Alexa transitioned onto the 5 heading toward North Mission Road. "Why do you want to go to the chop shop?" she asked.
"If we can find a way to get somebody down there to give us a look at the death reports, I'd like to compare Juan Iglesia's and Ron Torgason's head injuries. The neighbor said Torgason might have hit the diving board and fallen into his pool. What do you bet that Torgason's injury looks a lot like the one Juan Iglesia got when he slipped and hit his head on that shower faucet?" I waited for this to sink in before adding, "What if there's a lead pipe or a lug wrench lying around? A murder weapon clotted with hair or blood forensics that ties those two killings together."
Alexa drove for a few minutes considering it. Then she looked over. "That's good," she said, smiling. "I like that."
Chapter 40
Jane Sasso was vacuuming up what was left of my police career. Both Alexa and I had become high-profile Internal Affairs priorities and the department rumor mill had already made everyone on the job aware of the jackpot we were in. With all this against us, Alexa was now talking about doing a black bag job on the M. E.'s computer in broad daylight. I've made a career of skirting rules and if you intend to survive these kinds of misadventures there's a certain gruesome technique that goes along with it. My new, wild-eyed, adrenaline junky wife didn't seem to comprehend that at all.
We parked in the lot at the North Mission Road complex. The plain, four-story shoebox-shaped death house loomed above us. It was going to be extremely difficult to get our hands on those two M. E.'s reports and I had just finished pointing this out to her.
"What's so difficult? We just grab the stuff and split," she said. "I still have the juice. Nobody in there is going to deny me computer access."
"The minute you put in your command ID number, they're gonna know it was us. We gotta use a little finesse, Alexa."
"This isn't some MENSA-powered, cyber-giant like Google; it's the LAPD," she countered. "They run on jelly doughnuts around here. Believe me, nobody's gonna check back on this."
"I'm not scamming this computer," I said bluntly. Boy, talk about your role reversals.
"We' re working a triple homicide, Shane. All this caution isn't like you. Where's the old rule-breaker? Where's the old, don't worry, it's-gonna-work-out guy I married? If we hit this piggy-bank hard enough, case facts will rain down like quarters."
"A pig metaphor?" I groaned. Then I reminded her, "It was just this kind of thinking that used to keep you up nights worrying about me back when you ran the Detective division."
"I'm just going to walk in there and tell them I want the two files. Don't worry, I'll get them."
"What you'll get is a standing ten count from I. A. At least let me do this," I said, thinking if one of us was going to go down, it would be much better if it was me. Her pension was larger.
She shook her head. "You don't know my computer password and I'm not giving it to you. The computers are on the second floor, huh?"
"Yes. Don't you ever come down here?"
"I'm a supervisor. I hate the smell of chloroform."
"Nobody uses chloroform anymore. It's formaldehyde now, with methanol, ethanol, and a bunch of other smelly shit."
"Thanks for the update." She was already out of the car.
We walked inside and rode the elevator up in silence.
"Since I'm a little new to this and you're such an old hand, tell me, when stealing unauthorized material from our secure computer system, what have you found is the best way to do it?"
"The first rule is never do it yourself. Have someone do it for you. But I guess we're kinda beyond that."
"Time restraints dictate drastic measures," she said. "Stop hedging and give me the four-one-one."
"I'll make a scene while you slip past the sign-in desk. The computer room where they file the records is on the east side of the building. Grab any available workstation, and get after it. You're gonna need to go to the LAPD mainframe to get the death report numbers for both cases. Don't use any password or ID number that ties it directly back to you. Use the general command division password. Then go into the M. E.'s computer records and print a hard copy of both files so we can take them with us. Don't forget, autopsy photos."
"See? That wasn't so hard," she said.
We exited the elevator and I went directly to the desk where a young, female civilian employee was attending the sign-in log. Her nametag identified her as R. Gonzales.
