I was happy to go along with her suggestion. I confirmed the address, and grabbed Angelica. We made it to La Crescenta in record time.
Although the Alexanders had a home in Scottsdale, Arizona, where they lived most of the year, they’d rented a home in the hills north of Glendale, California. It was a big house, with a well-manicured lawn, trees, and a long concrete driveway. We parked on the street in front, and made our way to the dark green front door. Mrs. Alexander answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Detectives. Please come in.”
We went inside and I was impressed with the open, airy space. There was a step-down formal living room to the right of the door, and a sweeping staircase to the left. The hallway from the foyer went forward to rooms unknown, presumably a kitchen and possibly a den or other extra rooms.
She took us to the formal living room and gestured to a gray leather sofa. “Please sit down. I’ll get Bear-bear.”
I heard her walk down the tiled hallway toward the back of the house and then call to Barry to come inside. Little footsteps careened down the hall toward where we sat, and Barry rounded the corner, skidding to a halt when he saw us.
“Policemen!”
“Hello, Bear-bear,” Angelica said. “How are you today?”
“I’m okay. I got a scraped knee at the park. Wanna see?”
“Definitely,” I told him. He approached and very seriously pointed to the Band-Aid on his knee. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah,” he answered. “I only cried a little.”
“You’re so brave,” Angelica told him. “I would probably cry a lot.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“Yes, you are,” I said. “Can you guess why we’re here?”
“Mommy?” He put his leg down.
“Yes,” Angelica responded, her voice gentle. Quietly, Mrs. Alexander took a seat across from us in a subdued upholstered club chair.
“Come sit with me, Bear-bear,” she cooed. The little boy obediently went to her and crawled up into her lap, where he was enfolded in loving arms.
“I can’t tell you nothin’,” he said. “I don’t want the devil to get me.”
“You know, Bear-bear,” I said, “the devil only gets bad little boys. You are definitely not a bad boy.”
“That’s what Nana says, too, but he said I was a bad boy and the devil was waiting for me.”
“Did you know,” I asked, “that the devil lies to good boys to make them think they’re bad boys? Maybe the man who told you that was a friend of the devil.”
He appeared to think about that, but didn’t say anything.
“That might be right, Bear-bear,” his grandmother said. “The devil has evil friends who say all kinds of lies.”
“I told a lie once,” he said quite seriously. “He hit me.”
Mrs. Alexander cringed, and, although I’ve heard a lot of really revolting things over the years, I have to say, this one really gave my heart a jolt. “I’m sorry, Bear-bear,” I told him. “I’m a policeman, and I want you to know that you are not a bad boy. I arrest bad people, and you are definitely not one.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Angelica said, her voice subdued. “I think you’re a good boy, too.”
“Really?”
She crossed her heart. “Cross my heart.”
“Nana, will you tell God that He has to protect me from the devil?”
“Yes, I will, and you can ask him, too, when you say your prayers.”
“Okay.”
This was my opportunity. I took the remaining suspects’ photos out of my pocket and showed them to Barry. “Do you recognize any of these men?”
He pointed. “That’s him.” Turning his head toward his grandmother, he curled up tighter in her lap. “He made Mommy sick.”
“Did he give her shots?”
“I hate shots! They make you sick!”
I thought he’d had enough, and so had I. “Thank you, Bear-bear. You’ve helped us find our bad guy.”
“You were such a good boy,” Mrs. Alexander told him, kissing him on the forehead.
“Can I go play with my trucks?”
“You sure can,” she told him. “Then I think we’ll have lunch.”
“Okay.” He scooted out of her lap and ran toward the back of the house again.
Mrs. Alexander watched him for a few moments, and the love in her eyes was deep and profound. She turned to look at Angelica and me. “Is that all?”
“Yes,” Angelica told her. “We got what we needed. We’ll pick up this guy.”
Mrs. Alexander rose and began walking toward the door. It was our cue to follow her and leave.
Chapter Eight
We knew the identified Walter Mason’s address, at least the one he listed on his driver’s license. It was in central Glendale, not far from downtown. The building was modern, well cared for, with smoked glass windows that gleamed in the sunshine. We proceeded to the visitor’s call box, and looked for his apartment number. His name was not listed on the podium list, but when we approached the glass doors leading into the secured area, a guard looked up from his desk. Angelica showed her badge, and the older fellow came to the door quickly, opening it for us to enter.
“How can I help you, officers?”
“We’re looking for this man,” I said, pulling out the photo.
“Hmm. Yeah, I remember him. He doesn’t live here anymore. Moved out about a week ago.”
“You’re sure?” Angelica asked.
“Yeah. Sure as can be. He left a lot of dirt in the elevator when he left. Some sort of plants with leaky pots.”
I looked at Angelica and she looked at me. Roses, perhaps?
I was hoping, when I asked, “Did he leave a forwarding address?”
“Nope. He didn’t technically pay off his lease. The building manager was hoppin’ mad. Said he owed back rent and now we’d never find him to get him to pay up. That why you’re here?”
“It’s on a related matter,” I answered. “Did he have friends in the building? People who might know where he went?”
“I dunno.”
