Badge of Honor

by Justine Davis

  "It would have been the perfect setup. He picks somebody who doesn't belong to a gang so that when he kills him, he doesn't have the homies coming after him."

  "But they still all know it could happen to them if they don't pay up," she said, sounding stunned. He guessed she'd only thought she'd found a way to help take Robards down, not that she might have come across the answer to the Rivas case, as well. "So it's really true?" she asked, looking across the table at him.

  "It all fits. We can't prove anything, maybe won't ever be able to, but it all fits."

  "Then he killed El Tigre, too, because he saw him kill Jaime. Those burns really were from him."

  "Stands to reason. If the rest is true, then Robards is our fatheaded killer in the ski mask."

  They'd been heading toward this revelation for days, but it was still a shock. And they didn't have a shred of solid proof that would stand up in court. All they had was supposition and hearsay.

  "So now what?" she asked.

  He took his mug and took a long, deep swallow, willing the caffeine to hit hard and fast.

  "I want him out, and I want him out now," he said flatly.

  "But we don't have anything concrete."

  "I know. But with what Choker gave us, I have enough to give me some leverage. I'll bluff a bit if I have to. And if he won't go quietly, I'll start an internal investigation the likes of which Trinity West has never seen."

  "Maybe you should wait, give me a chance to look into this shakedown thing. Maybe I can find somebody who'll talk. Maybe somebody already has and I can find who they talked to and backtrack."

  "Even if you could, it wouldn't be a lock. He's picked the perfect extortion victims, gang members who aren't about to file a complaint."

  She grimaced, then reluctantly agreed. "And probably wouldn't be believed if they did."

  "Exactly." He shook his head. "I'm surprised they haven't taken him out themselves."

  "That's why he sticks to the young ones, the ones he can intimidate," Kit said. "And he's got about an even chance they won't survive to grow up."

  It was, Miguel knew, painfully true. "But the ones that do, why haven't they gone after him?"

  She gave him a long, considering look. "I think you're underestimating the reputation of Trinity West. Since you turned things around, not even the adults want to risk the heat killing a cop would bring down on them."

  The simple declaration warmed him more than the coffee could.

  "Especially after The Pack went down," Kit added. "Quisto tells me the word on the street is that if the Pack couldn't stand up to Trinity West, the rest of them better walk carefully."

  "Thank Ryan for that, then. He did it."

  "But him going in deep cover like that was your idea."

  "And I regretted it a hundred times," he said wryly. "We almost lost him."

  "But we didn't. He came through, and he brought down Alarico and his henchmen. And the ripples from that have reached even to the street kids."

  "So in effect we've made it possible for Robards to run this little operation of his by making the gangsters afraid to take him out," Miguel said wearily. "Talk about a mixed blessing."

  "Only because Robards is around."

  "Yes." He shook off the weariness any discussion of the man seemed to bring on in him. "That's why I want him gone now. We'll keep looking for more, but I'm not going to put it off any longer. It's time to confront the devil."

  "All right. We'll just have to lay it out for him—"

  "We won't be doing anything. I will."

  "What?"

  "I'm the chief. It's my responsibility. And it's me he's after in the end, so it's up to me to stop him."

  "But I—"

  "No, Kit. I don't want you there. I may have to say some things I'd rather you didn't hear. And I don't want you having to testify later, if it should come to that."

  He also didn't want her there to draw any of Robards's fire, although he knew he couldn't tell her that. And he was afraid of what he might do. If he lost it and clobbered the guy, he didn't want her there to witness it.

  "I have to do this alone, Kit," he said when he saw she was still looking doubtful. "I'm not trying to keep you out of this just for your sake, but mine, too."

  She didn't look happy, but she nodded. "But I'll be close at hand," she insisted.

  He smiled and gave her a small nod. "Like I said, you're the best backup around."

  Her mouth twisted, then softened with concern. "Maybe you should do it today," she said. "At least he wouldn't have any backup of his own handy on a Sunday."