"Hi," I said, flashing the whole front grill. "What's the 'R' stand for? Rebecca? Rose? Ramona?" I was being intentionally chatty and aggressive in order to focus her attention on me, while trying to block her sightline of Alexa, who was moving quickly toward the side door.
— But Gonzales spotted her and leaned out for a better look. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, you can't-" But Alexa was already disappearing into the corridor. "You've got to sign in, please," she called after her.
"That's Captain Jane Sasso, with BPS," I said, throwing the worst rep in the department at her. "She doesn't need to sign in. And even if she did, all it would be is a bloody paw print." I gave her a charming leer.
"That's Captain Sasso?"
"Didn't you see the black cape?"
That earned me a flat look. I rushed on, trying to get her off this. "Listen, I need to talk to Ray Tsu." I was asking about the assistant coroner everybody on the job called Fey Ray, because he always whispered and exhibited absolutely no trace of any kind of personality.
"Who can I say is calling?" the girl said, now sounding like the receptionist at a private club.
"Shane Scully."
Her brow furrowed. "The Shane Scully?"
"I'm not sure I know how to respond to that," I said, chuckling. "I'm a Shane Scully."
"Aren't you like in major trouble around here?"
"I'm the current target of several unfortunate misunderstandings." I was hoping Alexa wouldn't waste much time getting the files. I was quickly running out of road with this girl.
Finally, she picked up the phone and informed Ray that I wanted to see him. She listened for a moment, then looked up at me and put her hand over the receiver.
"He doesn't want to talk to you."
"Nonsense."
"That's what he said."
"Gimme that." I plucked the receiver from her hand before she could object.
At least now I had her full and undivided attention. She seemed to have completely forgotten about her Alexa-Jane Sasso problem.
"Hi Ray, it's me."
"I'm not helping you, Shane." Ray's voice came through the headset in his characteristic, vanilla-toned whisper.
"Ray, I was wondering if you could pull a couple of files for›› me.
"I'm not pulling any files," Ray said softly. "You've got career leprosy, man. I touch you, I get warts."
We argued about this for about a minute until I sensed Ray was about to hang up.
"Hey, Ray, hang on a minute."
"This conversation is over. Put Ruina back on."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Alexa slip back out of the side door with some manila folders in her hand. She speed-walked to the elevator. Ruina Gonzales peered around me to catch a look at the fearsome Jane Sasso.
"That's not Captain Sasso," she said. "I saw her picture on the command ID chart. That looks more like Lieutenant Scully to me.
"Nah, come on. You don't think I'd know Lieutenant Scully? I'm married to her."
On the other end of the phone, Ray Tsu was shouting, "What's going on? Are you down here stealing evidence again like last year?"
I hung up without responding and joined Alexa in the elevator just as the doors were closing.
"Got the files," she said happily. "But you were right. We should have had somebody else snag them."
"What happened?"
"Priority lock. I still had enough command clearance to override it, but I had to use my personal bureau ID number. You can bet in an hour there'll be some pissed-off people over in the PAB." Her eyes were shining with excitement. "What a
ball it is doing it this way."
"It sucks," I growled, thinking I needed to get my ass back on Dr. Lusk's couch in a hurry.
Chapter 41
We stopped for an early dinner at the Bistro Garden in the Valley. We didn't have reservations, but I scored a good table because it was five o'clock and the after-work crowd hadn't arrived. The Bistro was Alexa's favorite Valley eatery. It's a spacious, high-ceilinged restaurant that sits on the corner of Ventura Boulevard and Van Noord Avenue. The interior dining area was showcased by tall wood-framed, garden windows. The walls were faced with white trellises, lush with greenery. A rich oak bar dominated the entire east end of the room. Alexa was still grinning over her Mission Road caper when the bottle of Pouilly Fuisse I ordered arrived at our table.
"All these years I used to criticize your methodology. How boring. I'm surprised you didn't throw a shoe at me. That was a total rush!"
As the waiter uncorked the wine, I said, "We can't just ignore department rules, some of which I might add, you helped to institute."
