A Deadly Legacy

by Julie Vail

  “Did you get a promotion you’re not telling us about, Shin?” Gonzo asked. “These must have cost you a fortune.”

  Mike looked over at Janis and smiled. “Well, my cousin owns a restaurant, and he got a double shipment he didn’t order, so he gave these to me.” He paused. “I also passed the detective exam.” We all looked up at him. We were stunned. We didn’t even know he was interested in leaving patrol.

  “Damn,” I said.

  “I’ve asked for ACU, but I don’t know where I’ll end up.” The Asian Crime Unit was established to support the growing Asian population in the L.A. area. That would mean Mike would be transferring to another area. We’d see less of him than we do now.

  After congrats all around and we took seats again, Amelia asked him where he would go if he was transferred.

  “Probably Wilshire or Rampart.” He shrugged. “If they decide to keep me here with you clowns, how can I complain about that?”

  Then Dan Rios spoke up, a person not heard from all evening. “Well, honey, why don’t we share your news?” The tension in his voice was palpable. Amelia looked at him and shook her head.

  “I’m moving to SIS . . . temporarily,” she finally said.

  “Temporarily, until it ain’t, querida,” Dan said. The Special Investigation Section helped detectives with the most brutal and hard to solve crimes in the city. The unit was controversial. Dan had been on the prosecution side against both criminals and cops involved with the unit. He was right to be worried. The good news was that it was temporary. They moved detectives in and out of the unit regularly.

  “Dan is not happy about this, as you can tell.” Her eyes softened, conveying apology. Dan’s remained dark and angry. Their relationship was like a well-choreographed tango. They had a tremendous amount of energy for each other, which was why they had none left for kids. Sometimes the electrical storm was fun to watch. Not this time.

  We were all silent for a moment. Obviously, Gonzo was also hearing this for the first time, and he stood and walked over to her and sat down.

  “You’re kidding me, right? Tell me you’re kidding, Carter.”

  “Gonz?” Alex admonished. We could all feel where this was going. Amelia looked at him with eyes that pleaded to be left alone about this. Gonz missed it.

  “Tell ‘em no.” His voice was matter-of-fact, like that was the easiest thing for her to do, the only thing.

  “Gonz, come on. She can’t.” Alex spoke softly as he sat back in the chair picking his nails. He was right. Amelia wanted to get ahead. The more experience she had, the quicker it would come. Dan knew it, too.

  Mark stared at her for a moment, then found himself again. He draped his big arm over her shoulder and pressed, weighing her down. She buckled for a moment under the weight, and then she smiled. It was enough that her husband was upset. She didn’t need her partner up her ass about this, too. He grabbed the back of her neck gently and said, “Go do what you need to do, then get back here, okay? In once fuckin’ piece, Carter. I fuckin’ mean it.”

  “We all do,” Alex added.

  We sat around and drank, then cooked up the carne asada. And as the evening wound down, we all fell into a familiar pattern. Alex and Lisa curled up together on one of the lounge chairs, Mike and Dan engaged in serious conversation about community involvement and activism, Janis and Amelia sharing family stories, and Gonzo and me, off in a corner, sharing our glass of scotch and staring out at the canal.

  How I wished, on that evening, surrounded by the people I loved, that I could see into the future. Would I have done things differently?

  ††††

  I woke up the next afternoon with a small headache, easily cured with a couple of aspirins. While the coffee brewed, I got dressed in the same clothes I wore the night before. I was planning to go see Gregg Patterson at the hospital. But I was really going to see her, wasn’t I? I changed into fresh clothes.

  From the moment I first saw Doctor Karen Gennaro I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Now, I’ve been around for forty-plus years and I’ve been with many women. I have never met a woman who had this kind of effect on me. And it wasn’t even for the swinish reason of wanting to get into her pants—I did, but for once in my life, it wasn’t my primary motivation. I wanted to know her. I had a feeling it would change my life.

