Damage (41 page)

When he finished, Amanda had a perplexed look on her face. “I understand the strategy, Wes, but the grand jury doesn’t meet until Tuesday, and even then . . .”

But Farrell was shaking his head. “I’ve called them into emergency session this morning at eight o’clock.”

“This morning? But how did you ... ?” Amanda began.

“I called them at home last night. I got fourteen of them to commit to be there and left messages for the other six, and I only need twelve. So we’re good to go.”

“Except that I’m not nearly prepared.”

“That’s not going to be your problem. You know the basic argument. That’s what you’re going to give them.”

“But without any new evidence, it’s not going to be enough.”

“We’ve got solid gold evidence from the original trial. For
Sandoval
, I already have the good Dr. Strout coming in to say she was raped. I’ve got the evidence tech to say that the sperm in her was Ro’s. And since Nuñez is dead, we can read her transcript into the record. That’s all we should need for her.

“Then Strout can talk about how Nuñez is dead, the crime scene guys say that the body was naked except for she was wearing shoes, and Arnie Becker says it was arson. We get a detective to say that Ro was out on bail facing a trial during which Nuñez was expected to testify. That gives us multiple murder specials and the specials of murdering a witness to prevent testimony.”

Jenkins, obviously excited by these possibilities, still had her doubts. “What about Janice Durbin? We have a
Johnson
problem.” She was referring to the case that requires the district attorney to tell the grand jury about possible exculpatory evidence. “If we try to subpoena Curtlee’s alibi for Durbin, which is his parents, they’ll know what we’re doing. Denardi will at least delay the whole thing, maybe block it indefinitely.”

“Right,” Farrell said. “So here’s what we do. We get the indictments for Sandoval and Nuñez first. We start the grand jury on Durbin, maybe even present a couple of witnesses, then we subpoena Ro’s alibi—his parents and employees—but by then he’s already in custody for the first two, and they can screw around as much as they want. When we get the indictment for Durbin, we join it up to the other two. We don’t, we still have him in jail on multiple murder, no bail.” He looked around at a quorum of clear skeptics. “Listen, I’ve spent thirty years hearing that as far as the grand jury is concerned, any DA worth his salt could indict a ham sandwich. Well, I guess we’re going to find out if I’m worth my salt and prove it once and for all if we can.”

“But doesn’t that mean you’ll have to try him on those charges?” Lapeer asked.

“Eventually, maybe.”

“I thought it was within sixty days,” Glitsky said.

Farrell allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. “Yes, and if Ro’s lawyers want to argue that they’re ready to go to trial in sixty days, guess what? Then they’re obviously ready to defend him on the remand trial, aren’t they, since it’s the exact same case? They can’t have it both ways.”

Glitsky held up a finger. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see him in jail yesterday. But I’ve still got concerns about Janice Durbin.”

“What about her?”

“Well, Ro’s got the alibi witnesses. Even if they’re all lying, that’s a lot of firepower for a jury to ignore, even a grand jury . . .”

“By the time they hear from those alibi witnesses, he’s already in custody for our two best cases,” Farrell said. “I think they’ll indict in spite of the alibi, but if they don’t, no harm, no foul.”

“Okay,” Glitsky persisted, “but for the real trial . . .”

“Then we’re back to what I just said a minute ago. They can’t have it both ways. If they’re ready for one trial, then they’re ready for both, or either. And meanwhile Ro’s out of circulation, which is a consummation devoutly to be wished, I think we all agree.”

“Amen to that,” Glitsky said.

“Hear, hear,” Jenkins added.

Lapeer finally spoke up. “So what do you need me for, Wes?”

Farrell drew a breath, twirled his coffee cup around for a moment with both hands. “I know you’ve been taking a beating on this since the minute you took office, Chief. I also understand why you were persuaded to withdraw your surveillance people you had attached to Ro.”

Lapeer’s brow clouded. “How did you even hear about that?”

“Word gets out, Chief. That’s the way it is. But even so, I thought you might have given me the courtesy.”

“We’ve all got jobs we’re trying to hold on to here, Mr. Farrell,” she said. “If His Honor gets one more excuse to let me go, and this surveillance was going to be one . . .”

Farrell held up his hand. “I said I understood your problem. So now I’m asking you to do what I’m doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Pretend that none of this—what we’re talking about privately here this morning—none of this is happening. Pretend that we’re not going ahead with the grand jury. We’re beaten and cowed into submission. Pretend that we’re not keeping Ro under surveillance.”

“But, in fact, we’re not.”

“Well. We will be.” Here Farrell took a beat, letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding with an almost audible sigh. “What I propose we do this morning is send out a couple of unmarked vehicles to the Curtlees’ home, starting as soon as this breaks up here. They’ve got five automobiles up there—three in the garage, and a matched set of white SUVs usually driven by their butler and the household staff. Any one of those vehicles leaves the premises, we trail them. First stop they make, somebody sticks a GPS under the bumper.”

Lapeer had her hands clasped tightly in front of her on the table. “And why are we doing this right now?” she asked.

“Two reasons. First, from everything he’s done so far, Ro is almost undoubtedly on the lookout for the other witness in his trial, a woman named Gloria Gonzalvez, and if he finds her, it probably won’t be pretty. To say nothing of the fact that we’re looking for her as well so she’ll testify again at the retrial. There’s a reasonable chance he might lead us to her, and if he does, we want to get her into protection.”

“So you’re saying you want to try to follow him again?” Lapeer asked.

“No,” Farrell admitted. “I don’t think we can do that. Too much manpower, not to mention it’s too expensive, and too much visibility.”

“Okay, so if we’re not following him, how do we know if he gets near her? And PS, he might not stay in the car anyway. He leaves it at the BART station, then what?”