"I don't want to argue about this," she said gently. "We're going to have a nice dinner. The chef here is gonna do your special whitefish thing you love with the lemon butter and capers. We're gonna kill this twenty-five-dollaf bottle of French grape, and it's all gonna work out."
"We're gonna end up being arrested for obstructing justice," I said grimly, trying to slow her down. "Jane Sasso is going to unload her full quiver at us."
"Okay, not to be argumentative, but you've got to stop thinking like a cop and start thinking a little more outside the lines." Alexa was reciting directly from my playbook but I knew she had no idea what the hell she was getting into.
"Officially, we are no longer on this case," she continued. "So technically, if you stop to analyze it, anything we do is gonna be off limits as far as Jane, or Tony, or the other blocked hats on six are concerned. We're without portfolio, so how are we going to do this thing if we don't bend a few rules and take a few liberties?"
Just then my cell phone rang and while Alexa swirled wine in her goblet, watching it cling to the sides of her glass, I got a report back from Walt Finn in the Records Division. He'd run Tito Morales and Mike Church, aka Miguel Iglesia, through the system and had unsealed some of Church's juvenile records to get what I asked. When he finished giving me the info, I thanked him and looked at Alexa. "You'll never believe who represented Mike Church when he got busted for gang violence as a teenager."
She took a sip of the chardonnay, smiled at me, and waited.
"Tito Morales. It was a simple assault. Morales took the case right after he graduated from Southwestern Law School and passed the bar, just before he joined the prosecutor's office.
"How'd you get that? Church's juvie record is supposed to be sealed."
"I had it unsealed," I said. "According to court records, Church's father is the one who hired Tito Morales to represent his son. Tito pled it down to a misdemeanor assault with no time served. Naturally, that makes you wonder how Juan Iglesia knew
Tito Morales in the first place. I just found out it was part of the report Walt just gave me."
She leaned forward, anxious to hear the rest.
"I had my friend in records also check on Tito Morales. He pulled up the Bar Association paperwork Morales filed after law school. His place of birth was Pueblo Viejo, Mexico. His parents immigrated here with him when he was a year old. Tito got his citizenship in eighty-one under the Reagan Amnesty. Juan Iglesia's immigration and naturalization papers say he was also born in Pueblo Viejo. The Iglesia and Morales families go all the way back to that same little hill town in Mexico. That's the connection we've been looking for between Church and Morales. Of course, we can't exactly use it because the information was illegally acquired."
"A fact not directly in evidence," she said smiling. "Besides, isn't that more or less part of the public record?"
I think technically she was right. But it was a stark glimpse of what it must have been like for her dealing with me for all these years.
"Let's look at the stuff you downloaded from the M. E.'s computer," I said to change the subject.
She opened the folder and handed me the coroner's reports on Juan Iglesia and Ron Torgason. As I read, I saw that several identical phrases appeared in both autopsy files. "Pinpoint fracture" was one, "subdural hematoma," another. Both injuries were to the temporal lobe of the brain, which was behind the ear.
"These both look like the same injury," I told her.
"Yeah," she agreed.
I picked up the autopsy photos she downloaded and squinted at them. The poor quality black-and-white printout was hard to read.
"These are terrible," I said. "Why didn't you use the color printer?"
"Outta color ink. It could have been fun to go upstairs and borrow the actual skulls themselves, but you said only three or four minutes and I was out of time."
I closed the folder and looked across the table at her. She had a sort of deadpan grin playing at the corner of her mouth. "Okay, look, babe. I don't want this to screw us up. I want us to find some coordination here. I know this all feels very liberating to you. I know it doesn't bother you now, but it bothers me."
"Alright, but since we've already been ordered off this, how do you suggest we proceed then?"
"I don't know."
"How 'bout this? Let's take turns," she suggested. "You pick a move, then I will. Like a game of Monopoly. I just bought North Mission Road, a City utility, which turned out pretty good. So now it's your turn. What do you want to do?"