“Did you talk to him much?”
“No. He kept to himself. Never said a word to me, just came and went at all hours. The night guard and me, we sometimes chat, you see.”
“Okay.” I drew my notebook and a pen out of my pocket and took his name and phone number. We asked to go talk to his former neighbors, and the guard quickly gave us directions. Unfortunately, only one was home and she had little to say. Walter Mason wasn’t a particularly neighborly guy.
Angelica and I walked back to the car, each thinking our own thoughts.
Once inside, Angelica asked, “Now what. Dead end.”
“Not entirely,” I told her. “We have some possible connection to the plants, and we know he was having financial problems—the unpaid rent. Bear-bear seemed to indicate that he was shooting up his mother, which corroborates some of what we’ve heard about him being a drug dealer as well as a pimp. We need to pump some of our snitches.”
“I know of one who might help. There’s this woman, a prostitute named Candy, who is sometimes strung out, but she had some charges against her—soliciting, possession—and she didn’t want to go to jail. She’s often in a good position to know the dope on the street.”
“Where is she this time of the day?”
“She lives in an apartment on the east side. I know the building.”
“Off we go.” I started the car and drove.
It was a run-down building, stucco painted industrial green, much worse than any others we’d seen on this case, but I’d encountered shoddier apartments before.
It was around noon, and I was hungry, but this interview took precedence. Angelica looked perfect and composed, and if she was feeling irritable from hunger, it didn’t show. She led the way to a ground floor apartment on the left side of the building. The place was noisy with TVs blaring, dogs barking, and a vacuum cleaner going somewhere. Angelica knocked on
the door.
A woman answered. She was dressed in a leopard print skirt, a purple lamé top and gold stripper heels. Her makeup was garish, making what I suspected was a pretty face, clownish. And her dyed crimson hair didn’t do anything to help. She also had ratty tattoos on her arms and chest.
“Candy,” Angelica said.
The woman looked around surreptitiously, and quickly ushered the two of us into the apartment. It was surprisingly clean and neat. There were a rather threadbare sofa and a couple of worn chairs, but they were arranged pleasingly, and the place smelled fresh. I wasn’t expecting tidiness, especially after seeing Candy, but it just goes to show you that appearances can be deceiving.
“What are you doing here?” she cried. “You could get me killed!”
“No one knows who we are,” Angelica said. “We could be census takers, or Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
That calmed the painted woman down a bit. “I guess. What do you want? I haven’t got anything new for you.”
Angelica nodded at me and I withdrew the photo of Walter Mason from my pocket. “Have you seen this guy?”
Candy looked at the photo carefully. “Sure. That’s ‘High and Mighty.’ He’s got a few girls down by the freeway. Gonna bust his ass?”
“Maybe,” Angelica said. “Do you know where he hangs out?”
“I haven’t seen him in… oh… a week? He mostly stays in his car when he’s checking on his girls, but once in a while he comes out. That’s when I seen him. He kinda keeps to himself. His girls deal for him, you know.”
“I’ve heard that,” Angelica replied. “We’re looking for him.”
“Well, you might try the Rest Nest. His girls turn their tricks there.”
“We knew that,” I said. “What makes you think they’d know him there?”
“I seen him talking to the boss there a few times. I think he’s got some sort of pimp deal like my Bruno has. The john is a cheap tourist who wants a happy ending, and so he calls the manager to make it happen. I seen the manager and ‘High and Mighty’ talking about something and exchanging money. Maybe it was for dope. Don’t know for sure.”
So, clearly, Galinas lied to us. It was time to push his buttons. Angelica thanked Candy, passed her fifty dollars and we left.
We grabbed some Mickey D’s from a drive-through and ate as we drove to the Rest Nest Motel. Angelica phoned in a request for backup—we had to have some place to put Galinas once we had him in custody. He was manning the front desk himself.
“You back again?” he said, by way of greeting.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’d like you to come downtown with us for questioning.”
“What about?”
“A homicide case we’re working on.”
“This is about that girl, ain’t it? I don’t know nothing. I told you. I ain’t going nowhere.”
We didn’t have an arrest warrant. Technically, we couldn’t compel him to go with us without one, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t persuade him to be cooperative. “I strongly encourage you to come with us, Mr. Galinas,” I said, my voice firm, perhaps a little threatening.
He took a step back. The counter was between us. Stupid mistake on my part. He could turn and run out the back door before I could grab him. “No! I ain’t done nothing. You can’t arrest me.”
Angelica had slid under the flip-up counter door, and approached him from the side. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she told him. “If you have been telling the truth, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
He took another step back. “Fuck you!” he cried, pivoting quickly and preparing to run.
Angelica grabbed the back of his Hawaiian shirt, and struggled to hold on while he fought her. Several buttons popped off the shirt as they grappled. My heart was in my mouth. He could easily turn and smack her down. Which is what he attempted to do. The backhand toward her jaw was only a glancing blow, rocking her head to one side, but she didn’t relent. She tripped him, still holding on to his shirt. “Give it up, Galinas,” she shouted. “You’re now under arrest for assaulting a police officer. Do you want any other charges against you?”