Glitsky cleared his throat. “Well, plus, Wes, I’ve got a problem, too.”

“What is it?”

“If we have to follow every car that leaves the house, sooner or later they’re going to notice and talk about it. Odds are decent somebody among them thinks about a GPS.”

“I don’t even want to think about the press reaction if that comes out,” Lapeer said. “We think we’re on the hot plate now . . .”

Amanda all but snapped. “We can certainly justify wanting to keep some kind of tabs on a convicted rapist and murderer, which let’s not forget is what Ro is. Whatever spin Sheila Marrenas puts on it, this is a reasonable and defensible strategy.”

Lapeer shot back at her. “So is everything else we’ve done, and it doesn’t seem to have made any difference. Especially to the mayor.”

“Fuck the mayor,” Amanda said. “He’s just casting for votes, as always.”

“Well, you’ll pardon me if I don’t want to challenge him any more than I already have. If we don’t play by the book ...”

“This is by the book,” Glitsky, the voice of reason, put in. “There’s nothing illegal about either tailing him or planting a GPS, provided the car is in a public place and we attach it to some exterior part of the vehicle. No Fourth Amendment problem. It’s legal. Period. Even the Ninth Circuit thinks so, and they don’t like much that we do.”

Farrell did a little drumroll on the table. “Here’s the deal, people, quite simply, we can’t lose him again. Especially if we get this indictment today, which I am determined to do. We’ll want to serve it immediately. And to do that, we’ve got to know where he is.” He scanned around the table. “Can we all be on board with that?”

Amanda and Glitsky were both nodding, and Farrell zeroed in on Lapeer. “Vi?”

Finally she came to her decision. “Let’s just be extra goddamn careful planting these goddamn devices, can we?”

At ten o’clock sharp, Eztli walked up the stairs and found Ro alone, sitting at the dining room table having a breakfast of coffee, fruit, and bacon. Barefoot, and dressed in gray sweats he might have slept in, he hadn’t yet shaved or combed his hair.

“I just got a call on my cell from Lupe García,” Eztli said. “Somebody says they found Gloria Gonzalvez.”

Ro put down his forkful of cantaloupe. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“In two days?”

“I told you, money talks.”

“Awesome,” Ro said. “Where is she?”

“The guy won’t say till he sees the money. Which is only smart.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well, he’s down at Lupe’s now.”

Ro took a bite of bacon and chewed ruminatively for a moment, then pushed his chair back and grabbed a last sip of coffee. “Time is money,” he said with a victory smile. “Let me throw on some clothes, I’ll be right back down.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Eztli said. “And Ro?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to like this, but don’t bring the gun.”

Ro stopped in the doorway. “Don’t bring the gun? What are you talking about? I love that thing.”

“I know you do, but you don’t want it anywhere near you if we get pulled over for any reason. Which, as we’ve seen, can happen. Your parents would kill me if I let you get arrested for something that stupid.”

“They’re not going to arrest me again. Or even try.”

“If you’re carrying, they won’t have a choice.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re packing, am I right?”

“I have a license to carry. And of course it’s not the same piece after the other day. That one’s in my safe in my room until I have a chance to get rid of it.”

“But I just got mine. You got any idea how long I’ve been without a piece? A guy feels naked, and not in a good way.”

Eztli sighed with a hint of impatience. “I realize that. I know it’s a disappointment. But getting our hands on that piece was the exercise yesterday, fun and instructive. And in a pinch, you’ll know where it is. But today we won’t need it. Good?”

“I don’t like it, but yeah. All right.”

Because they had to make a stop at the bank for cash, they didn’t get down to Lupe’s until about noon. Once there, they drove around the back of the by-now-familiar warehouse to where a double-wide trailer sat incongruously up against a hill that looked as though it had been strip-mined at the back of the large parking lot. A brisk breeze blew under a pewter gray sky as they got out of the SUV and up the steps to the front door. They rang the bell and a short, heavy-set Latina answered. With a mere nod for an introduction, she directed them past the kitchen and eating area and along a short hallway to what was obviously the man’s business side of the trailer.

Lupe and three other Hispanic men sat, each with a bottle of Negra Modelo beer, in a large living room that would have been spacious but for the clutter. Besides the enormous flat-screen television set, a low black-glass coffee table, a metal bench, two couches, and three leather Barcaloungers, Lupe or whoever had a penchant for storing things out in the open, and all around the periphery of the room on the floor were both opened and still-closed cases of beer and tequila, used pizza boxes, piles of girlie and dog-fight and hot-rod magazines. The three windows—two on one wall and one on the other—had no curtains, and even with the overcast day, the room had a certain brightness.

When Eztli and Ro entered, Lupe stood up and he and Eztli greeted each other with an arm around the neck and a chest bump. Lupe then nodded in a businesslike way to Ro and said something in Spanish that Eztli answered, then translated for Ro. “He says this is a good way to find people. Put out a reward.”

Ro shrugged. “Whatever works,” he said.

“Here is your man. Hector.” Lupe reverted to English for Ro’s benefit. Turning around, he pointed at one of the men who’d come forward in one of the Barcaloungers, and who upon hearing his name stood up, his face with a hopeful, helpful expression and his hands clasped in front of him.

Ro looked at him and laughed. “Guy looks like he’s going to piss himself.” He gave what sounded like a dog bark and at the same time made a quick lurch in Hector’s direction, and the diminutive worker jumped as though a current had passed through him. Everybody except Hector got a chuckle out of that. Ro straightened up and laughed again, then turned back to Lupe. “Tell him I don’t bite.” Then, directly to him, “Easy, José, I don’t bite.”