by Steve Garcia
Wallace headed toward the door. Reyes followed behind.
I’m going to kill David. He didn’t want me getting caught flat-footed. Ha!
Wallace stormed past the locker room, turned left down the center aisle of the Pit. Coombs and Albanese were deep in conversation.
“Joanne, what in the hell is happening?”
Coombs spun in her chair. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything. FID still has Brooks in room one. He hasn’t called his union rep. Siley’s been in his office with the door shut. FID agents are running around here like cockroaches…sorry, Phil. No offense.”
“Is this something to do with the city council case?” asked Reyes.
Coombs shrugged and Wallace saw the door to IR one open.
A white male, over six foot tall, short black hair, stepped out first, followed by Brooks and then another man, who was a carbon copy of the first man except he was black. Brooks was staring at the floor, silent. He looked tired, but there appeared a familiar grim resolve in his expression.
Kahn jogged to the corner and peeked down the hall. A moment later, he returned to the huddle of detectives. “They all went into Siley’s office.”
Before anyone could speak, Wallace’s husband came down the hall, followed by Jerry Cresner hobbling, leaning heavy on his cane. He was accompanied by a female FID officer with bobbed brunette hair. She was shorter than her male counterparts, but otherwise cut from the same mold.
“Motherfuck,” Wagner said. “Now what? Why is Cresner here? He’s not homicide.”
“This is getting damned strange,” Albanese said.
Wallace’s heart was sinking. David must have made some kind of mistake.
“Well, I’ve had enough.” Wagner raced over and blocked the way to the interview rooms. David stopped and looked at him as though he was a lab specimen. Wagner sure did look a mess.
“Okay, that’s about enough of this bullshit,” Wagner said. “You need to tell us what the hell you’re up to. Why are you dragging cops into interrogation?”
“Step aside, officer,” David said. “You don’t want a part of me.”
“Screw you. We’re not some drug cartel. We’re your fellow officers. We deserve respect.”
“I’m going to say it once more. Step aside.” Wallace had to admire the way he took no crap. She guessed it was a daily occurrence.
Wagner didn’t move, but Kahn stepped forward and placed his arm around Wagner’s chest. “Come on, Harlen, let ’em do their job.”
“This fucking stinks,” said Wagner.
“You can’t afford another strike, partner.”
Wagner took a step back.
“I appreciate your concern for your fellow officers,” David said, “but I‘m not at liberty to discuss the current situation. I can tell you that we simply need to ask a few questions of these men.” The FID group went into the interview room, with Cresner leading the way.
“Now what?” Wagner said. His anger was gone, replaced by an exasperated tone. “Are we going to just sit around and do nothing?”
Coombs walked by and quietly slipped into the observation room. Smart cookie, thought Wallace. She and the others quickly followed. It was small, designed for use by three or four people, but now all six detectives squeezed in.
Coombs powered up the recording equipment. The video screen illuminated, but remained snow-filled gray. “Damn. They must have switched off the link.”
“How about audio?” Albanese asked.
Coombs adjusted the volume, and to Wallace’s surprise, they could clearly hear the conversation in IR one.
Wallace tensed as the voice of her husband crackled through the speakers.
“We need to know where you were this morning until noon.”
Reyes gave her a look. Surely they didn’t think Cresner had something to do with Simons’s death?
“Looks like they flipped only one of the switches,” Coombs said. “Thank God for the technologically challenged.”
“Shush,” said Wallace.
“I was at home.” Cresner said.
“With your wife?”
“She left around seven for work.”
“According to your file, your authorization to return to work form states that you are able to drive. Is that form wrong?”
“No. I can drive.”
“And did you drive anywhere this morning?”
“My car is in the shop. It wouldn’t start so we had the guy at our local garage come tow it in. Maybe it was because it was sitting around for three months while I recuperated from being shot. I assume you all remember that.”
“Sure we do, Jerry. Before we get to that, why don’t you go ahead and finish telling us about the rest of your morning.”
“There is no rest. A friend brought me to work around ten. I worked. Your people picked me up.”
The OR was suddenly silent. Coombs instantly began fiddling with the buttons. “It’s all working,” she whispered. “I don’t think anyone’s talking in the other room.”
A few more seconds passed. David finally said, “And?”
“That’s it, unless you want me to list my trips to the bathroom.”
“You weren’t at your desk when we came to pick you up.”
“I was in the break room eating lunch. Mary packed me a cold meat loaf sandwich. You guys picked me up at lunchtime for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t get it,” Wallace said. “Are they suggesting he had something to do with Simons’s death?”
“Uh-oh,” Coombs said. “I think…shh! Somebody left the room. Everybody quiet.”
The detectives froze. Wallace heard a female voice right outside the door. Wagner leaned his ear against it. No one moved, except for Coombs, who slid her hand to the volume control panel and hit mute.
Wagner turned around. “I think she went back in,” he whispered. “She called somebody and told them to check out Cresner’s story.”
“They don’t believe him,” Coombs said. She turned the volume back up.