  "That's just why I can't," he said. "I don't want him to have that to throw at me, that I didn't have the guts to face him except alone, that I'm afraid of all the support he has at Trinity West. He's threatened more than once to mutiny, in effect."

  She drew back slightly. "You don't believe that, do you? That he has enough support to really challenge you?"

  "He's got enough to make it damn ugly," Miguel said sourly. "And they all know their parts, everything from accusations of incompetence to favoritism to age discrimination. For them it would be like storming the Bastille."

  "They've already come to you?"

  He nodded. "At one time or another since I took over. I wondered if maybe they weren't laying the groundwork. To get rid of the greaser, as Robards so eloquently put it."

  "Bastard," Kit said, the epithet made more potent by the soft but fierce voice she used and the fact that she so rarely swore.

  "Thank you," he said quietly, meaning it. Her instant, passionate summation meant a great deal to him.

  "It's the truth," she said. "So. Monday?"

  He nodded, then drained the last of his coffee. "Monday. I've got a meeting first thing, but definitely before lunch."

  "All right. That gives me today to look into this. I'll just clean up the dishes first."

  His gaze shot to her face, and she stopped in the act of getting to her feet. "I was hoping we could find … something else to do today."

  She sank into her chair, her eyes widening, and a second later her lips parted, as if she suddenly couldn't get enough air. He knew the feeling.

  "We'll do that first," she finally whispered.

  The dishes didn't get done until much later.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  «^»

  Ugly hadn't been a strong enough word, Miguel thought. Robards had been on a roll since he'd strolled into the office in that swaggering waddle of his. And he'd taken his sweet time getting here, one of his usual ploys to show he wasn't impressed by Miguel or his rank.

  Miguel been restless all morning, since he'd sent the message to Robards that he wanted to see him before noon. His mind kept bouncing between sweet, hot memories of Kit and thoughts of the upcoming confrontation. The roller coaster ride had been wearing, at best.

  He knew there were things he and Kit needed to talk about, things they needed to settle, things they had to decide how to deal with, but neither of them could get past this thing hanging over them. By tacit agreement they'd concentrated on this alone, with him outlining his battle plan while Kit was out pounding the pavement again, looking for anything to support the extortion theory, the only slim chance they had to nail Robards on a criminal charge.

  Rosa had been watching Miguel closely, as if she sensed something was up, but she was nothing if not discreet, and she held back any questions.

  After Robards's arrival Miguel had gone to close the office door and leaned out to tell Rosa to hold any calls except from Detective Walker. Rosa had smiled at the mention of Kit's name, making Miguel wonder if she knew something. Then her quick, alert eyes had darted from Robards, his bulky figure lolling with studied casualness in a chair opposite his desk, to Miguel. Her brows rose, and her eyes lit up.

  "Finally," he heard her mutter.

  It was the last supportive word he'd heard. Robards was building up a real head of steam.

  "You think you can accuse me�
��me—of murder and get away with it? Not on your miserable life!"

  Miguel leaned back and watched the heavy jowls redden as Robards's fury rose. Maybe he'd have a stroke and keel over right here, putting an end to it all. It wouldn't be the first time hatred had turned on a man like this.

  "Interesting," he observed mildly, knowing nothing infuriated a man like Robards more than the target of his anger remaining calm and unimpressed. "I don't recall anyone accusing you. Why would you assume that's what I meant when I asked what happened between you and Jaime Rivas that night?"

  "You can take your fancy words, twisting what a man says, and your college degree and shove them. I knew something was up, should have figured you were behind it."

  Robards spat out the words, and tobacco-stained saliva sprayed out. Miguel reached into his pocket, took out a handkerchief and, with a distaste he didn't bother to hide, wiped the glass on his desk. The action, as he had intended, added fuel to the flame.

  "You're done for here, I'll see to that! And don't think I can't do it. There's a whole lot of us who are sick of you and your foreign ways."

  "Last time I looked, that degree on the wall said UCLA," Miguel observed, "and that's still in California, I believe."

