by Robert Crais
“Where’d you get all this?”
“A book.”
Leland slowly considered it.
“Crowd work.”
“If it’s okay with you. They say it’s good therapy.”
Leland was just as slow to nod.
“I think we should try this, Officer James. Crowd work. All right, then. Go find some crowds.”
Scott loaded Maggie into his car, and drove to Marshall Ishi’s house. He wanted to put Maggie in a crowd, but not to treat her anxiety. He wanted to test her nose, and his theory about Daryl Ishi.
Scott studied the house. He didn’t care if the girl and the two roommates were inside, but he didn’t want Maggie to see Daryl. He also didn’t want to hang around for hours if no one was home.
Scott drove to the first cross street, turned around, and parked three houses away where grass lined the sidewalk. He let Maggie out, watered her with the squirt bottle, then pointed at the grass.
“Pee.”
Maggie sniffed out a spot and peed. A trick she learned in the Marine Corps. Pee on command.
When she finished, Scott dropped her leash.
“Maggie. Down.”
Maggie immediately dropped to her belly.
“Stay.”
Scott walked away. He did not look back, but he worried. At the park by his house and the training facility, he could drop her, plant her, and she stayed while he crossed the field and back. She even stayed when he walked around the building, and couldn’t see him. The Marine K-9 instructors had done an outstanding job with her basic skill set, and she was an outstanding dog.
He went to Ishi’s door, and glanced at Maggie. She was rooted in place, watching him, her head high with her ears spiked like two black horns.
Scott faced the door, rang the bell, and knocked. He counted to ten, and knocked harder.
Estelle “Ganj” Rolley opened the door. First thing she did when she saw Scott’s uniform was fan the air. Scott wondered how long it had taken her to score crystal once she was released. He ignored the smell, and smiled.
“Ms. Rolley, I’m Officer James. The Los Angeles Police Department wants you to know your rights.”
Her face knotted with confusion. She looked even more emaciated, and stood in a hunch as if she wasn’t strong enough to stand erect.
“I just got released. Please don’t arrest me again.”
“No, ma’am, not those rights. We want you to know you have the right to complain. If you feel you were mistreated, or possessions not booked into evidence were illegally taken, you have the right to complain to the city, and possibly recover damages. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?”
Her face screwed up even more.
“No.”
Daryl Ishi walked up behind her. He squinted at Scott, but gave no indication of recognition.
“What’s going on?”
Estelle crossed her arms over nonexistent breasts.
“He wants to know if we were arrested okay.”
Scott interrupted. He now knew Daryl was home, and that’s all he needed. He wanted to leave.
“Are you Mr. Danowski or Mr. Pantelli?”
“Uh-uh. They ain’t here.”
“They have the right to file a complaint if they feel they were unfairly or illegally treated. It’s a new policy we have. Letting people know they can sue us. Will you tell them?”
“No shit? They sent you to tell us we can sue you?”
“No shit. You folks have a good day.”
Scott smiled pleasantly, stepped back as if he was going to leave, then stopped and dropped the smile. Estelle Rolley was closing the door, but Scott suddenly stepped close and held it. He stared at Daryl with cold, dangerous street-cop eyes.
“You’re Marshall’s brother, Daryl. You’re the one we didn’t arrest.”
Daryl fidgeted.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Marshall’s been saying some things. We’ll be back to talk to you. Stay put.”
Scott stared at him for another ten seconds, then he stepped back.
“You can close the door now.”
Estelle Rolley closed the door.
Scott’s heart was pounding as he walked back to his car. His hands trembled as he ruffled Maggie’s fur and praised her for staying put.
He loaded Maggie into the car, drove to the next block, parked again, and waited. He didn’t wait long.
Daryl left the house eight minutes later, walking fast. He picked up speed until he was trotting, then turned up the next cross street toward Alvarado, which was the nearest and busiest large street.
Scott followed, hoping he wasn’t crazy. And hoping he wasn’t wrong.
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 sh
e 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?”
&n
bsp; “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.