  After I left the hospital yesterday I did what any cop with a computer password would do: I checked her DMV records, and then I checked the hospital records. What I was doing, looking at someone’s personal information for reasons other than to investigate them, could get me fired, and quick. She was single and she owned one of those new condos that just went up overlooking Marina del Rey. She was Senior Director of Trauma, Critical Care, and Emergency Medicine. She would turn forty in a few months. She drove a 2009 Audi TTS in Ibis White, with vanity plates that read TRMA QWN. It was the ‘single’ part I was concerned with, actually. The other was just icing on the cake.

  Patterson was groggy and in some pain when I got there, but he looked good, considering. We got so involved in talking about the latest baseball trades, with the Yanks in particular, that I didn’t notice her come in. She cleared her throat to get our attention, and that’s when we both looked up.

  Her hair was the color of honey, and hung down to the top of her shoulders. It was thick and wavy, with highlights that glowed under the florescent lights of the room. Her eyes were that same intense blue I saw that first day, and she was taller than I remembered. The woman possessed the most beautiful face I’d ever seen—angular, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that gave her a look of quiet strength. She wore white linen; the top sleeveless, the pants just snug enough to show off what she had. And what she had was a classic hourglass figure. This woman wore curves in all the places God intended a woman to wear them. Simple sandals decorated with pink rhinestones covered her feet, the jewels matching the color on her toes. The whole ensemble against her tanned skin was beautiful. Her infectious smile caught me off-guard and I stood.

  “Excuse me,” she said, raising her hand. “I can come back . . .”

  “No, no,” Patterson protested, thank God. “This is Detective John Testarossa, a colleague and rival. John, Doctor Karen Gennaro.”

  She came forward and quickly extended her hand. “Hello, detective—Testarossa.” She smiled, cocked her head to the side and stared at me for a moment, then said, “If you’re a rival maybe I should stick around a while. Protect my investment.”

  Okay by me, I thought to myself. Her voice was low, and I caught a trace of an accent I couldn’t place.

  “We’re rivals only when a ball is involved,” I explained.

  She smiled down at Patterson and said, “You won’t be throwing a ball around any time soon, I’m afraid. Let’s take a look.”

  “Uh, I’d better get going. Leave you to it,” I stammered as I reached for my keys.

  “You’re fine,” she smiled, looking down at the chart she held. “I’ll just be a minute.” She untied his gown at the neck and pulled off the bandage at the top of his shoulder. Gregg winced, and so did I. The wound was red and swollen. The stitches crisscrossed for about six inches, finishing below the collarbone.

  “You were very lucky, officer,” she said.

  “Tell me about it.” She inspected the wound carefully, replaced the bandage, then consulted the chart again.

  “Looks good.” She wrote some more on the chart. “So, Officer Patterson, here’s where we stand: extreme pain, fever—these are the things we don’t want, alright? You remember me telling you all this yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you start to feel sick, or the pain is more than it is right now—which doesn’t seem too bad . . .” She looked at him for confirmation and he gave it with a nod. “Then we can look forward to your departure by the end of the week.”

  “Great, huh, buddy?” I said.

  “We’ll keep a close eye.” She uncovered that wound at his side. It looked even worse. I’d ne
ver been shot, and I never wished to be. But I’d reconsider if she were the doctor.

  “Looks good.” She bandaged him back up, scribbled on the chart again, and smiled. “Alright, then. I’ll look in on you later. Eat if you feel like it.” And then she looked up at me. “Nice meeting you.” And before I could unwrap my tongue and say, “You, too” or something equally profound, she was gone.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “You should have my view, pal,” said the asshole smugly. Oh, I plan on it, buddy. I plan on it.

  SIX

  The boy looked twice as he passed the Buick, sitting four doors down from his house. It was his father’s Buick, but his father was not alone. Four doors down, where anyone could see. He ran toward his house, then kept running. He crossed the street at the end of the block and ran down the steep embankment to the railroad tracks. Old glass bottles, cigarette butts, a milk carton, emptied long ago, littered the tracks where trains passed long ago. He smelled it before he saw it.

