Three Shirt Deal (2008) (9 page)

I dressed in a black shirt, a black tie, a black jacket, and pants. It wasn't until I was getting set to leave and caught a glimpse of my Johnny Cash getup in the door mirror, that I realized what a deep funk I was really in. I looked like a mortuary plot salesman. I could have changed clothes, but what the hell. They always say, "Dress the way you feel," and I felt angry and black. Let today's victims be the ones to worry about it. I got into the Acura and by nine I was coming off the freeway, heading toward the PAB downtown.

I rode the elevator up to five and tried to smile, but my humorless grin was stretched tight.

"Who are you supposed to be, Black Bart?" Loni Paul, our media affairs assistant said, as she passed me coming off the elevator.

"I'm The Shadow and The Shadow knows," I said theatrically, going for retro humor, but not scoring.

I got to my desk and hadn't even put my ass in the chair before the phone rang.

"Scully, Homicide Special," I said into the receiver.

"Shane, it's Sally."

It was good to hear my partner's voice. "How's the murder trial coming?"

"Like trying to push shit through a tube with a Q-Tip," sh
e s
aid. "Delays, sidebars . . . these lawyers are making a meal of it. I won't be done until at least Friday."

"Okay," I said glumly.

"Listen, Shane. I overheard some people from the D
. A
.'s office talking about you in the lunchroom. Couldn't tell what it was about so I cornered one of the guys a few minutes ago and he tells me you've got some trouble heading your way."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The D
. A
.'s office gets a charge sheet memo from PSB every morning. It's a list of all pending I
. A
. beefs, sort of a heads-up document so the D
. A
. can decide if he's interested in monitoring any of our police misconduct boards. Apparently, there's a big complaint on you coming out of Jane Sasso's office. That's all they'd tell me. What's that all about? You wait till I'm out of the building and then go over and tie a knot in that cat's tail? What're you doing, partner?"

"I hesitate to go into it over the phone, but thanks for the warning."

"Okay. Just thought you'd like to know. Whatever it is, it's probably got some weight on it or it wouldn't be in the rumor mill."

I thanked her again and hung up, then I sat for a minute contemplating the Ugly Wall, which is the far wall of our offices where pictures of our felony wants are hung. It was a gallery of unrepentant killers who looked down at me with cold mug-shot stares. I ran Sally's warning through my survival meter. My guess was that Scout had leveled with Captain Sasso about how she lost her creds and that confession had put us on a fast track to the La Brea Tar Pits.

Jeb Calloway came out of his office and crooked a finger at me. I got up and followed him into his office. He closed the door. Always a bad sign.

He got right to it. "You wanted time off for a personal problem.

Now I find out you and some I
. A
. detective named Llevar are working a closed case against the specific orders of the head of PSB, Deputy Chief Townsend, and his adjutant, Commander Summers."

"Sasso shouldn't have closed it. It's a good case, Cal."

"I don't give a shit if you're about to solve the Princess Di mess. You've been told to file the son-of-a-bitch." He was almost screaming.

"Are you gonna listen to me, or are you gonna scream at me?"

"So it's true?" he said, shaking his head in disgust. "Man, sometimes I don't get you at all."

"Captain, if I leave a copy of this file with you, along with my notes, will you at least just read it? At worst the wrong guy is in prison. At best it's an extremely sloppy investigation that needs to be revisited. I
. A
. is supposed to look at bad due-process cases, not shove them under the rug."

"Captain Sasso called me this morning. She notified me that she's put a charge sheet on you into the system. I should be getting it this afternoon."

"She's charging me? With what?"

"Insubordination, malfeasance, refusing a direct order."

"I never even talked to her. How could I refuse her direct order?"

"Hey, smart guy, did Detective Llevar tell you this case was off the boards? That Sasso closed it?"

"Yeah, but--"

"So you refused her direct order. This is administrative. Prior knowledge is sufficient here. You're probably gonna get put on suspension."

"I can't be suspended like that. I get a supervisor's review with you and a Skelly hearing first. You guys aren't just gonna throw away the Police Bill of Rights, are you?"

"I'm in your corner, Shane, okay? Why I am sometimes baffles me, but good god, man, if you're gonna set fire to Jane Sasso'
s h
air, at least wear gloves and a mask. Why can't you have a little finesse once in a while?"

"What's my status, Captain?"

"Your status is fucked beyond all belief, but technically still on duty. I'll try and figure out a way to fix this. But, Shane, stay away from the Hickman case. You got that? Are you reading me? This is an order from your immediate supervisor. Do you want me to write it on your arm in Magic Marker so you won't forget?"

"Not necessary. I can remember."

"Then get out of here. Go do something you're supposed to be doing for a change."

I walked out of his office and back to my cubicle. Phones were ringing, teletypes rattling. There was a low din of squad room noise. I looked around at all of this--my chosen profession. I was a blue knight. My job was the application of justice in a world gone mad. I was good at it. The job suited me. So why did I always seem to be on the outside looking in?

I grabbed my black jacket off the back of my chair and left. I'd already decided what I wanted to do next.

On my way out, I left the Hickman file in Captain Calloway's box.

Chapter
11.

THE LOS ANGELES SUPERIOR COURT NORTHWEST DIVISION IS on Erwin Street in the Valley. The prosecutor's office building is one block over on Van Nuys. I parked in the lot behind the large modern structure and got out of the car. Everything told me this was a terrible idea. Maybe because of frustration with Alexa I was striking out, throwing a temper tantrum, breaking my own toys. Maybe I should go to see Dr. Lusk and get some more beige
-
on-beige insight.

