L a Requiem (1999) (21 page)

Frank screamed, "I'll kill you!"

He twisted so hard that he pitched forward, falling out of the chair. His family gasped and two of the women made sharp sounds. Pike, Montoya, and several of the family clustered around him, Pike lifting the old man back into the chair as if he weighed nothing.

Dersh drove away, and when he sped through the gate, the two plainclothes cars quietly fell in behind him.

The priest told Frank's brothers to get the family seated as quickly as possible. Everyone was embarrassed and uncomfortable, and Frank's housekeeper cried loudly, but the crowd settled as the pallbearers gathered at the hearse. I tried to find Dolan, but she had joined Mills, Bishop, and Krantz in a frantic conversation at the edge of the crowd. Krantz saw me, and stormed over. "You and your buddy, Pike, get your butts to Parker Center as soon as she's in the ground. We're fuckin'-A gonna figure out what happened here." He walked away fast.

The climbing sun became a hot torch in the sky as the family took their seats, and the pallbearers delivered Karen's body to its grave. Heat soaked into my shoulders and face until I could feel the delicate tickle of sweat running out of my hair. Around me, a few people cried, but most simply stared, lost in a moment that was both sad and unsettling.

The three news cameras stood in a line below us, recording Karen Garcia's burial.

They looked like a firing squad.

Chapter 17

News vans lined Los Angeles Street outside Parker Center. Reporters and technicians milled nervously on the sidewalk, clustering around every cop who came out to grab a cigarette like piranha on bad meat. The city didn't allow smoking in its buildings, so addicted officers had to sneak butts in the stairwells and bathrooms, or come outside. These guys didn't know anything more about Dersh or the murders than anyone else, but the reporters didn't believe it. Word had spread big, and someone had to feed the networks' hunger for news.

The three skinny palms outside Parker Center seemed bent and fragile as Joe and I turned into the drive, two cars behind Dolan. Frank's limo was already at the curb, Frank's driver and Abbot Montoya helping him into the chair.

We parked between a silver Porsche Boxster and a taupe Jaguar XK8. Lawyers, here to cut deals. We got out, and for a moment Pike stared up at the squat building. The mid-morning sun bounced hard off the seven strips of blue glass and burned down on us, mirrored in Pike's glasses.

Pike surprised me by saying, "It's been a long time since I was here."

"You don't want to go in, you can wait out here."

The last time Joe Pike was here was the day that Abel Wozniak died.

Pike made his little non-smile. "Won't be as bad as the Mekong."

He pulled off the suit coat, unfastened the shoulder holster, and wound its straps around the .357 Python revolver. He put his jacket in the little storage bay behind the seats, then unbuttoned the vest, and put it with the jacket. He stripped off the tie and the shirt. He was wearing a white guinea tee beneath the shirt, and let it go with that. The guinea tee, the charcoal pants, the black leather shoes, countered by the cut muscles of his shoulders and chest and the brilliant red tattoos, made quite a fashion statement. A female detective coming out to her car stared.

We gave our names to the lobby guard, and Stan Watts came down a few minutes later.

I said, "Frank Garcia go upstairs?"

"Yeah. You're the last." Watts stood to the side of the elevator with his arms crossed, staring at Pike.

Pike stared back behind the dark glasses.

Watts said, "I knew Abel Wozniak."

Pike didn't respond.

"If I don't get another chance to say this, fuck you."

Pike cocked his head. "You want a piece, step up."

I said, "Hey, Watts. You really think Dersh is good for it?"

Watts didn't answer. Guess he was thinking about Joe.

We left the elevator on the fifth floor and followed Watts through the Robbery-Homicide squad room. Most of the detectives were working their phones, and more phones were ringing. They were busy because of the news coverage, but as we entered, a ripple of attention swept through the room. Eyes went to Joe, tracking him across the floor.

Behind us, a voice I didn't recognize spoke just loud enough to be heard.

"Cop killer."