He stopped fighting and put his hands up. “Okay. Okay,” he said, breathing hard. “Don’t get hot under the collar, lady.”
I came around the counter myself, my pulse beating an adrenaline tattoo. Thinking about the danger Angelica had been in had me crazy. The thing is, I couldn’t fault her for it. She was just doing her job. And doing it well. She’d anticipated his attempt to flee much better than I had. My stomach was churning. Blame it on the chicken nuggets.
I slipped the cuffs on him and muscled him out of the motel. The cruiser was waiting for us, so I pushed him into the backseat and turned to the waiting officer. “Take him downtown. We want to question him. Charge is assaulting an officer.”
“Okay. Will do.”
They got underway a minute later.
My jaw was tight; my hands wanted to fist. I was so mad at myself and Galinas that I wanted to hit something. Angelica had been in danger and I’d completely lost it. Sure, I hadn’t done anything to make things worse, but I had wanted to beat the motel manager to a pulp for threatening my girl. And she was my girl. I whirled that around in my brain for a moment. My girl. Shooting her a sideways glance, I asked her if she was okay. She felt the side of her face where a slight red patch had formed, but nodded. “Yeah, fine. I’ve had worse done.”
The whole idea made me cringe.
Moments later, she started making notes into her phone. She had no idea how conflicted I was, no idea at all.
“Angelica,” I began. “I don’t think we can do this.”
“Hmm?” She continued poking at her phone.
“I don’t think we can be together and work together at the same time.”
That got her full attention. “Why not?”
“Because seeing you fighting with Galinas drove me nearly insane.”
There was a pause. “Well, I had to subdue him.”
“Oh, I know. And you did the right thing. It was a rookie mistake on my part to leave the counter between him and me. I’m not mad at you.”
“Then I don’t-”
“I wanted to kill him for manhandling you. I wanted to tear him apart. I can’t lose my professional cool like that every time we make an arrest.”
“You can’t get it under control?”
I shook my head. “Not while we’re dating. I want to protect you too much.”
She frowned. “I can take care of myself.”
“I saw that first hand. That doesn’t change how I feel.”
“And how do you feel, Jase?”
How much of my ego did I want to risk? If I told her I was falling in love with her, she might shoot me down. I didn’t know how she felt about me, after all. She could think of me as a very casual relationship; one which could be discarded easily, should the necessity arise. For me, it wasn’t nearly that simple. “I’m not sure, Angelica.”
“You know,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to see you strong-arming a perp either. Or getting shot at. And that could easily happen.”
“Yeah. We either need to stop dating or stop being partners.”
“I don’t want to give up either relationship.”
I didn’t either. I wanted her where I could protect her, watch over her, love her both on the job and off. But how did I reconcile those feelings with the way it shot my blood pressure through the roof to see her in danger? I didn’t know and maybe now, when we were hot on the trail of the white rose killer was not the time to be dissecting this body.
I started the car and moved us out of the parking lot. “We’ll have to think about it,” I told her. “Right now, we have to question Galinas.”
“Another long day, huh, Jase?” The question was facetious, but her hand on my thigh was anything but false.
As we paused at the driveway, I gave her hand a squeeze. It was a moment of intimacy that had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with d
eeper emotions. It gave me something to think about, but I answered her casually. “Yeah. Comes with the territory.”
* * *
Galinas was waiting in the squad room, handcuffed and sitting on a wooden bench, when we came in. I asked the officer who’d transported him if he’d been booked, and was told that they hadn’t filed the paperwork yet. That was good, as far as I was concerned. I wanted him eager to have the charges reduced or dropped. I could have a word with the DA’s office to help him along that path—if he was cooperative. At that moment in time, given that I actually wanted to strangle him, I wasn’t inclined to do it, but I needed his information more than I needed to punish him for giving Angelica a hard time.
I took him by the arm and brought him into a suspect interview room. That set of rooms was Spartan, with a wooden table, two chairs and overhead fluorescent lights that cast a bluish glow on everyone present, graying their faces. We all looked like zombies.
Parking Galinas in a chair, I offered Angelica the other seat, but she shook her head and stood against the wall behind and to the right of me.
It took me thirty seconds to give him his Miranda warning, a requirement at this point in the process and anytime we began to question him while he was in custody. “So, Galinas, you’ve got yourself deep in shit this time. We know you lied to us, and since that time, there’s been an associated death. At the very least, you could be indicted for obstruction of justice and assaulting an officer. If the DA is amenable, we might be able to hit you with a conspiracy charge.”
“I didn’t conspire on nothing. I want a lawyer.”
“Absolutely,” I told him. Any good lawyer would tell him to shut up and take his lumps. But not all the public defenders were good lawyers. I had to take my chances. Galinas’ rights were in play.
Angelica left the room without a word, and I took Galinas to a holding area where he would stay out of trouble until his lawyer arrived. It took a couple of hours, but finally Fred Dayton showed up. I’d gotten lucky. Dayton was doing his time as a public defender, waiting for the opportunity to become personal criminal defense attorney to the stars. He was not a careerist as a defender of hardened criminals. At about twenty-five years old, he had a way to go before he was ready for prime time.
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