“We can’t afford attrition at that level. We’re going to be dumping cases. But we are still opening the file and all. So legal secretaries are doing a bunch of work and then we throw it away. Meantime an ADA can’t get a motion typed.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Start pre-dumping. Tell your officers if they get a possession of less than an ounce of pot, just cite it as an infraction and get on with work. Don’t do a sting on prostitution. Do it on a chop shop. Get me one of those slavery and prostitution rings. Forget the scrape bags and all that junk. Give me your robbers, your rapists, and your kidnappers, yearning to do hard time.”
“We can do that. It will sell well in the ranks. They all want the serious bad guys.”
“Thanks, Chief. See you later.”
“Yep.”
“Did I accomplish anything, Aaron?”
“I think so.”
“Let me know if anything changes. He has to do it. I can dump cases, refuse to file, whatever. The People like me being a bad kitty. I won’t get diselected for that. And if I do, I can do something else.”
“I imagine you can.”
Will went back to his office. Poquita came in. “Can I watch your fishes?”
“Yeah. Oh, it’s after 5. I might leave in a while. You can come in and look at the fishes.”
She rolled a chair over by the small community fishes. “These are the best, because there is so much going on in the tank, with the fish so small. Except those plecos. They will eat everyone else?”
“Never heard of a pleco eating a live fish. They like the algae on the glass, and they will go over a dead fish, but they don’t bite. They sort of abrade.”
She looked back at the tank. “The rocks on top of the gravel are for the fry to hide?”
“Right. Quint doesn’t think they will make it but it’s worked for me before.”
“For the swordfish, guppies and so?”
“Yeah. The cardinal tetras are egg layers. They may be able to make a nest in the rocks. The white cloud tetras have young the size of a typewriter period. That’s why we have the giant duckweed on the surface. So they can hide.”
“Will my cichlids breed?”
“I think so. The master aquarist, Dennis Groff has bred them in a 55 gallon community tank. He says you keep the water quality good, feed your fishes, and leave them alone, most likely they will breed.”
“Does the larger tank work for or against me?”
“Lake Malawi is a little over 400 gallons. I would say for.”
Chrissie came in. “I had to see this Poquita. Wow. Looking good, girl.”
“How do you like my Discus?”
“Pretty. I want to go to Asia Palace. Are we going to do it the hard way or the easy way?” “Let’ go with the easy way. Are you inviting Poquita?” “Sure.” “Want to follow us, Poquita?” “OK.”
They drove to the restaurant and were seated by Mama. They ordered the house special. Will got milk, Chrissie got Tsingtao, and Poquita got iced tea.
“Poquita, that is Mama’s Arowana.”
She looked. “Wow. That is a really big fish. He looks like an eel but with sort of a catfish head, with those whiskers.”
“Quint is maybe going to get one like that but not so big for the community tank. The big one, of course.”
“You should just go all the way with the million gallon tanks, dolphins and all.”
“You mad about something, Chrissie?”
“What gave you that idea?”
“You’re mad, Chrissie, but you aren’t telling Will about what.”
“You take over the DA office, then you go to Europe to photograph a supermodel. Then you come back and put fish tanks in the office. The staff is angry with you.”
“They were, but they’re mollified.” “You have 300 Mollies in your office. Of course they’re mollified.”
“But you didn’t put your finger in the tank and receive the magic kiss of the Mollies, so you are mad. Tell the mouse about it. You are the one person I cannot supervise. I talked to everyone else today.”
Chrissie said, “Take this dinner away, I don’t want it.”
“I’m sure Poly does.”
“She can have it. I suppose you like her better than me anyway.”
“I like the cat. I love you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, pick out a few things so you have some food in you. Otherwise you will feel worse.”
She fiddled around, and ate a shrimp.
Poquita said, “I have some good news!” She put a driver’s license in front of Will. The name was Poquita Medina Rojas de Santa Cruz.
Will pushed it to her. “Great name.”