Pike didn't turn.

Watts led us to the conference room, where Frank Garcia was saying, "I want to know why the sonofabitch is still walking around. If this man killed my daughter, how come he's not in jail?"

Councilman Maldenado stood on one side of him, arms crossed, and Abbot Montoya stood on the other, hands in his pockets. Dolan was seated as far from everybody else as she could get, just like in the briefings. Krantz and Bishop were with Frank, Krantz trying to explain. "Dersh is the suspect, Mr. Garcia, but we still have to build a case. The district attorney won't file without enough evidence to get a conviction. We don't want to leave any wiggle room here. We don't want another O.J."

Frank rubbed at his face. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Don't even joke about that."

Bishop told us to take a seat. "I know you're wondering what happened back there. We were just explaining to Mr. Garcia that there's been more to this investigation than we've let on."

Bishop was good. His voice was smooth and sure, and both Montoya and Maldenado looked a lot calmer than they had at the cemetery, though Frank was visibly shaking.

Maldenado wasn't happy. "I only wish you had seen fit to tell us that there were things you needed to keep secret, Captain. It would've saved Mr. Garcia the shock of what just happened. I mean, we're all shocked. Five people killed. A serial killer. And the man you say did it comes to the funeral."

Krantz sat with half his ass on the table, and looked directly at Frank. "I want the bastard who killed your daughter, Mr. Garcia. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but we made the right decision to keep this thing under wraps. Now that Dersh knows we suspect him, well, that takes away our advantage. I wish I knew how the goddamned press found out because I'd crimp his nuts but good."

Frank said, "Listen, I'm not pissed you didn't tell me, okay? I was pissed off at you guys at first, but maybe I was wrong. All I care about is getting the sonofabitch who killed Karen. That's all."

Bishop said, "Why don't you finish bringing them up to date, Harve."

Krantz was making a good impression, and Bishop was pleased.

Krantz gave them everything, admitting that there were now a total of five murders, and that they had been running a Task Force for almost a year. Montoya asked about the first four victims and Krantz went through the names, starting with Julio Munoz.

When Krantz said their names, Frank straightened in his chair, looking at me, then Dolan. "Those are the people you asked about."

Krantz shook his head, certain that Frank was mistaken. "No, sir. Cole couldn't've asked about them. He didn't know."

Frank said, "Not Cole. Her."

Dolan cleared her throat, and shifted in her chair. She looked at her hands flat on the table for a moment, then met Krantz's eyes. "Cole knew it all."

The room stopped.

Krantz said, "What are you talking about, Detective?"

"Cole came to me with the five vies. He knew the signature, and their identities, so I told him about the Task Force. He got me in to see Mr. Garcia so I could ask about the first four."

Krantz considered Pike, and seemed, in a way, pleased. "If he knew, then Pike knew."

Pike said, "Yes."

"I guess we know who shot off his mouth."

Dolan said, "That's bullshit, Harvey. They didn't say anything."

Frank Garcia looked hurt. "You knew this and you didn't tell me?"

Pike said, "It was smart not to tell you. Krantz is right about that. It was better for the investigation."

Dolan said, "He was going to go to Mr. Garcia with it, but I convinced him not to, Harvey. Why the hell would he leak it to the press? There's nothing in it for him."

Bishop said, "How'd you find out about the other victims, Cole?"

"I'm a detective. I detected."

Krantz slid off the table, disgusted and showing his palms to Bishop. "You see what happens when you let people in? We're on top of this for a year, and now we're fucked because of these guys. And Dolan."

Dolan stood then, eyes hard as bullet casings. "Fuck you, Pants. It was the only way to play it."

When she said it, Krantz turned purple.

Bishop cleared his throat and moved closer to Maldenado.

"We're not fucked, Harvey. We're still going to make an arrest." Saying that for the councilman. He turned toward Dolan. "I can't believe you compromised our investigation like this, Detective. This is a serious breach. Serious."