  The man lay facedown. His pants, once a tan color, were almost black with dirt, as was his once-white t-shirt. The old man was dead. He remembered this man from a week ago, when teenaged boys surrounded him and threw rocks at him, kicked at the helpless old man as he lay curled up. He’d turned, looked into the eyes of the boy, pleading. The boy had gotten into trouble for going down to the tracks. He hadn’t helped the man; he told no one.

  And now the man was dead.

  He ran up the embankment to the street. The sun was down. His father was out front, waiting for him His mother and two sisters were in Jersey visiting her brother.

  The father looked at his son, running up the street. He wondered if the boy saw him in the car, in a weak moment where nothing and no one else existed except her. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it. It bobbed at the side of his mouth as he spoke.

  Where have you been?

  Just around, he answered.

  ‘Just around’ where, John-o? It’s dark. I been lookin’ for you for half an hour. He swatted his son lightly on the behind as he passed. What would your mother say if I lost you while she was visiting your uncle Frank?

  His father looked larger than life, standing on the front stoop in tan chinos and a clean white t-shirt. His black belt rested around his slender waist, and he fingered the buckle as he spoke. His father took his belt off the last time he went down to the tracks. The boy didn’t want him to find out he’d been down there again. A half hour ago he was in the front seat of the Buick with that lady from the park.

  His father bent at the waist and put both large hands on his knees. I’d never hear the end of it from your mother. Can’t you see it’s dark?

  He stared into the warm, ebony eyes of his father, then grabbed him around the neck. The man lifted the boy into his arms and squeezed him tight.

  Sorry, dad. I didn’t notice.

  I was on my third cup of coffee the following Monday, when Alex walked in.

  “Heard from the coroner’s office on our corpse?” he asked.

  “Nothing yet,” I answered, not looking up. It was 10 a.m. and already it was 85 degrees outside. Now that the rain disappeared, it looked like we were back to normal. Our week had been full with cases unrelated to the severed arm.

  Captain Dale Blackburn stood in the doorway of the ‘pit’, where we all worked together. Six desks, arranged so that we could all smell each others lunches, and listen in on each other’s phone calls—work-related or not. It was never dull.

  I looked up and smiled. Barely. He was in uniform today, which meant he had a meeting, or an appointment in the community.

  “Report of shots fired from a small convenience store on Beethoven. Gonz and Shin are already on their way.”

  “Shin?” I asked dumbly.

  “Yeah. Detective Michael Shin. I think you know him. Korean guy?”

  “Oh, yeah, him. Why is he with Gonz?”

  “Gonz requested he partner with Shin until Carter comes back. Detective Carter joins SIS as of this morning. You up to date now, detective, or should we let this yahoo shoot up all of Mar Vista while I explain further?”

  “Bad day, boss?”

  “It’s gettin’ there.”

  I took the printout from him and we grabbed our jackets.

  “Be safe, huh?” he said.

  ††††

  We arrived on the scene at the corner of Palms and Beethoven St. The neighborhood was a mix of post-war homes and historically preserved architectural wonders. And sitting on the corner, in the middle of it all, was Bob’s Beethoven Market. I’d stopped many times over the years for a quick carton of milk or a six-pack. An Iranian guy owned it, and his name wasn’t Bob.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Gonz, who was crouched behind his car, gun drawn. Mike Shin was next to him. “Hey, Mikey.” I added with a nod. Several patrol cars were parked askew, and the surrounding streets were being blocked off.

  “Guy was shooting at us a few moments ago. It’s been quiet for about two minutes.”

  “Great,” I said, drawing my own weapon. “Cover me.”

  “Johnny . . . fuck,” muttered Alex, drawing his weapon. “I’m right behind you.”

  Two patrolmen were already pressed against the side of the building as neighbors stood on the sidewalk across the street, like they were watching the Rose Parade instead of a gun battle.

  “Get the fuck back inside your homes, godammit,” shouted Gonz, as a patrolman materialized and began herding people back inside their houses, feeling that perhaps a homicide detective’s time could be better served. I was pressed against the stucco building on the north end, next to the glass entrance to the store. I heard moans, and then a man crying.

  “We don’t have any goddamned idea what we’re dealing with here, do we?” I asked my partner.

