still got crooks around here. That’s why we both have jobs. I’m going to miss running the Westside. The only benefit of downtown is I get to go to El Tepeyac occasionally.”

  I remembered El Tepeyac from a brief stint I did at the LAPD Hollenbeck station in East L.A., which was located nearby. The restaurant was a cop favorite, especially after the owner created a dish in honor of the local police, who asked for a burrito with as many ingredients as possible thrown into it.

  “Haven’t been there in a while. They still have those oversized burritos?”

  “Ha! Yeah. I got to watch it though. Have too many of those I’m going to need to have my nice pants let out at the waist,” he said, patting his stomach and then looking over at me. “So, I take it this isn’t just a visit to congratulate me.”

  I gave a small smile back. “You know me. Give a little to get a little.”

  “So what’s going on?”

  “I started off looking into an assault case. Turned into a double homicide, one in Beverly Hills, the other in Culver City. One of the victims was a former detective down at Largo PD. Name’s Ed Zellis. Ed’s granddaughter was involved in the original assault.”

  “Victim or perp?” Juan asked.

  “I started off thinking she’s the victim. Now I’m not real sure.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m trying to pull all this together and not getting far. The granddaughter’s disappeared, not sure if it’s by her choice or not.”

  “Interesting. I suppose I come in at some point here.”

  “Well, maybe. I’d like to talk with Chief Bates.”

  Juan stared at me for a long moment, his face looking incredulous. Then he started to laugh. “You want me to set up a meeting. Just you and the chief.”

  “Well, I suppose you could be there, too.” I offered.

  “Big of you. Mind telling me what you want from Chief Bates?”

  “Ed Zellis played poker with the chief. I thought maybe he could give me some insight into who might want to bump him off.”

  “Ah,” Juan said, the smile still evident on his face but fading quickly. “What a great idea. Have you grill the LAPD chief of police on what he knew about a stiff. Maybe we should set you up in a room with a single light bulb and a rubber hose to work him over if he doesn’t come clean. That good with you?”

  “Well, we may not need to take it to extremes.”

  “No, we may not indeed. Look, Burnside. We’ve known each other for a long time. And we’ve done each other some favors. One hand washes the other and all that. But I don’t get a whole lot of face time with the chief myself. And the last thing I’m going to do is ask him to do a sit-down with a P.I. who got kicked off the force ten years ago. No offense, mind you.”

  “None taken,” I said.

  “Look, I don’t like the idea of any of our brothers getting taken down, retired or not, Largo Beach or wherever. Us cops take care of our own. But there’s some office politics I have to be sensitive to here. If there’s some other angle I can help you with, we’ll see. But we’re dealing with two murders in two different jurisdictions. It’s hard enough for those two departments, Beverly and Culver, to work together. Throw LAPD into the mix? I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. I hear you,” I said. I wasn’t disappointed, nor was I surprised. But it never hurts to ask.

  “Anything else I can say no to? Since I’m in such a good mood and all?”

  “I guess asking you to call up Largo PD and get a list of Ed Zellis’s collars over the years might be a bit much to ask,” I said.

  “Just a bit. You know anyone down there?”

  “Yeah. I had a plate of waffles with one of their detectives this morning. Didn’t think he’d be receptive to my asking him for a favor. One that included a lot of extra work.”

  “So glad you felt comfortable asking me.” Juan said. “But you know something. You might just go down to their library. They won’t have police records. But they might have old issues of the local newspaper saved. If you’re lucky they’ll be digitized. If you’re not, you’d have to look at a lot of years worth of microfiche.”

  “Microfiche,” I repeated, dreading the idea of spending hours chasing down what might end up being a dead end. “Haven’t used that in, oh, a couple of decades. Say, let me ask you something else.”

  Juan sighed. “Listening.”

  “Anything you can tell me about a Wyatt Angstrom? He’s going out with the granddaughter.”

  “If it’ll get you out of here quicker, well, okay,” he said.

  Turning to his computer, Juan asked me to spell the last name. He spent a few minutes looking through some databases. Finally, something caught his attention.

  “He reported his car stolen a few months ago. White Jaguar. Said someone stole it out of the Fox lot on Pico. From the garage. Never recovered.”

  “Okay. Anything else on Wyatt?”

  “Let’s see. Well. Got busted for check washing ten years ago, but the jury failed to convict.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Yeah. And then there’s this. He did get convicted of tax evasion a couple of years ago.”

  “Really? I guess those monthly Jaguar payments. Must have needed the cash. He do any time in the can?”

  “Says here he got no jail time, just a slap on the wrist,” Juan commented, shaking his head. “I hate this crap. Some people think tax fraud is a victimless crime. Non-violent offender and all. They say leave the prisons for the hardened criminals. Problem is, guys like this just keep doing what they’re doing. Half of them will go before a judge again on the same charge. Might get a longer probation. Not much impetus to change their behavior if the punishment isn’t there.”

  “Yeah,” I said, starting to wonder what else Wyatt had been up to that he had been getting away with. It might be time to pay him another visit.

  “If we’re going to have laws, we ought to enforce ‘em,” Juan continued. “Convict thes
e felons and put ‘em away. My two cents, anyway. Hey, speaking of convicting people. How’s everything by Gail? Still keeping busy prosecuting bad guys?”

  “She’s fine,” I said.

  “I guess she’ll be getting a new boss next year. Sutker’s taking a run at mayor.”

  “He’ll lose,” I said. “There’ll be some dirt coming out on Sutker soon.”

  “That’s interesting,” he said approvingly. “Got any more gossip?”

  I decided to choose my words carefully. “Maybe her new boss will be the good citizens of Los Angeles.”

  Juan squinted at me. “Say what?”

  “Gail’s thinking of running for City Attorney. Doing more than thinking actually. We’ve started looking into fundraising.”

  Juan let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be. You might end up as a political spouse.”

  “I might.”

  “And knowing Gail,” he said slowly, pondering this for a moment, “she could have quite a career in politics. Good-looking, smart, articulate. She’s got the whole package. You might be First Man one day.”

  “Not likely. I have some baggage. The whole thing concerns me. I don’t want her to get labeled because of something I was accused of a decade ago. And falsely, I should add.”

  Juan nodded. “True. Being a public servant takes its toll. More on the families than on the person themselves. And you’ve got your past history.”

  “There’s that.”

  “Worried about anything else?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve got enough on my plate right now to worry about, thanks.”

  “Okay. And keep me informed about what’s going on with that case of yours. I like keeping tabs on you.”

  “And the chief probably likes keeping tabs on what cases the PDs like Beverly Hills and Culver City and Santa Monica are working on,” I said.

  “He does.”

  “And he’ll have you to thank for the info. And the gossip.”

  “He will.”

  I got up to leave, albeit unsure of where to go to next. “Glad I could be of service to you.”