“… and you don’t know anything about the death of council member Simons. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I heard that it was a suicide.”
“Please answer the question. Did you have anything to do with council member Simons’s death?”
“No. Is that clear enough?”
“Let’s try another one, then. Did you know Bartholomew Pearl?”
Silence filled both rooms. Coombs once again checked the volume controls in the OR and shrugged. “We’re okay.”
“I don’t like the fact that he didn’t answer right away,” Kahn said.
“Me neither.” Coombs turned to the other detectives. “He sounds nervous. If he was my suspect—”
Wallace held up a hand. “Let’s not go there.”
“Can’t think of an answer to that one, Jerry?” Agent Wallace asked. “It’s a simple yes or no. Did you know Bart Pearl?”
“No. I didn’t know him. I…I sometimes have trouble remembering exactly what happened, is all. I’ve been over this before.”
“Humor me, go over it again,” David said.
Wallace heard Cresner give a deep sigh.
“There was this alley. Some guy was arguing with Pearl. Of course, at the time I didn’t know that’s who it was. I was off-duty, but it looked to me like the situation was turning ugly. These two guys were sort of dancing, like. You know? They had a hold of each other and were moving farther down the alley—push, shove, push, shove—that kind of thing.”
“And being a conscientious cop, you decided to, shall we say, cut in?”
“I thought it was my duty to stop them before things took a turn for the worse.”
“Go on.” Another FID agent had spoken.
“I was only a couple of feet away when I identified myself as a cop. Without saying a word, Pearl pulled a gun. I grabbed his hand, the one with the gun in it, and pushed down. He squeezed the trigg
er. The bullet hit me right here.”
“And then?” a female voice asked.
“I tried to hold on but I was falling. He whipped me around and slammed me into the wall. It was like being hit by a train. I dropped hard on my ass. I thought I was going to pass out but I fought it. After a second or two I felt myself pitching to one side. That was it.”
“Were you able to see what Pearl did next, or what happened to the other man you claim was there?”
“I don’t claim anything. He was there.”
“Did you notice what he did when the shooting started?” David asked.
“He started running when Pearl and I locked up. I was too busy to see where he went.”
“And Pearl? What happened to Pearl?”
“I don’t know. I passed out.”
“Let’s go back to the third man. It was a man, right? Not a woman?”
“I think it was a man.”
“You think it was, huh?” the female FID agent said. “Not sure any more?”
“It happened kind of fast. I wasn’t checking IDs or grabbing tits. You’ll notice I haven’t grabbed yours yet.”
“That’s enough,” Wallace’s husband said. “Try to remember we’re all cops here.”
“I will, if you will,” Cresner said.
“Can you describe this person who we’ll call the third man?” David asked.
“Hispanic, I think. He and Pearl were about the same size.”
“And you’re sure there was this third person?”
“Yes. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Until we get it right. We listened to your story. Now, see how ours sounds. You and Pearl met to discuss business. Business that couldn’t be conducted in a normal setting, so you turned to an alley. Things did not go well. Pearl shot you. He went to jail. You recovered. For no good reason, Pearl was released and, a couple of days later, killed. Now, we have to ask ourselves, who would like to see Mr. Pearl killed?”
Again awkward silence filled both rooms.
Damn. Coombs was right. The long hesitations weren’t a good sign. Wallace looked around the room and wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing.
Perhaps Cresner was just having trouble focusing. He’d been through a lot the last three months, physically and mentally. And David and the other agent weren’t wearing kid gloves. They were showing no respect for the man’s record, or for his weakened state.
When Cresner broke the silence, his voice was croaky.
“And what business would I have with Pearl?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere, Jerry,” said David. “What business, indeed?”
He smells blood, thought Wallace.
“Tell us about guns, Jerry—”
The door opened suddenly, and Brooks’s face registered surprise.
“What in the hell?” Then anger creased Brooks’s brow. “Wait a damn minute. Are you guys listening in on Cresner’s examination? Did you listen in on my little interview as well?” He barged through and hit the power button. “That’s none of your damn business.”
“No one’s told us anything,” Kahn said. “We were concerned about you and your buddy in there.”
“It sounds like FID believes that he may have been involved in the killing of Pearl,” Coombs said.
“What the hell do you know about it?” Brooks said. “Jerry Cresner has been a cop since before you were in diapers. The man has given his blood for this city. What gives you the right to criticize him or to suspect him of doing anything wrong?”
“She was only repeating what she overheard,” Wagner said.
“Well, she shouldn’t have been listening. None of you should.”
“Hold it, now,” Kahn said. “There was some pretty curious shit going down in the other room.”
“I don’t know. I think Brooks is right,” Reyes said. “We overstepped our boundaries.”
“What?” Coombs said.
“I mean, he’s right. None of us should have been listening. It’s like listening in on a confessional.”
“Bullshit,” Wagner said. “We have a right to know, especially if one of us has flipped.”
“That’s just it.” Reyes threw his hands up. “We don’t know that for a fact.”