  “Usually we wait for instructions, or at the very least, more info, before we get all Wyatt-fuckin’-Earp. You with me, pendejo?” Asshole, loosely translated.

  “Yeah,” I said, raising my weapon. I reached out and, staying out of range, opened the glass door. I pushed until it stayed open on it’s own. I took a quick peek inside, and saw a woman lying on the ground six feet inside the entrance, between the door and the cash register.

  “Police,” I announced. Silence. “Let’s end this, huh?” I shouted again. “Got one on the ground,” I said to Alex.

  I got low and went through the door. Then I went left. Alex followed and, after a signal from me that all was clear to this point, he went straight for the woman on the ground. Alex felt the neck and shook his head. I pressed myself against a display rack of potato chips, then moved slowly toward the rear of the store. I heard crying again, and followed the noise.

  He sat against the dairy case, gun raised toward the ceiling and resting against his cheek. He was young, and dressed in full fatigues. I knew who it was immediately, though if asked later on, I wouldn’t have been able to say how.

  “Police officer,” I said quietly. He sobbed, gun resting against cheek like a lover’s hand. “PFC Alton?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” he whispered.

  “Drop your weapon, Marine. It’s over now.” Alex came around the other way, and we both drew down on him. Every sound now became amplified, as it does when the adrenaline is pumping. I heard something behind me, and saw a patrolman enter the store. He spoke into the rover attached to his chest, then drew his weapon, covering me. I held up a hand, and he stopped. I saw all this through my peripheral, not taking my eye off PFC Alton for a second.

  “I . . . I got ‘em, sir . . . I got ‘em all . . .” Behind Alex an elderly man lay in a pool of blood. Out of sight, but coming from one aisle over, a woman was moaning. I nodded, and Alex backed slowly away, then turned down the next aisle. I signaled for the patrolman behind me to join him.

  “It’s all over now, son. I want you to drop that weapon, and get your face down on that ground. That’s an order, son. You hear me, Marine?”

  “It hurts. My head hurts.”

>   “We’ll get that all taken care of,” I said, inching closer. He cut his eyes to me, and I could see the pain, the desperation. He raised the gun off his face, and slowly brought the barrel down.

  “You’re gonna drop that weapon, son, and you’re gonna do it right now,” I said, aiming now for PFC Jeffrey Jason Alton’s head. This was not what I wanted, but I wasn’t buying a bullet for sentimentality sake. Not my job.

  “I . . . I d-d-did it f-f-f-or th-the Corp . . .” and before I could react, he slid the barrel of the gun inside his mouth and pulled the trigger. The sound, much like a watermelon hitting the street from a story up, brought Alex around.

  “Jesus, Mother of God,” the young patrolman behind me said.

  “Take care of the woman,” I told him, as I took PFC Alton’s head in my arms and cradled it. His eyes were open and he was moaning.

  “He’s still alive, Alex. Ah, dammit . . .”

  “Ambulance is coming,” Alex said. He got on the radio to let everyone outside know what was happening, and to make sure two ambulances were en route.

  “Ahhh-ahhhh-ahhhhhh-ahhhhhhh . . .”

  “Oh, my God . . .”

  I turned to the shocked patrolman. “Ambulance on the way . . .” I squinted. “Officer Jakes?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said shakily.

  “All we can do, okay? Right here,” I said, cradling PFC Alton’s head, what was left of it. “All we can do.”

  “Yeah . . . yes, sir.”

  “Ahhhhh-aaaahhhh. . . .”

  “Jesus Christ,” said a voice behind Jakes. “We’ll be at the fuckin’ paperwork all day.” I saw the name on the badge, but I already knew who it was.

  “Shut up, Laborteaux,” I hissed. Officer Mason Laborteaux was bad news in a uniform. The worst kind. I stayed out of his way as much as I could, and unfortunately this poor rookie, Jakes, was stuck with him.

  “Let it go, Jeffrey . . . c’mon, buddy.” Skull fragments and gray matter slid slowly down the glass doors of the dairy case. “Ah, Christ . . . c’mon, Alton. Let go.” Gonz and Mike Shin joined us.