Fallen Angels (38 page)

For another hour, Josie scraped every bit of information she could from her son’s memory. She was grateful he didn’t know more, but a little disappointed too. He did know Hillary kept the journal with names, times and places, and that she got money from her more influential clients by promising not to give the media a full account of their sexual exploits—provided they coughed up enough cash. Cory had agreed to be her “gofer” to protect his father, but it was too tempting and she went after the councilman anyway.

When they finished, Josie was reasonably satisfied David was on the fringe of these people’s lives, but it wasn’t in her nature to wipe away all suspicion, and there was one question that still needed to be asked.

“Was your dad involved in any of this?”

David was mid-swallow and coughed, nearly choking on the wine.

“Dad?” he asked, incredulously. “Not hardly, he tried to help me find work and felt sorry for Cory . . . gave him a few bucks because he could see the guy was my friend and I worried about him.”

“Your father never had any contact with Hillary?”

“Dad’s not like you. He doesn’t judge people. Everything’s always so . . . tense with you. It’s like you can’t relax and just let people be themselves.”

“Did your dad have contact with Hillary Dennis?” She didn’t want psychoanalysis; she needed an answer before her head exploded.

“No . . . I don’t think so,” he said, raising his voice just enough to let her know he hadn’t been intimidated.

“My head’s killing me. I really need to get some sleep.”

David stood and put his glass on the leather ottoman in front of the couch. “That job’s gonna give you a stroke.”

She rolled over onto her stomach and lay with her forehead pressed hard against the cushion. No, she thought, the job is fine. You and your father are gonna give me a stroke. After a few seconds, the room was quiet so she figured he’d gone. Josie loved her son, but it bothered her that his take on the world and hers were so different. For example, she’d never found naïveté an attractive or trustworthy quality in a man.

It was after two P.M. when Josie opened her eyes again. Apparently the headache was from lack of sleep because it had disappeared. She was still on her stomach, but her neck was stiff from tucking her head into the arm of the couch. She made two mental notes to herself. First, don’t fall asleep on the couch in the den again, and second, don’t drink wine for breakfast.

A shower and a pot of coffee later, she was eager to get back to Hollywood station. Jake had taped a note to the coffeepot saying he would call her as soon as he was able to link the number on the back of his business card to the subject of the witness protection program. He signed it, “Love, Jake,” so apparently she hadn’t pissed him off more than usual and he was still willing to help. There was no sign of David and for a lot of reasons she was relieved.

W
HEN
J
OSIE
arrived at Hollywood station, she immediately went to detectives where she found Behan in one of the interview rooms with Hillary’s journal. He had piles of pages torn from a yellow legal pad full of notes he’d made that morning. He had arrived a few hours before her and had a chance to examine most of the young woman’s entries and the loose paperwork. Josie explained that she’d taken Jake’s business card to ask him about the number on the back, and told Behan what her husband had said and how he was looking for the person to match the witness number.

“Sorry, I should’ve told you,” she said, when she finished the explanation.

Behan was quiet for a few seconds, taking too long to examine a page of the journal. Finally, he looked up expressionless and asked, “Would we be having this conversation if that had been Jake’s personal number?”

“What do you think?” she countered stone-faced, staring into those bloodshot blue eyes.

He didn’t answer, but they both knew if the card incriminated Jake, it had about as much chance of survival as he had of becoming chief of police.

Josie left him to sift through the journal, attempting to identify Hillary’s customers and focus on anyone who might’ve had a motive to kill the young woman. She had a feeling the list would be a long one.

D
AY-TO-DAY
business in the station had been kept manageable by the lieutenant watch commanders. Josie put Behan in charge of detectives until the incoming lieutenant transferred. Ibarra had departed before his Wilshire assignment began, saying he needed time to get some personal matters in order before starting the new job. The fact that detectives ran smoothly without him wasn’t a revelation to Josie.

She had nearly finished reviewing her calendar for the upcoming week when Jake called. He had accessed the warehoused information on the witness protection program, but wouldn’t reveal how he’d managed to do it. She knew he lost his security clearance when he resigned from the district attorney’s office a few weeks ago, but somehow he located and identified code number 700. The subject’s real name when she lived in New York was Brenda Manuci. The new identity she’d chosen before being relocated in Los Angeles more than a decade ago was Misty Skylar.