Chrissie reached for it, but Poquita took it away. “Eat your dinner.”
Chrissie ate a few bites and then put her hand out. Poquita handed her the license.
“It’s not even a CDL.”
“Alan will fix that. Get her a Class A with air brake endorsement.”
They all laughed. “So is this a real name?” “It is my name.” “I didn’t know you were Mexican.” “I am Argentinean. But I don’t speak any Spanish.” “Do you, Will?” “Hablo un poco muy mal Espanol.” “What does it mean?”
“I think, ‘I speak a little very bad Spanish.’ Whenever I say it, Spanish speaking people laugh, and then we do the thing with a little English, a little Spanish, some pointing and miming, and we usually do all right. I do know the one phrase you must know if you go to Latin America. ‘Donde esta los banos?’”
“What does that mean?”
“Where are the bathrooms.”
They laughed.
“What’s your most ridiculous conversation in Spanish?” Poquita asked.
“We were trying to fix a tractor. I knew nothing about working on tractors, and we had two good mechanics, who were illiterate. We had a manual in Spanish, so I read the instructions, which I did not understand, and they had to go by what I told them, because they didn’t speak English.”
“You were reading things, and didn’t understand what you were saying?”
“Yeah. Want to see a real good trick? Hand Poquita your wallet.”
“She’s not going to make it disappear?”
“No, but this might come in handy if it does disappear.”
Poquita flipped through the driver’s license, and credit cards, and looked over the banknotes that were in it. She flipped through the coins. She handed it all back. “We’re ready.”
“Poquita, what is her driver’s license number?’
“7812 3472.”
“The number of her Master Card and the issuing bank.”
“2314 3429 1509 2230, issued by the First National Bank of Oregon.”
“The date of the oldest dime.”
“1973.”
“If she lost her Visa card, what is the number to call?”
“800 555 3243 extension 91, which is available 24/7.”
“The Supremacy clause.”
“This Constitution, and the laws of the United States which shall be made in Pursuance thereof; and all Treaties made, or which shall be made, under the Authority of the United States, shall be the supreme Law of the Land.” “Poquita, how long do you remember these things?” “I don’t forget.”
“Poquita, if I talked to someone for an hour, when it was done, how much would you remember?”
“Every word.”
Will smiled. “Check this out, Chrissie.” “Merriam Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary. Definitions run from?”
“43 to 1373.”
“Chrissie, pick a page in that range. A column, one or two, and the entry, first, second, or whatever.”
“Page 609 second column, fourth entry.”
“Inclinable. Having a tendency or inclination. Also: disposed to favor or think well of.”
“Pick a word that is probably in that dictionary. Something real hard.”
“Diageotrophic.”
“Tending to grow at right angles to the line of gravity.”
Chrissie was eating her dinner, which interested Poquita more than memory tricks, since she had done them as a child, and still remembered those.
“Will, would AFCD be interested?” “I imagine, but can you imagine knowing too much?” “Oh, you have been there already. That may be…” “Right.” Poquita huffed. “What are you keeping from me?”
Will looked at the floor. “If you can forget anything, forget what we just said.”
“I want you to explain.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“Did you ever read any Le Carre? How long will the KGB want to get George Smiley?”
“All his life.”
“So do you want to get involved with those people?”
“No.”
Did you hear us say, a few minutes ago, something that made you wonder what we were talking about?”
“No.”
“What you didn’t hear will never ever be recalled because you didn’t hear it?”
“Well, of course. I didn’t hear it.”
“And you will never ask about it or refer to it.” “I won’t.” “You will never ask anything about it ever.” “I won’t.” “Enjoy your dinner.”
Now it was Chrissie who was cleaning her plate, and Poquita who was fooling around.
“Oh, fergawdsake!”
He put his ONI badge and ID on the table next to her, and took a few bites of his dinner. She stared at the card, then closed the badge wallet and handed it to him. He pocketed it.
“Wh…”
“We don’t answer questions, OK?”