What I did was walk into the lobby and ask to see Tito Morales.
I
figured he'd be in because most area supervisors were desk jockeys. Except, that is, for Brian Devine, who it seemed could always make time to roll on a call and ruin a case.

I showed my badge to the lobby security officer. As I signed in I happened to notice that the name on the line right above mine was Detective Secada Llevar. Time of arrival, five minutes ago. Apparently there was more than one kamikaze in the building.

I went up to the attorney's floor on four and walked down the hall to Morales's office. The waiting room was large enough to accommodate two seating areas, both with leather sofas and club chairs. Sitting in the one across from the reception desk was Scout

Llevar. She was also in black today. Another six-hundred-dollar pantsuit, but unlike me, she had jazzed it up with a red silk scarf. Her long dark hair curled seductively around her neck and shoulders. The woman was breathtaking. I entered the room and took the chair opposite her.

"Come here often?" she said, smiling.

"You got a bullet I can chew before this guy beats us to death?"

"Don't worry," she said. "Won't happen. This is my best outfit."

"You told Captain Sasso what we were doing," I said. "Not smart. I understand that you hate to lie, but now I've got a charge sheet heading my way for insubordination and a lot of other nonsense."

"Yeah, me too." She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "But I didn't tell her. Apparently somebody from I
. A
. saw us having lunch at Leonardo's and mentioned it to her. Then when you went up to Corcoran, somebody up there made a call to our office to check out your story. Jane Sasso may be a five-foot-eight-inch hemorrhoid with ears, but she's no dummy. She knows how to add up facts."

"Great."

"She called me in last night and confronted me. What choice did I have? So I leveled with her. Sorry. I'm facing a suspension, too, so I figured what the hell, maybe my carnal here might be willing to admit his mistake and to drag us out of the ditch."

"That's either good thinking, or the worst idea since pet alligators."

"What're you doing here?"

"I got pissed off. I get impulsive and self-destructive when I'm pissed."

"Immature," she said. "But at least I understand it."

"This guy, if he's not on the up and up, is gonna pound us into the sand."

"Look, I know a little about Tito," Scout said. "His parents are from some little Mexican hill town. He's an ex-cop, LAPD. Used to be one of us. Went to Southwestern Law School at night, worked his butt off to get his degree. Now he's got a shot at the mayor's office. He may have cut this bad deal to plead the Hickman's case, but trying to get rid of cases to clear the court calendar is part of a prosecutor's job. He was supplied bad info by Lieutenant Devine and he acted on it. Now we're just gonna put some better case facts on the table and ask him to do the right thing."

A female assistant appeared in the doorway. "Mr. Morales will see you now."

"I hope you're right," I muttered.

Scout was fumbling with something in her purse as she stood. "You'll see," she said. "He'll give us a straight hearing."

As we crossed the room to Morales's office, she pulled her backup clip out of her purse. She thumbed a 9mm bullet out and handed it to me before she stepped through the door. "In case I'm wrong." What a kidder.

Tito Morales was compact and handsome, with smooth skin and a boatload of Latin charisma. His dark hair and strong jaw gave him an air of prominence. He had one of those smiles that light up a room. His eyes flitted across me, barely registering before they missile-locked on Scout.

"Come in, come in. Sit down. Did Elena get you something to drink?" All of this to her. I'd suddenly become invisible.

"We're fine, thank you, sir," Secada said.

"How can I help?" He sat opposite us and smiled warmly at her.

"Do you remember the Hickman case?" I asked.

"Hickman . . . Hickman ..." He was looking up reflectively, showing Scout his heroic profile. "Hickman. Jeez, that's familiar." He seemed lost.

"You pled the case," I reminded him. "Probably didn't have it in the system for more than two or three weeks. The story was he killed his mother for two hundred dollars."

"Oh, yeah. Right. I remember now. The kid was a crystal meth freak. That one?"

"That's the one."

"Detective Llevar is an IO at PSB and she received a letter from Hickman alleging that his case was mishandled," I continued. "As you know, it's a function of her job at I
. A
. to investigate these kinds of complaints and three days ago she started looking into it."

"I have the file right here," Secada said, and handed her copy to him.

He didn't open it, never took his eyes off of her. "As I recall, Truit Hickman confessed."

"Yes, but he's not all there," Secada answered. "He's done way too much meth, Mr. Morales."

"Tito, please. I'm not much on formalities."

He was very easy to like. With our huge Hispanic population in Los Angeles, I could see why he could go far in Southern California politics.

"Thank you, Tito." Secada widened her smile. When she turned the wattage up, I heard him exhale slightly. The hook was set.

"Anyway," she continued, "during Tru's interrogation, he says he got confused and signed a confession that Lieutenant Devine wrote for him."

"I see." Morales opened the Hickman file in his hands and frowned down at it. "Just hit the high points then," he said. "I assume you're here because you feel there's a due-process problem."

"Yes, sir, we do," Scout said.

We ran Tito through the basics. Once we were finished he continued to frown.

"This sounds horrible," he finally said.

"Yes sir," Secada said. "That's why it seems wrong that the case was closed by Captain Sasso just as we started to get into it."

Morales stood and walked to his window and looked out. "This is exactly the kind of thing that really gets me," he said softly. "I have to take the investigator's statements and reports at face value. Same with a confession. I have to assume a suspect was informed correctly of his rights and wasn't lied to about his polygraph results or case facts in order to secure a confession. If this murder was inadequately investigated, or if the suspect was lied to, then it should be reopened. For the primary investigator to fail to follow through on that footprint, or fully interview this Mike Church person, is absolutely untenable. What the hell was Van Nuys Robbery-Homicide thinking?"