“I have to confess that what I heard didn’t sound good for your friend,” Wallace said. “I know you guys were partners but…”
Brooks glared at her. “Jesus, Phil, of all people, I didn’t think you would stoop this low. Think what you want. I know the man.”
Siley appeared in the open door way. “Good Christ, what in the world is everybody doing in here? Your desks are out there.”
“They had to find out what Jerry was being raked over the coals for,” Brooks said.
Wagner eased his way between Siley and the doorjamb, but the captain got in the way.
“None of you may like what’s going on, but we’ve got to live with it. I’ve been ordered to provide FID office space for the duration of their investigation.”
A collective groan went through the room.
“Captain,” said Wallace. “If the Simons death is linked with Pearl’s murder, we need to be all over that scene.”
Siley held up both palms. “There’s nothing I can do, Phil. FID are running a tight ship on Simons—they won’t let anything leak.”
“Then we’re putting the case together with one hand tied behind our back.”
“So be it, but stay out of their way. I don’t want this department being obstructive.”
“Do we get to know what the hell it is that they’re investigating?” Wagner asked.
“When it’s the proper time, you’ll be told. There are most likely going to be others called in for interviews. If you end up being one of those, cooperate. Pissing them off doesn’t help anybody.”
“Fuck them.” Wagner tried to push past Siley.
“Goddamn it, Harlen. You’ll do what I say or you’ll be out of here. Now is not the time for bullshit.” Siley looked over the group. “How about we start trying to solve a couple of murders instead of eavesdropping on a private matter?”
The phone rang. Wallace slipped out of the OR and hurried to the first desk she could reach. “Hollywood Precinct, Detective Wallace speaking.”
“Detective Wallace, this is Sergeant Evans, Wilshire. Are you working the Pearl case?”
“Among others,” she replied.
“We responded to a report of a break-in up on Lemon Grove. The place is registered to your vic. My guys are there now. Wanna take a look?”
“Sure,” said Wallace. “Give me the details.”
As she scribbled down the address, Reyes leaned over her cubicle wall.
“That a lead?”
“Thanks, detective.” She put down the phone and turned to her partner. “That was Wilshire on the phone. Pearl’s apartment has been broken into.”
Reyes grabbed his bottle of water. “You going to tell FID?”
“Cooperate, my ass. Once they start scratching our back, I’ll think about returning the favor. For now, let’s keep it to ourselves.”
11
Wallace drove them in silence south along Northwestern toward Pearl’s apartment. They stopped for a red light at the corner of Northwestern and Virginia, and Reyes stared out of the window at a sign on an empty lot. Future Home of O’Hisser’s Sports Bar and Grill. Gilcrest Construction.
“I had a feeling Pearl and Simons were linked. Two deaths in twenty-four hours—same gun I bet. Simons takes out Pearl, then does himself.”
“And why would the good councilman shoot a successful building contractor, Sherlock?”
“Because Pearl had something on him.”
“And why’d he kill himself?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Phil. Murderers aren’t always logical. He got his revenge and then couldn’t live with himself, I guess.”
“Mm,” said Wallace, in a tone that suggeste
d she thought Reyes’s detective skills didn’t amount to much.
Reyes reached into his rear pocket and pulled out a wad of papers he had jammed in there earlier. He had forgotten all about them until now. Reyes unfolded the sheets and smoothed them on the dashboard.
“What’s that?” Wallace asked.
“When I was going through the contract folders at Simons’s office, I found what I guess would be called the master list. It didn’t have anything but the project name, the project number, the list of contractors who were bidding on it, and who was awarded the deal. I had started checking things out when FID came a knocking.” He smiled. “I figured I had better grab what I could.”
“I’m impressed. What does it say?”
“Let me see.” Reyes checked the spreadsheet. “Hell, these pages go back, what, about five years…” He ran his finger down the columns, flipped to the next pages, and did the same. “Okay.” He glanced over at Wallace. “There are no details, of course, so there may be extenuating circumstances as to why someone was selected. All this spreadsheet does is list the final bid of each construction company and who the low bidder was. In the last five years where there was head-to-head competition, that is where both Davey and Pearl bid, it looks like Pearl took about seventy-five percent of the jobs. I can see why Davey may have been getting frustrated. His bids were close every time but Pearl somehow managed to come in a percent or two lower.”
“And? Perhaps Pearl was a better businessman. It’s like Davey said, fair and square.”
“Or Pearl and Simons were in something together. You know, scratching each other’s nuts.”
“I think you mean backs.”
“Hey, I’m Latino. Lost in translation. So far, we don’t have any link between Pearl and Simons that isn’t purely circumstantial.”
“We would need to see the complete job files back in Simons’s office, or check his bank details.”
“And, of course, we’re not exactly on the A-list at that crime scene.”
Wallace dug in her jacket pocket, pulled out her notebook, and flipped it open on the center of the steering column. “I meant to ask Simons’s secretary—what was her name?”
“Parks.”
“Well, we need to talk to her again. Simons was due to meet someone called Duke this morning. I think the guy’s first name might be Dwayne. Can you do a search?”
