Suspect (16 page)

24.

Scott served in two-person, black-and-white Adam cars as a uniformed patrol officer. He had never worked a plainclothes assignment or driven an unmarked car. When Scott followed someone in a black-and-white, he turned on the lights and drove fast. Following Daryl was a pain in the ass.

Scott thought Daryl might catch a bus when he reached Alvarado, but Daryl turned south and kept walking.

The slow pace on a busy street made following Daryl in a car difficult, but following on foot would have been worse. Maggie drew attention, and if Daryl hopped a ride when Scott was on foot, Scott would lose him.

Scott pulled over, watched until Daryl was almost out of sight, then tightened the gap and pulled over again. Maggie didn’t mind. She enjoyed straddling the console and checking the sights.

Daryl went into a mini-market, and stayed so long Scott worried he had ducked out the back, but Daryl emerged with a super-size drink and continued hoofing it south. Five minutes later, Daryl crossed Sixth Street and entered MacArthur Park one block from where the arrest team staged to bag Marshall.

“Small world.”

Scott frowned into the mirror.

“Stop talking to yourself.”

Scott parked at the first open meter across from the park, cracked the door, and stepped out for a better view. Scott liked what he saw.

MacArthur Park above Wilshire contained a soccer field, a bandstand, and bright green lawns dotted with picnic tables, palm trees, and gray, weathered oaks. Paved walkways curved through the grass, inviting women with strollers, skateboard rats, and slow-motion homeless people pushing overloaded shopping carts stolen from local markets. Women with babies clustered at two or three tables, young Latin dudes with nothing to do hung out at two or three more, and homeless people used others as beds. People were catching sun on the grass, sitting in circles with friends, and reading books under trees. Latin and Middle Eastern men raced back and forth on the soccer field, while replacement players waited on the sidelines. Two girls strummed guitars at the base of a palm. Three kids with dyed hair passed a joint. A schizophrenic stumbled wildly across the park, passing three ’bangers with neck ink and teardrops who laughed at his flailing.

Daryl circled the ’bangers and cut across the grass, passed the three stoners, and made his way along the length of the soccer field toward the far side of the park. Scott lost sight of him, but that was the plan.

“C’mon, big girl. Let’s see what you got.”

Scott clipped Maggie’s twenty-foot tracking lead, but held it short as he led her to the spot where Daryl entered the park. Scott knew she was anxious. She brushed his leg as they walked, and nervously glanced at the unfamiliar people and noisy traffic. Her nostrils rippled in triple-time to suck in their surroundings.

“Sit.”

She sat, still glancing around, but mostly staring up at him.

He took the watchband from the evidence bag, and held it to her nose.

“Smell it. Smell.”

Maggie’s nostrils flickered and twitched. Her breathing pattern changed when she sniffed for a scent. Sniffing wasn’t breathing. The air she drew for sniffing did not enter her lungs. Sniffs were small sips she took in groups called trains. A train could be from three to seven sniffs, and Maggie always sniffed in threes. Sniff-sniff-sniff, pause, sniff-sniff-sniff. Budress’ dog, Obi, sniffed in trains of five. Always five. No one knew why, but each dog was different.

Scott touched her nose with the band, waved it playfully around her head, and let her sniff it some more.

“Find it for me, baby. Do it for me. Let’s see if we’re right.”

Scott stepped back and gave the command.

“Seek, seek, seek.”

Maggie surged to her feet with her ears spiked forward and her face black with focus. She turned to her right, checked the air, and dipped to the ground. She hesitated, then trotted a few steps in the opposite direction. She tasted more air scent, and stared into the park. This was her first alert. Scott knew she caught a taste, but did not have the trail. She sniffed the sidewalk from side to side as she moved farther away, then abruptly reversed course. She stared into the park again, and Scott knew she had it. Maggie took off, hit the end of her lead, and pulled like a sled dog. The three ’bangers saw them, and ran.

Maggie followed Daryl’s path between the picnic tables and along the north side of the soccer field. The players stopped playing to watch the cop and his German shepherd.

Scott saw Daryl Ishi when they reached the end of the soccer field. He was standing behind the concert pavilion with two young women and a guy about Daryl’s age. One of the girls saw Scott first, then the others looked. Daryl stared for maybe a second, then bolted away in the opposite direction. His friend broke past the back of the building and ran for the street.

“Down.”

Maggie dropped to her belly. Scott caught up fast, unclipped her lead, and immediately released her.