“I can ask you what ONI is?”
“The investigative agency of the US Navy. Responsible for investigating cases that might result in the court-martials of Navy personnel. Normally, the Shore Patrols do the bar fights, petty thefts and stuff. ONI is more like the Navy’s version of the FBI. It handles mostly major felonies. Terror threats, movements of enemy ships, Rape, robbery, murder, treason, large thefts of Navy property, and such.”
“You were a Marine.”
“I am a Marine. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”
“But now you are retired, serving as a DA, and working for the Navy.”
“Right. The Marines are in the Department of the Navy. You know that.”
“There is a lot about this I don’t understand.”
“We’re going to keep it that way.”
They finished their dinners, and headed back to the house. Poquita left for home.
The night was cool and clear. It would frost for sure.
They got in the car and headed for the house. Chrissie put her head on Will’s lap, and he absently stroked her. They went in and went to bed.
Chapter 13 Wisdom of the Fishes Musical Theme; Soul of the Sea by Heart
In the morning, Will made omelets and such. He gave Poly some stuff Mama had packed for her the night before. Hank and Carol came and ate. Marie was at Alan’s house. They were going to Arizona to pick up some cars later. Will took a cup of coffee and an omelet up to Chrissie and put it on the end table. She pretended she was still asleep, as if she could fool someone of Will’s training and experience. A Zen monk, an Apache Warrior, maybe. Chrissie? No way. If you bet him he would be off guessing her systolic blood pressure by 10 Torr, you would be giving your money away. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.” He went back downstairs. The phone rang. It was Mel. “Will, I have a bad one. I want you to see it.
I want Chrissie to not see it. We have Jessie on the way. A car will be in your driveway in a few minutes.” “See you when I see you.” Will went to the bedroom and got his shoes on, and a sweat shirt.
Chrissie was drinking her coffee. Will took the big Canon in its case, put the strap around his neck and pushed the camera under his sweat shirt. “Something happened, Will.” “Yes.” “I want to know.” “Mel will not let you in.” “Who is going?” “Me, Jessie , and half the police force.” “Can I be in on this?” “Up to Jessie . I won’t influence her decision.” “It’s her case already?” “Mel called her in. In the old days, you would have to ask if Doug
was going to jump in for the glory. Today, it’s Jessie’s case. You might see me doing arraignments or motion hearings when we get that busy, but I am not going to be the glory dog.”
The car appeared downstairs. Will went down and got in. The car took off. Nobody said anything. It came to a stop in a neighborhood with a less than attractive reputation. Will walked to the scene, and was given a Tyvek suit and shoe covers. He put on a hat designed to keep fibers in. He followed a detective in. He pulled on a pair of gloves, and took out the big Canon. He shot his way in, photographing everything in ultra high definition. The Canon held a stack of high capacity storage cards, and could take multi megabyte shots until your shutter finger was worn raw. The crime scene was every bit as bad as Will had thought. There were bodies, parts of bodies, pools of blood, and all that. Will shot it all. They came to the master bedroom, and the evidence techs led Will in. He shot this room carefully and thoroughly. The adults, apparently the parents, were here. They went upstairs and got two more children cut to pieces.
Will shot those rooms, too. He took many awful photographs there. The cops took him back downstairs, walking in the little trails they had carefully searched already. Outside, he took off the coverall and shoe covers and hat. He went with Mel to the station. “Will, that is about as bad as it gets.” “Until you visit a war zone.” “Don’t tell me about something worse than this.” “We’ll get this guy and do it to him, 90% on that.” “I have detectives.” “With her consent, I am going to loan you a secretary with near total recall.” “I’ve heard of it, but does it really exist?” “She can memorize dictionaries.” “As in, the whole book?” “Right. Now you are going to have to remember that when something is subject to discovery, you have this tape recorder running. She will not be able to say she does not remember. She remembers the license number of the bus that took her to school in second grade. If the teacher took roll call, she remembers every name on the list. If she went to some kid’s house, she can draw a map to it, and a floor plan, and she can sketch the cat and show you which paws were white and which were black.” “Can I meet her?”