  Robards swore, low and crude. "Uppity smart ass, that's all you ever were." He got to his feet. "I'm getting out of here."

  "Sit down."

  "Go to hell. And if you're recording me, I'll say it louder."

  "No recording. This is—for now—off the record."

  "Because you don't know anything and you can't prove anything."

  "I know more than you can imagine, Kenneth," he said, knowing his use of the man's first name would infuriate him further, maybe push him closer to an incautious statement or two. "For instance, I know you've orchestrated the string of complaints from your cronies with an eye toward my dismissal. Unfortunately for you, the mayor and city manager know it, too. And they're not putting much credence in what are clearly groundless charges."

  Anger flickered in the flat brown eyes. "We'll see how a hearing goes on that."

  "You may try, of course. It is your right to a public hearing. But then, naturally, the Rivas case will have to come out."

  "You'd never do that. You haven't got enough guts to go after a real man."

  He has no idea what kind of man you are. And that's going to cost him. Kit's words, soft and fervent, came to Miguel, and he smiled. It seemed to infuriate Robards, and his voice rose.

  "Even if you did," he declared, "not only can you not prove a damned thing, but the real cops on the force will desert you in droves. I'll propose a vote of no confidence, and they'll back me to a man."

  Miguel didn't react. If he didn't have the backing of his people by now, he never would. Instead he leaned back in his chair as if this was no more than a friendly conversation.

  "Sit down," he said again, "while I run through a list." Warily, and clearly unwillingly, Robards took his seat once more. Miguel was certain it was only to find out how much he knew.

  "Carmela Rivas," Miguel began, "who will provide proof her son was never a gang member. Martin Rivas, who will not only verify his brother wasn't in a gang, but will swear that he was murdered by a cop. A kid named Mako, who saw you a block away right before Jaime was murdered—"

  "You think any sane jury would take the word of—"

  "Shut up," Miguel snapped, and Robards blinked in surprise and subsided. "A witness who saw you beat an unarmed, innocent kid to death, then was conveniently murdered himself. But not before he told his story."

  "Hearsay, and from a gang member," Robards snarled. "You aren't going to get far with that, Mex."

  "Cuban, actually," Miguel said smoothly, then went on as if the interruption had never happened. "And then there's the matter of the missing supplemental filed by Officer Welton."

  For the first time concern flickered in Robards's reddened face. But he hid it quickly. "Don't know a thing about any missing report, so I guess it's your word against mine."

  "No, it's your word against Welton's. Who, by the way, is now nicely out of your reach and will be more than happy to testify about that night, including how you told him to keep his mouth shut and never bothered to call the paramedics. How do you think that will go over? Of course, you already knew he was dead because you'd made sure of it. Just like you made sure you handled the scene yourself and wrote all the reports so nothing could point to anything but a gang hit."

  "You're full of it." The chair creaked as Robards shifted his weight, and Miguel knew he was getting nervous. He pressed the advantage.

  "For that matter, isn't it coincidental that the entire Rivas file seems to be missing, when you were the last one with it?"

  "That bitch!" Fury flashed in the flat brown eyes again. "I knew she started this! So she did run to you. She spreading her legs for you? Is that what this is all about?"

  Miguel stared at the man. He kept his hands pressed to his desktop, ordering himself not to lose contact with it, knowing it was the only way he could keep himself from wrapping his fingers around the pudgy throat and squeezing until Robards's face matched his spotted blue tie. He almost shook with the rage that filled him, and it took every bit of self-mastery he'd ever learned in an unfair world to keep it from showing.

  "I suggest," he said carefully, "that in your precarious position, you refrain from personal attacks on anyone."

  Perhaps he hadn't been entirely successful in concealing his wrath, because Robards abandoned that tack.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "Must have been misfiled. You know how those girls in records are, too busy filing their nails to pay attention to their jobs."

  "Isn't it just convenient, then, that Detective Walker made a copy of every page of that report before it was … lost."