“Hold’m.”

Maggie powered forward in a ground-eating sprint. She ignored the other man and everyone else in the park. Her world was the scent cone, and the cone narrowed to Daryl. Scott knew she saw him, but following his scent to the end of the cone was like following a light that grew brighter as she got closer. Maggie could be blindfolded, and she would still find him.

Scott ran after her, and felt little pain, as if the knotted scars beneath his skin were in another man’s body.

Maggie covered the distance in seconds. Daryl ran past the pavilion into a small stand of trees, glanced over his shoulder, and saw a black-and-tan nightmare. He skidded to a halt at the nearest tree, pressed his back to the trunk, and covered his crotch with his hands. Maggie braked at his feet, sat as Scott taught her, and barked. Find and bark, bark to hold.

When Scott arrived, he stopped ten feet away and took a minute to catch his breath before calling her out.

“Out.”

Maggie broke off, trotted to Scott, and sat by his left foot.

“Guard’m.”

Marine command. She dropped into a sphinx position, head up and alert, eyes locked on Daryl.

Scott walked over to Daryl.

“Relax. I’m not going to arrest you. Just don’t move. You run, she’ll take you down.”

“I’m not gonna run.”

“Cool. Heel.”

Maggie trotted up, planted her butt by his left foot, and stared at Daryl. She licked her lips.

Daryl inched to his toes, trying to get as far from her as possible.

“Dude, what is this? C’mon.”

“She’s friendly. Look. Maggie, shake hands. Shake.”

Maggie raised her right paw, but Daryl didn’t move.

“You don’t want to shake hands?”

“No fuckin’ way. Dude, c’mon.”

Scott shook her paw, praised her, and rewarded her with a chunk of baloney. When he put the baloney away, he took out the evidence bag. He studied Daryl for a moment, deciding how to proceed.

“First, what just happened here, I shouldn’t have done this. I’m not going to arrest you. I just wanted to talk to you away from Estelle.”

“You were at the house when Marsh was busted. You and the dog.”

“That’s right.”

“He tried to bite me.”

“She. And, no, she didn’t try to bite you, or she would have bitten you. What she did is called an alert.”

Scott held up the evidence bag so Daryl could see the broken band. Daryl glanced at it without recognition, then looked again. Scott saw the flash of memory play over Daryl’s face as he recognized the familiar band.

“Recognize it?”

“What is it? It looks like a brown Band-Aid.”

“It’s half your old watchband. It kinda looks like the one you’re wearing now, but you caught this one on a fence, the band broke, and this half landed on the sidewalk. You know how I know it’s yours?”

“It ain’t mine.”

“It smells like you. I let her smell it, and she tracked your scent across the park. All these people in the park, and she followed this watchband to you. Isn’t she amazing?”

Daryl glanced past Scott, looking for a way out, then glanced at Maggie again. Running was not an option.

“I don’t care what it smells like. I never seen it before.”

“Your brother confessed to burglarizing a Chinese import store nine months ago. A place called Asia Exotica.”

“His lawyer told me. So what?”

“You help him do it?”

“No fucking way.”

“That’s where you lost the watch. Up on the roof. Were you his lookout?”

Daryl’s eyes flickered.

“Are you kidding me?”

“You guys hang out up there after, party a little, kick back?”

“Ask Marshall.”

“Daryl, did you and Marshall see the murders?”

Daryl sagged like a leaking balloon. He stared past Scott for a moment, swallowed once, then wet his lips. His answer was slow and deliberate.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Three people were murdered, including a police officer. If you saw anything, or know anything, you can help your brother. Maybe even buy him a get-out-of-jail card.”

Daryl wet his lips again.

“I want to talk to my brother’s lawyer.”

Scott knew he had hit the end of his lead. He couldn’t think of anything else, so he stepped back.

“I told you I wasn’t going to arrest you. We were just talking.”

Daryl glanced at Maggie.

“Is he gonna bite me?”

“She. No, she isn’t going to bite you. You can go. But think about what I said, Daryl, okay? You can help Marshall.”

Daryl edged away, and walked backwards to keep an eye on Maggie until he was out of the trees. Then he turned, stumbled, and ran.

Scott watched him go, and imagined Daryl and his brother peering down from the roof, their faces lit by flashes from guns.

“He was there. I know that kid was there.”