"Sit on you 'til you settle down," I said.
"Sorry, that card's not in the deck."
A waiter hovered with his pad, so we ordered dinner. After he left Alexa looked at me, her eyes sparkling in the evening sunlight that was now streaming through the large windows. I felt a surge of sexual energy.
"Your choice. Go ahead," she said again.
"Tomorrow let's go over to UCLA, show all these photographs and autopsy reports to Luther," I said. "See if he thinks both blunt force traumas could have been caused by the same murder weapon."
It was a good move and we certainly needed the info, but Alexa was frowning.
"You're no fun at all," she teased.
Chapter 42
It was still early when we pulled into our driveway in Venice. The sun was down, but in June the sky in Los Angeles remains light until after nine. We unlocked the front door and walked inside.
The house was hot and I instantly knew nobody had been there in a while. Delfina and Chooch had obviously returned to school directly from Santa Barbara. I checked outside and refilled Franco's food bowl while Alexa went to the fridge and got us a couple of cold ones. Before heading out to the backyard I went into the living room to put on some music. When I turned on the stereo, 93.9 FM started playing. Country radio. I looked at the dial, puzzled and then I retuned it to 103.5, a station I knew Alexa preferred.
I wandered outside and sat down as the music drifted through our patio speakers.
Alexa handed me a beer and we clinked bottles.
Almost immediately, Franco appeared from around the corner of the house and jumped up onto Alexa's lap, turning around three times before dropping anchor.
"When did you start listening to ninety-three point nine FM?" I asked, wondering if her taste in music had also changed.
"That's a country station, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I never listen to it. Why?"
"The tuner was on that station."
"Maybe Chooch or Delfina?"
"When did those two ever listen to country?"
"Yeah, you're right." She fell silent, thinking about it while she ruffled the fur behind Franco's ears, then she said, "If it's not one of us, who turned it there?"
"Back in the early nineties, when I was on patrol in the Valley, Brian Devine was our urban cowboy. He was always listening to C and W."
"You think he came in here and played our stereo while he
went through our things?"
"I think Brian Devine is crazy. I wouldn't put anything past him."
We sat for a moment thinking about that, and then, almost in unison both turned and looked back at the house.
"How do you want to do this?" she asked.
"You take the front rooms, I'll take the back. Meet you in the middle."
We got up and went inside. I started with our bedroom, looking for anything that was out of place, or might have been moved. I knew it wouldn't be an obvious mistake. Brian Devine was a pro and had probably done his share of unauthorized, warrantless shakes. He knew how to toss a room and not leave any obvious telltale signs. But no matter how careful someone is, there's always something.
The closet looked okay. The medicine cabinet and bathroom drawers checked out. I looked in Alexa's alcove at her desk, but decided I'd have to leave that to her. It was so messy these days it was hard for me to tell what, if anything, was out of place.
In the kitchen, the scratch pad I'd used to write down the names of Church's crew was missing. I wondered if, after the attack in the mountain, Brian had removed those names so they wouldn't become part of a future investigation. Then I pushed a button on the phone caddy. It opened to the W's. The last number I had looked up was the Police Officer's Association. If Alexa hadn't moved the dial, and if Chooch and Delfina hadn't been here, then maybe Devine had been checking out my phone numbers. Nothing else seemed out of place. I couldn't shake the strong suspicion that Brian Devine had been in here poking through our lives during the ten days Alexa and I were up in Santa Barbara.
I walked into the front room to ask Alexa if she had changed the phone dial or removed the scratch pad. I found her sitting in a chair at my desk. She had one of my spiral notebooks in her lap. As I got closer I saw that it was my Alexa Journal. I had recorded all my doubts about our relationship on those pages, remembering as Dr. Lusk had instructed to include my innermost feelings.
She heard me behind her and turned to look up at me, a stricken expression on her face. "Oh my God, Shane, is this what you really think?"
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