Fallen Angels (20 page)

T
HERE
W
ASN’T
much conversation during the ride back to Hollywood station. Josie had tried to tell Behan why she thought Bruno was creepy, but couldn’t really explain her gut feeling.

“A grown-up man doesn’t behave that way with a young girl. If she were my daughter and I saw that, I’d yank her out of the school.”

“What’d he do? I didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. He was just too . . . familiar.”

“Sorry, didn’t get that feeling. He seemed accessible is all.”

“That stuff about Goldman puts a whole new complicated twist on things. Keeping that information away from Bright isn’t an option,” she said, studying his face for some reaction.

“When do you have to tell him?” Behan asked.

“Certainly before you talk to Goldman.”

“Too bad.”

“Can you believe he’d let his son take all the heat when he was practically stalking that girl?” Josie asked, still relieved David’s name hadn’t surfaced.

“No, and I’m not buying Bruno didn’t know who Eli Goldman was or that he didn’t know the tattooed geek was Eli Goldman’s kid, or that he just guessed what Misty was up to because he used to be a cop.”

“Why would he lie about knowing the Goldmans?” Josie asked.

“I don’t know, but if he was smart enough to pick up all that stuff on Misty, he should’ve figured out who the Goldmans were.”

“But if what he says is true, Hillary was afraid of the councilman, not his son. Maybe it was the father who threatened her and not Cory. Maybe Mrs. Dennis got it wrong.”

“What’s somebody like Eli Goldman want with a bimbo teenager anyway?” Behan asked in a way that suggested he wasn’t expecting an answer.

“No real mystery there . . . old hippie geezer with too much money trying to feel young again.”

“He’s not that old.”

“Not that smart either.”

“Some of us aren’t all that clever when it comes to figuring out who we should care about.” He sounded angry.

Josie dropped it. She had a feeling they weren’t talking about Eli Goldman any longer, and she was probably the last person with any great insights in the personal relationship game. She told Behan she’d call Bright as soon as they got back to the station, and he could try to set up an interview with the elder Goldman that night or the next morning.

As Josie had anticipated, Chief Bright didn’t take the news of Eli Goldman’s possible involvement in the case very well. His immediate reaction was threatening to give the investigation back to RHD. Then he changed his mind and suggested that perhaps he should interview the councilman himself saying, “It would certainly be more appropriate.”

T
HE
C
ONFERENCE
call lasted twenty minutes, and Josie eventually convinced Bright the Hollywood homicide supervisor was the best person to handle the inquiry. She argued that Bruno’s accusation was unsupported by real evidence at this point, and it shouldn’t be given additional weight by suggesting a deputy chief needed to become involved. She assured Bright that she and Behan were more than willing and able to absorb any repercussions the interview might unleash, and she didn’t think the bureau needed to be exposed to unwarranted criticism. After Josie finished her rationale, she sat back and smirked at Behan. Following a lengthy pause, Bright came back on the line and agreed to allow Hollywood detectives to handle the interview.

“I’m going to get heat from city hall no matter what I do. Maybe it is better you handle this, but I expect, no, I insist you treat that man with respect,” Bright said, sounding as if he were thinking out loud; and then raising his voice added, “I’m holding you personally responsible, Captain Corsino. Do you understand? Are you still listening?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, shaking hands with Behan over the telephone speaker before hanging up.

“Dodged another bureaucratic snafu,” Behan said, with his best W. C. Fields imitation.

“I just reminded him he’d much rather see you and me go down in flames. If Goldman makes a big deal out of this, you know Bright’s gonna deny we ever had this conversation. He’ll swear he had no idea we were going to interview a city councilman.”

“Don’t matter, he knows you and me are still the most dangerous animals in this zoo,” Behan said.

Josie sighed. She didn’t feel dangerous. “Why’s that, Tarzan?”

“We don’t want to promote.”