Scott looked at Maggie. She was staring at him, mouth open in a big grin, tongue hanging out over a ridge of sharp, white enamel.

Scott touched her head.

“You’re the best girl ever. You really are.”

Maggie yawned.

Scott clipped Maggie’s lead and walked back across the park to their car. He texted Joyce Cowly as they walked.

25.

Orso’s eyes were flat as a frying pan heating on the stove. Scott had kenneled Maggie with Budress, and now sat at the conference table with Cowly and Orso. His news had not been received in the way he expected.

Orso stared at the evidence bag as if it was filled with dog crap.

“Where was it?”

“Bottom of the box under the files. It was in a manila envelope. One of the small envelopes, not the big size. Melon was sending it back to Chen.”

Cowly glanced at her boss.

“SID bagged it because the smears look like blood. Turned out to be rust, so they sent it to Melon for permission to dispose. Melon wrote a card, giving his okay. I guess he didn’t get around to sending it.”

Orso tossed the bag onto the table.

“I didn’t see it. Did you see this envelope when you went through the material?”

“No.”

Scott said, “I have it—their notes and the envelope. Down in my car. You want, I’ll go get it.”

Orso shifted position. He had been shifting and adjusting himself for the past ten minutes.

“Oh, I want, but not now. What made you think you could take
anything
from this office without asking?”

“The note said it was trash. Melon told him to toss it.”

Orso closed his eyes, but his face rippled with tension. His voice was calm, but his eyes remained closed.

“Okay. So you gave yourself permission to take it because you thought it was trash, but now you believe it’s evidence.”

“I took it because of the rust.”

Orso opened his eyes. He didn’t say anything, so Scott kept going.

“They collected this thing on the sidewalk directly below the roof above the kill zone. This is the roof I told you about. When I was there, I got rust on my hands. I thought there might be a connection. I wanted to think about it.”

“So you hoped it was evidence when you took it.”

“I don’t know what I hoped. I wanted to think about it.”

“I’ll take that for a yes. Either way, ’cause I don’t give a shit if you thought it was evidence or trash, here’s the problem. If it’s evidence, by taking it home like you have, you not being an investigating officer on this case, only an asshole we were courteous to, you’ve broken the chain of custody.”

Cowly’s voice was soft.

“Boss.”

Scott did not respond, and did not care if Orso thought he was an asshole. The cast-off brown leather strip had led to Daryl, and Daryl might lead to the shooters.

Tension played on Orso’s face until a tic developed beneath his left eye. Then the ripples settled, and his face softened.

“I apologize, Scott. I should not have said that. I’m sorry.”

“I fucked up. I’m sorry, too. But the band was at the scene, and Daryl Ishi was wearing it. Guaranteed. My dog isn’t wrong.”

Cowly said, “Daryl denies it’s his, and denies being at the scene. Okay, we can swab him and comp the DNA. Then we’ll know.”

Orso considered the evidence bag, then rolled his chair to the door.

“Jerry! Petievich! Would you see if Ian’s here? Ask him to come see me.”

The I-Man joined them a few minutes later. His face was more red than Scott remembered. A surprised smile split Ian Mills’ face when he saw Scott.

“You get a news flash from the memory bank? That white sideburn turn into a big ol’ pocked nose?”

The stupid joke was irritating, but Orso got down to business before Scott responded.

“Scott believes Marshall Ishi’s younger brother, Daryl, was present when Marshall robbed Shin’s store, and may have witnessed the shootings.”

Mills frowned.

“I didn’t know he had a brother.”

“No reason you should. Until now, we had no reason to think he was involved.”

Mills crossed his arms. He peered at Scott, then turned to Orso.

“He passed the poly. We established Marshall left before the shootings went down.”

“He also claimed he was alone. If Scott’s right, maybe Marshall is just a good liar.”

The I-Man’s gaze clicked back to Scott.

“You remember this kid? He saw the shootings?”

“This isn’t a memory. I’m saying he was at the scene, and I believe he was on the roof. I don’t know when he was there, and I don’t know what he saw.”

Orso slid the evidence bag to Mills, who glanced at the bag but did not touch it.

“Scott found this in the case file. It’s half a leather watchband SID collected at the scene. Scott believes he’s linked it to Daryl Ishi, which would put Daryl at the scene. Before we go further, you need to know we have a chain-of-custody issue.”