TWENTY

I
n less than an hour, Jake was sitting in Josie’s office with her and Behan going over the notes he’d copied from the district attorney’s witness protection file. She couldn’t explain how or why it happened, but her husband was exhibiting real enthusiasm for catching bad guys again.

“Luckily, they had scanned all the dead files and as usual, my old boss was out of his office sticking his pretty face in front of a news camera,” Jake said smugly.

“Don’t you need some special kind of password to get into those files?” Behan asked.

“The guy’s a computer dummy. I set up his access code before I quit and figured he’d never change it. Of course, he didn’t. Mediocrity is so predictable.”

“Why’d they even let you in the building without ID?” Josie asked, still not believing this was her husband talking. What happened to that ‘I’m sick of living off other people’s misery’ guy?

“I used my revoked identification card and nobody bothered to check it, just waved me through . . . so much for beefed-up security.”

Jake told them he’d managed to scribble two pages of notes before he saw his former boss in the hall security camera returning to his office. He shut down the program and sat in the visitor’s chair pretending he’d been waiting to say hello. They chatted for twenty minutes, then Jake excused himself.

“I’m sure the moron is still wondering why I came to visit, since I’d made it abundantly clear I thought he was an ivy-league buffoon when I worked for him.”

Then he explained how the D.A.’s file had meticulously laid out the story of Misty Skylar aka Brenda Manuci’s former life in upstate New York.

“Brenda was a second cousin of one of the least-known organized crime family bosses in the state,” Jake said. Josie wouldn’t have recognized the name, but she’d seen it in Marge’s research on Vince Milano and knew the club owner had been associated with the Manuci family when he lived on the east coast.

“She turned federal witness on a low-level member of the family who was collecting rent from drug dealers for the privilege of occupying prime street corners in a sleazier section of downtown Rochester. She owed the guy a ton of money and wanted him out of the way, so she agreed to testify against him in exchange for immunity and a promise from the feds for a continuous flow of more cash than she’d seen in her entire life.”

“She had to know the family would never let her get away with that,” Behan said.

“Brenda was young and stupid and in her drugged-out little brain didn’t really think her plan through,” Jake said. “The guy was a lowlife but still family. The Manucis didn’t take kindly to her dispatching a blood relative off to federal prison.”

“Is that why they moved her out of New York?” Josie asked.

“When somebody tried to run her over with a stolen delivery van, the feds decided to move her to Southern California and change her name.”

“So how did Hillary get your business card and how did she figure out Misty was really Brenda Manuci?” Josie asked.

Behan said, “If Hillary knew Misty had something that important to hide, her agent would become a perfect mark for blackmail.”

“But how would Hillary know? Unless Misty made a mistake and told her.” Josie said.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Jake said. “But it gets better. Misty might’ve blabbed about working for the feds, but I know how Hillary got the whole story. Somehow she got my card with the D.A. file number and somebody figured out what it was. Any inquiries into that system are documented and there’s only been one inquiry other than mine, and you’ll never guess who that was.”

“This isn’t
Jeopardy
. Who the fuck was it?” Behan said.

“Eric Bright.”

“Our deputy chief?”

“Yep, a month ago, he was allowed access for an alleged LAPD investigation.”

“Him personally or somebody from his office?” Josie asked.

“Didn’t say, but whoever it was probably gave that information to Hillary and she’s in extortion heaven.”

“If Hillary threatened to expose her to the Manucis, Misty had both motive and opportunity; she was at the party and had plenty of time to remove gunshot residue or any other evidence before we ever got to her,” Behan said.

“Contact the D.A. and get any surveillance tapes or witnesses they might have for the day that information was accessed.” Josie told Behan. “If it was Bright, he’s got some serious explaining to do,” she said.

“Who else would it be?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know, but we’ve got no room for error on this one. We’ll wait for confirmation.” She wanted to drag the deputy chief into the station too, but knew she had to be right. Behan gave her a disapproving glance, but it wasn’t his neck on the chopping block if they were wrong. “In the meantime, go back to Little Joe and Mouse. If Misty shot Hillary, somebody gave her that stolen gun. It was taken from the Palms and those two know everything that happens in that shithole.”

Behan picked up his notes and left without another word. She knew he was upset. He didn’t like her running his investigation and normally she’d agree with him, but this wasn’t just another case. The fallout from this one could impact the entire city government. Chain of command had been compromised; division of labor was irrelevant until all their suspicions were tracked down and disposed of or confirmed. Red’s a big boy, she thought. He’ll get over it.