She agreed there was a sense of power that came with knowing you could do the right thing without worrying how it might influence your career aspirations. It made decisions a lot simpler and cleaner. But she also knew there were always ways to make life miserable for any animal as long as it lived in a zoo.

Behan called Goldman from Josie’s office, and the councilman agreed to meet with them that evening. He didn’t want the interview at city hall and said he’d feel more comfortable at the police station, “where there aren’t as many enemy ears glued to keyholes.” Goldman didn’t ask what the interview was about, and said he was willing to cooperate and answer any questions they might have.

Behan had barely gone back to the detectives’ squad room when Officer Fricke peeked into Josie’s office.

“Got a minute, ma’am,” Fricke said, stepping into the room.

“What’s up?” Josie asked. She felt strange talking with him, knowing the surveillance team was probably skulking somewhere inside the station keeping tabs on everything he did and said. It was an intrusion, but a necessary one. She hoped the scrutiny would prove he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and in fact, was working harder than anyone else in the building. “Where’s Butler?” she asked, realizing Fricke was alone.

“Finishing reports,” he said, sitting near her desk. “Can we talk?” he asked, leaning closer, almost whispering.

“Of course,” she said, hearing the nervous twinge in her voice. “What’s the problem?”

“I know you can’t say nothing, and I’m not asking. I’m just saying me and Frankie we’re pretty sure I.A.’s been following us.” She didn’t say anything and he continued. “I seen these guys everywhere we go . . . even when we ain’t working.” He stopped, and in spite of trying to be serious grinned a little. “I gotta say, ma’am, they’re pretty lame. At first, I thought they might be gangbangers setting us up for a hit, so I get all their plate numbers. When I run them they come back with no registration, and then I see some cars got two white stiffs that are for sure cops. So, I don’t know why they’re following us, but I wanted you to know we didn’t do nothing wrong. They can follow me forever. I’ll take ’em home and have my mom make dinner. They ain’t never gonna see no misconduct or nothing illegal from us. I promise we wouldn’t embarrass you that way.” He stood, turned to leave, then came back. “It don’t matter, but me and Frankie really respect you and wanted you to know,” he said. She wasn’t going to lie to him, but didn’t tell him anything either. He nodded, shrugged and left her office.

Josie closed her eyes and rested her head on her folded hands. She had to admit she wasn’t surprised. Fricke was clever. He hunted on the streets every night, outwitting human prey who had nothing to think about except new ways to commit crimes and stay out of jail. The I.A. sergeant she’d met was way out of his league.

She called the number the sergeant had given her and told him his surveillance had been burned. He couldn’t understand how the policeman had figured out so quickly he was being followed and when he did, why he would tell his captain. Josie knew. Fricke was smarter than him and he trusted her, but she tried to soften the blow.

“Usually, they see some little thing that alerts them,” she said. “Once a subject starts looking it’s pretty much over.”

“But we’ve never had a surveillance blown this fast,” the sergeant whined.

“This one’s toast, so what’re you planning to do now?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to my captain in the morning. I don’t know . . . maybe . . . I should get back to you,” he mumbled and hung up.

She detected suspicion in his voice. It was easier to believe there was a leak, or someone had sabotaged his operation, than to admit he might’ve screwed up or been overmatched. The I.A. sergeant didn’t appear to be a man who reflected much on his shortcomings, so Josie was fairly certain he’d try to blame her or her people for his failure. However, as soon as he interviewed Fricke and discovered how easy it was for him to identify the surveillance team, the man would be forced to face the truth. She’d like to be there when that happened. She supported her officers but resented anyone who thought she’d cut corners or do anything to prevent a thorough investigation of misconduct.

She had a couple of hours before Goldman’s interview, but couldn’t get motivated to look at the paperwork on her desk. Usually, she’d have it done in a few minutes and be searching for something else to do, but thinking about her conversation with the I.A. sergeant was disrupting her concentration.