Orso described Scott’s mistake without passion or inflection, but Mills’ face grew darker. Scott felt like a twelve-year-old in the principal’s office when Mills unloaded.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“That no one had done a goddamned thing for nine months and the case was still open.”

Orso held up a hand for Mills to stop, and glanced at Scott.

“Tell Ian about the dog. Like you explained it to me.”

Scott began with Maggie’s first exposure to the scent sample, and walked the I-Man through his test at MacArthur Park, where Maggie tracked the scent across the width of the park directly to Daryl Ishi.

Scott gestured at the evidence bag, which was still on the table by Mills.

“This was his. He was there the night we were shot.”

Mills had listened in silence, frowning across his bristling forearms. When Scott finished, his frown deepened.

“This sounds like bullshit.”

Orso shrugged.

“Easy enough to find out. The dog might have something.”

Scott knew Mills would listen to Orso, so he pressed his case harder.

“She has Daryl Ishi. See these red streaks? There’s a rusty iron safety fence on the roof. SID says these little red smears are rust. His watch got caught on the fence, the band broke, and this piece landed on the sidewalk. That’s where SID found it.”

Orso leaned toward Mills.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. We pick the kid up, swab him, run the DNA. Then we’ll know if it’s his. After that, we can worry about whether he saw anything.”

Mills paced to the door, but didn’t leave, as if he had needed motion to contain himself.

“I don’t know whether to hope the thing is good or garbage. You screwed us, kid. I can’t fucking believe you walked out with a piece of evidence, which, by the way, even the stupidest defense attorney will point out you contaminated.”

Orso leaned back.

“Ian, it’s done. Let it go.”

“Really? After nine fucking months with nothing to show?”

“Pray it’s good. If we get a match, we’ll know he’s a liar, we’ll know he’s hiding something, and we’ll find a thousand work-arounds. We’ve danced this dance before, man.”

If a future judge excluded the watchband, he or she might also exclude all downstream evidence derived from the band. The downstream evidence was called “fruits of the poisonous tree,” under the principle that evidence derived from bad evidence was also bad. If investigators knew they had a piece of bad fruit, they tried to find a path around the bad fruit by using unrelated evidence to reach the same result. This was called a work-around.

Mills stood in the door, shaking his head.

“I’m too old. The stress is killing me.”

He seemed thoughtful for a moment, then turned back to Scott.

“Okay. So when you and the Hound of the Baskervilles ran down this kid, I suppose you questioned him?”

“He denied everything.”

“Uh-huh, and you being the trained interrogator you are, did you ask if he saw the shootings?”

“He said he wasn’t there.”

“Of course he did. So what you actually accomplished here was, you gave the kid a big heads-up that we’re coming for him, and what it is we want to know. Now he’ll have plenty of time to think up good answers. Way to go, Sherlock.”

The I-Man walked out.

Scott looked at Orso and Cowly. He mostly looked at Cowly.

“I know it’s worth nothing, but I’m sorry.”

Orso shrugged.

“Shit happens.”

Orso pushed back from the table and walked away.

Cowly stood last.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

Scott followed her, not knowing what to say. When he found the small leather strap in the manila envelope, the sidewalk where it was found and the smears of rust gave him a sense the band and he somehow shared the events of that night. It had been a physical link to Stephanie and the shooting and the memories he could not recall, and he had hoped it would help him see the night more clearly.

When they reached the elevator, Cowly touched his arm. She looked sad.

“These things happen. Nobody died.”

“Not today.”

Cowly flushed, and Scott realized his comment had made her feel awkward and embarrassed.

“Jesus, I’m batting a thousand. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You were being nice.”

Her flush faded as she relaxed.

“I was being nice, but I meant it. Exclusions aren’t automatic. Issues like this are argued every day, so don’t sweat it until it’s time to start sweating.”

Scott was feeling a little better.

“Whatever you say.”

“I say. And if the DNA matches Daryl to the band, we have something to chase, which is all thanks to you.”

The elevator opened. Scott caught the doors with a hand, but didn’t go in.

“The picture of you and a man on the beach. Is he your husband?”

Cowly was so still, Scott thought he had offended her, but she smiled as she turned away.

“Don’t even think about it, Officer.”

“Too late. I’m thinking.”

She kept walking.

“Turn off your brain.”

“My dog likes me.”

When she reached the Homicide Special door, Cowly stopped.

“He’s my brother. The kids are my niece and nephews.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“Have a good day, Officer.”

Scott boarded the elevator and rode down to his car.