  Robards swore, crudely, viciously. He owed, Miguel thought grimly, an apology to everybody in Trinity West for not ridding them of this evil affliction sooner. He was in control and went on as if the detour hadn't occurred.

  "And then there's the car, which was stolen to perpetrate that second murder and was conveniently marked by the thief. Marked with burns from his disgusting cigars." Robards's teeth clenched on the stub between his yellowed teeth. "You know, they found some ash residue in the car that night. It's on its way to be analyzed. Want to bet it will match those stogies of yours?"

  "Circumstantial," Robards blurted, but he was truly nervous, Miguel could smell it. And apparently, Robards couldn't smell a bluff. The Marina del Mar officer who'd found Choker's car hadn't been at all interested in those burn marks, other than noting them on his report. But Miguel was betting Robards didn't know that.

  "Perhaps," Miguel said, knowing it was time to take the gloves off. Time to let off some of that pressure. The words came out like machine-gun fire. "But it's more than enough to open an internal investigation that will make your life a living hell. That's your choice, Robards. Retire gracefully while you have the chance or face every dark, evil corner of your twisted mind being dragged into the sun for the world to see."

  "Who the hell do you think you are? I was a cop when you were still dancing around a sombrero—"

  "I'm the man who's going to take you down, who's going to expose you for the vicious, bigoted, racist, misogynistic slime you are, unless you make the choice you don't deserve to get."

  "You'll never get away with this! I've got thirty years on this force. Nobody will ever take the word of a bunch of street punks and Mexicans over mine."

  "Don't count on it. Carmela Rivas alone will make a powerful witness. And I'll call in every favor owed to me to make sure your name and face are splattered over every paper in the state, along with a full list of the charges against you."

  Robards sputtered. Miguel ignored him.

  "Even if you're exonerated for lack of evidence, you'll never wash it away. You'll be like a child molester, looking for a place to hide and never finding it. You'll never work in law enforcement again
, and if you try to get a private cop job, I'll do my damnedest to stop you. And you'll find my damnedest is pretty damn good."

  Robards turned so red-faced Miguel wondered if that stroke wasn't a very real possibility. He swore, a long string of crude words and slurs that lost their impact after the first few. Miguel leaned forward.

  "It's over, Robards. There's no room for your methods and attitudes at Trinity West. There's no room for you."

  "You stinking bastard!" Robards leaped to his feet.

  "Is that your choice?"

  "You're damned right it is! I'll fight you to the end, and you'll be the one left in the dirt, where your kind belongs."

  "Last chance," Miguel said. "Take the retirement and run."

  Robards spat intentionally, then walked over and yanked open the office door. "I'll have your fucking badge for this, you spic bastard!"

  If I lose this fight, you're welcome to it, Miguel thought. Still looking at him, Robards roared on. "I'll have that vote of no confidence done before you can—"

  "Not at Trinity West, you won't."

  The voice cutting Robards off came from his anteroom. And he knew that voice, knew it so well. He'd heard it bright with laughter, he'd heard it solemn with sorrow, he'd heard it husky with passion.

  And now he heard it deadly with intent. Kit. Robards stopped dead in the doorway, staring into the other room as if poleaxed. Miguel got to his feet, brow furrowing.

  "You think you've won, don't you, bitch?" Robards shouted. Miguel moved from behind his desk in a rush.

  "It's over, Lieutenant."

  Cruz's voice, strong and clear. Miguel crossed his office in two long strides as Ryan Buckhart's voice rang out, heavy with the menace he could project so well.

  "Two can play your game, white man. The only mutiny that's going to happen at Trinity West is against you. My wife will love the chance to tell the world the truth about you and what happened the night we took the Pack down."

  Robards sputtered, for once too furious for words. Miguel stared into his anteroom. Not only Kit, Cruz and Ryan, but the entire detective division was there. Along with plainclothes personnel and civilians. There was Betty, and near the front Rosa, pride beaming from her face. And there were uniforms sprinkled among them, Quisto Romero and several other patrol officers. In fact, it looked like almost the entire day watch was crammed into the crowded room.