Will called. “Poquita? Will. Can you come to my house to meet the Chief of Detectives?” “Did I do something wrong?” “No. We want to talk about something you might want to do.” “See you soon.” When she came, Will and Mel were in the living room with a bottle of Jack, and they had a glass waiting for her. She put some ice in, and some whiskey. “What might I want to do?” Mel spoke. “Work on a task force to solve the murder of six people that happened a few hours ago. I want a lead record keeper who can remember everything. You would have to expect to be woken up in the middle of the night by one investigator or another every night.” “Hand her your wallet, Mel, and we will convince you of what you don’t yet believe.”
He did. She went over the banknotes and credit cards rapidly. She looked it all over, put it all back like it had been, and handed it back.
“Ask her about what was in there.”
“What’s my drivers’ license number?”
“1252 1563.”
“I have three bills here. Which is the oldest, and what is the serial number, date and the signer?”
“The one. It’s a 2006, F29279477R. Signed by Henry M. Raston, Jr. and Anne Escobedo Cabral.”
“Would you like to work on our task force, Poquita?”
“Show me the pix.”
“We can’t.”
“Mel, we can. Chrissie, you don’t want to look at these. This is some kind of macho chick test.”
Chrissie left. Will put his laptop on the coffee table, and uploaded the pix to a new directory. He opened the first one and turned it to Poquita. “This is going in the door. It’s going to get really awful in not so real long.”
Poquita looked through the pictures calmly
. When she got to the end, she closed the file. “I’m in under one condition, Mel. I put the handcuffs on him.”
“Poquita, you can’t expect him to let you do that.”
“Will, payback is a mother fucker. I want to pay this son of a bitch back.”
Mel spoke. “We don’t know the conditions we take him in under. If it’s a SWAT team, we will dress you in black, with a bulletproof vest, no guns, and you can cuff him.”
“I accept.”
“Mel!”
“You will train with Carlos Medina, our SWAT team leader. You will do things his way, but you can have the assignment.”
* * *
She met the Swat team that afternoon. They were Carlos Medina, the leader, a grungy looking Hispanic man about 5’10-190. His exec, Bridget McDaniel, 5’ 6-125, Derrick Moore, 6’ 8- 325, Robert Polk, 5’ 11-185, Tommy Jason 6 ‘1-210, and Mike Sage, 6’ 2-225.
They went in the gym, and practiced cuffing people. Poquita found she could handle Derrick if she didn’t let him up. The other guys were about the same. One officer to keep them down and one to cuff them, they were pretty easily done. Bridget was something else. Two officers would have her down, and she would break their grips, squirm out of the holds like a weasel, and grab someone’s gun. She mocked biting on the arms, striking the throat, knees in the groin, and other things that would have hurt.
They finished, and showered. When she came out, she had coffee with Carlos.
“I think you are ready for this job, but we will work out every week until we find this guy. If we have to deal with anything like Bridget, we will shoot. The big guy, Derrick is our best shooter. Give him a clear field of fire, he will solve your problem.”
A secretary came and took Poquita to a task force meeting. She listened as people explained forensics, what was going to the lab, who was searching databases for similar crimes, and all that. When the meeting was done, she read all the files, and looked at the pictures. She would know the date and time of each one, and be able to tell people that the blood splatter on the East wall of the living room was Will’s frame 121. Her memory of the content of a picture was no better than the other members’. If there is such a thing as a photographic memory, she did not have it, but Will’s camera did. Though she was reasonably intelligent, the impression people had of her being a genius was quite wrong. They had thought she was good in math when she was in elementary school, because they didn’t understand that she was looking up the answers in her memory, and did not know how to solve the problems. She might know that 444-332=112, but she would not know what 444-333 was, because she had never done that on a calculator.
In Love and Law Page 13