David was on her mind too. He hadn’t been around or called her for a day or two. There were things she needed to talk about, but had to admit she wasn’t ready to confront him yet. His association with Cory Goldman and Misty Skylar had not only been a distraction for Josie, but had come dangerously close to being an embarrassment. She had always been mindful to protect her reputation, avoiding even the slightest appearance of wrongdoing. Her son’s careless alliances might’ve altered all that. He wasn’t a child and knew her position was sensitive. How could he bring those people that close to her life? Josie wanted to have that conversation with her son, but knew she wouldn’t. She had other demands and ultimatums to make concerning his life and future. If she could get him back in school, he wouldn’t have the time or inclination to hang around with the likes of Cory Goldman.

Wandering around the station usually cleared her head. It forced her to talk to people and stop thinking. There weren’t many officers hanging around the building this evening, however; and within a few minutes, she found herself climbing upstairs and searching for her friend in the vice office. Marge was alone working on her computer. Her reading glasses were balanced on the tip of her nose as she typed and spewed a steady stream of profanity.

“I hate fucking rating reports,” she shouted and slumped back when she spotted Josie.

“Have your sergeants write them,” Josie said, sitting across from her.

“Great idea, then I’ll have this incredibly bitching squad that walks on water and never needs another training day.”

“Guess you’d better write them then.”

“Did you come up here to irritate me?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong?” Marge asked. She’d stopped working and was studying Josie.

“What’s new with the rodent?”

“Nothing, Mouse is a perfect law-abiding citizen . . . doesn’t even jaywalk anymore . . . hasn’t been anywhere near Cory Goldman since that night at Avanti’s. I gave our logs to Detective Sunshine. What’s wrong?”

“Has Fricke talked to you today?” Josie asked.

“Talks to me every day. Remember, he works for me now. Thank you very much.”

Josie told her what had happened with Fricke. She explained the surveillance was finished and I.A. would probably be interviewing Fricke and his partner.

“Good,” Marge said. “Give the damn hype car back to narcotics.”

“I’ll think about it, unless he doesn’t get relieved from duty, then I’ll still want you to keep an eye on him.”

“This is bullshit, that guy’s not dirty. He’s hardcore cop.”

“Wanna grab something to eat? I’ve got to get back here in about an hour,” Josie asked, intentionally changing the subject. She liked Fricke too, but didn’t have the luxury of ignoring serious accusations. Marge was a good cop, but too quick to defend her officers. Cops were human, so they weren’t perfect. Josie found her best supervisors never closed their eyes or minds to the possibility of corruption. The way to keep the department clean was to never stop looking for that rare case where someone crossed the line. There were fallen angels. Marge acted as if it never happened, and despite all her worldliness, that trait sometimes made her seem naïve to Josie.

“I’m starving,” Marge said standing and taking her jacket off the back of her chair. She seemed annoyed by the change of subject, but never turned down an opportunity to eat. “We won’t talk about Fricke,” she said, grinning. “You hear from Jake?”

“I’m not gonna eat with you if I lose my appetite.”

“Sorry . . . so you haven’t,” Marge said and hesitated before adding, “I saw him at a hearing yesterday. He was defending one of the club owners we’d cited a couple of days ago.”

“Great, more good news.”

“Just thought you oughta know.”

They walked across to Nora’s and didn’t talk about Fricke or Jake. Marge was in a good mood and couldn’t wait to tell a story she’d heard about Chief Bright’s latest escapade.

“He rolls out last night on a call about a possible bomb scare outside a synagogue in West L.A. The bomb squad’s about to do a quick check of a suspicious truck parked outside the front door when ‘Not So’ gets there and brings everything to a grinding halt.”

“Figures,” Josie said.

“No wait, there’s more,” Marge said, giggling. “The patrol captain tries to tell him that everything he wants done has already been done, but Bright insists it’s not enough and calls a citywide tactical alert, brings in officers from everywhere; and while the brass is sitting in some hardware store going through Bright’s silly terrorist checklist, the driver of said truck wakes up from behind the seat where he’s been napping and drives away.”