I said, "I already had it, Bishop. I had the vies, the feds, and I knew that you guys were running a Task Force. I was just trying to find out why you were putting so much into Dersh."

Krantz squared his jaw again. "What in hell does that mean? We're putting it into Dersh because Dersh is the shooter."

"You've got nothing for the shooter. You're pressing Dersh because you're desperate for a collar."

Frank pushed his chair forward, accidentally hitting Montoya. "Wait a minute. It's not Dersh?"

Krantz said, "Yes. It's Dersh."

"All they have is a profile that says the shooter is probably someone like Dersh. They don't have any evidence that it's really him. Nada."

Williams leaned forward, the first of the others to say anything. "You're off base, Cole. The Feebs said the perp would try to insert himself into the investigation, maybe by pretending to know something, and that's just what Dersh did. You've read the interviews. Dersh dragged Ward down that slope just so they could find the vie." Williams realized what he was saying then, and looked embarrassed. "Sorry. Ms. Garcia."

Frank was nodding. He wanted it to make sense because he wanted to know who killed his daughter.

"So, you say this Dersh is the man, but you can't prove it?"

Krantz spread his hands, reasonable. "Not yet. We believe he did it, but, as Cole says, we don't at this time have any direct evidence linking him to these crimes."

"Then what are you doing to get the bastard?"

Krantz and Bishop traded a look, and then Krantz shrugged. "Well, now that we've lost the advantage, the only thing we can do is sweat him. We'll have to get aggressive, search his residence for evidence, and keep up the pressure until he either confesses or makes a mistake."

I shook my head. "You're out of your mind, Krantz."

Krantz raised his eyebrows at me. "Good thing you're not conducting this investigation."

Bishop watched Maldenado for a reaction. "How does that sound, Councilman?"

"Our only concern is that the killer be apprehended, Captain. Certainly for the murder of Karen Garcia, but also for the sake of our city and the other victims. We want justice."

Krantz tipped his head toward me and Joe. "Before we do anything, we'd better plug the leak."

I said, "It didn't come from us, Krantz. It could've been some uniform who overheard something or maybe just some sharp reporter who dug out the facts. Maybe it was you."

Krantz smiled a reasonable smile. "I heard that your girlfriend works for KROK. I wonder if that has something to do with it."

Everyone in the room stared at me. Even Dolan.

"I didn't tell anybody, Krantz. Not my girlfriend. Not anyone."

Krantz took his seat on the table again, gazing pointedly at Maldenado. "Well, we're going to find out, but right now we've got a maniac to get off the street. We've had one major leak, we can't afford to have another. It could mean the difference whether we nail this guy, or not."

Frank looked from me to Joe. Joe was watching Frank, and I wondered what he was thinking.

Frank said, "I don't believe they said anything."

Maldenado maintained the eye contact with Krantz, then spread his hands. "Frank, I think the police have proven that we can trust their efforts. I certainly hope that Mr. Pike and Mr. Cole weren't behind this, ah, lapse in judgment, but as long as we have confidence in the police, there's no reason we can't work with them directly."

Frank said, "Get Dersh."

Krantz said, "That's right, Mr. Garcia. We've got to get Dersh. We can't afford to be distracted."

Frank nodded again, and reached a gesture toward Joe. "Sure. That makes sense, doesn't it, Joe? I don't believe you told anyone. But as long as the police are doing such a good job, I don't need you to waste your time staying on them, right?"

Pike spoke so softly you couldn't hear it. "Right, Frank."

Krantz went to the door and opened it. No one said anything as we left.

We walked out through the squad room, and out to my car. When we got there, I said, "Is it me, or were we just fired?"

"It's not you."

Pike's Jeep was still at the church. I drove the wrong way up the parking lane to let Pike out, pulling in across the Jeep's stern. We hadn't spoken on the ride, and I was wondering, as I often do, what he was feeling behind the dark glasses and beneath the blank mask of his face.