Suspect (20 page)

34.

Scott climbed onto the Ronald Reagan Freeway, his stomach knotted and sour. He didn’t believe Melon would give him up, but Melon had walked him in circles, giving only enough to get. Melon was good, better than Scott had ever imagined, but Melon had given him Danzer.

The Danzer Armored Car robbery had been just another news story to Scott when it happened, of no more importance than any other, and quickly forgotten. During his weeks in the hospital, Scott had no knowledge of the Danzer case, and had not known an overlapping investigation into an armored-car robbery was having a major impact on his own. He had now read a five-inch stack of reports and interviews about Eric Pahlasian, but Pahlasian had no connection with diamonds, so Danzer had not been mentioned. Danzer Armored Car felt like a secret that had been hiding in the file. When Scott realized the total case file was four or five feet thick, he wondered how many more secrets were hiding.

The Santa Susana Pass was directly ahead, with the San Fernando Valley beyond it. After a while, Maggie left the console, stretched out across the back seat, and closed her eyes. After all the effort to make her sit in back, he missed having her next to him.

Scott rolled up his window, and checked his cell. His K-9 Platoon Lieutenant, the Metro Commander, and a woman who identified herself as an Internal Affairs Group detective named Nigella Rivers had left messages. Scott deleted them without listening. Budress had not called, and neither had Richard Levin. Joyce Cowly hadn’t called, either.

Scott wanted to call her. He wanted to hear her voice, and he wanted her to be on his side, but he didn’t know if he could trust her. He wanted to tell her everything, and show her the diamonds, but he could not put Amelia and her baby at risk. He had done this to Daryl. He had painted a target on Daryl’s back, and someone had pulled the trigger.

Scott drove on in silence, holding the phone in his lap. He glanced in the mirror. Maggie still slept. He touched the pouch through his pants to make sure it was real. He didn’t know what to do next or where to go, so he drove the lonely miles across the top of the Valley, thinking. He could start with the Internet. Search old news stories about Danzer and the dead men found on the mountain. See if the I-Man was mentioned. Search the stories for someone named Snell.

Sooner or later, he would go back to Cowly, and he needed something to back up Amelia’s story. He needed something that would convince her to help him without risking Amelia’s life.

Scott’s phone rang as he approached the I-5 interchange. He didn’t recognize the number, so he let the call go to voice mail. When the phone told him a message was waiting, he played back the message, and heard a bright male voice he didn’t recognize.

“Oh, hey, Detective James, this is Rich Levin, returning your call. Sure, whatever you want. I’m happy to answer your questions or help however I can. You have the number, but here it is again.”

Scott didn’t wait for the number. He hit the call back button. Rich Levin answered on the first ring.

“Hi, this is Rich.”

“Scott James. Sorry, I was on another call.”

“Oh, hey, no problem. We didn’t meet before, did we? I don’t remember your name.”

“No, sir, we didn’t. I’ve only been with the investigation for a couple of weeks.”

“Uh-huh, okay, I see.”

“You recall being interviewed by Detectives Melon and Stengler?”

“Oh, for sure. You bet.”

“Regarding customers named Pahlasian and Beloit?”

“The men who were murdered. Absolutely. I felt so bad. I mean, here they were enjoying themselves—well, not here, but at the club—and five minutes later this terrible thing happens.”

Levin liked to talk, which was good. More importantly, he was one of those people who liked to talk to police officers, which was better. Scott had met many such people. Levin enjoyed the interaction, and he would bend over backwards to help.

“The casebook here indicates you provided two video disc recordings from the night Pahlasian and Beloit were at the club.”

“Uh-huh. That’s right.”

“Did you deliver them personally to Detective Melon?”

“No, I don’t think he was there. I left them with an officer there in the lobby. At that desk. He said that was fine.”

“Ah, okay. And this was two discs, not one.”

“That’s right. Two.”

“Two different discs, or two copies of the same disc?”

“No, no, they were different. I explained this to Detective Melon.”

“He retired, so he isn’t here. I’m trying to make sense of these files and log entries, and between me and you, I’m lost.”

Richard Levin laughed.

“Oh, hey, I totally get it. Here’s what happened. I burned one disc off the inside camera and one off the outside camera. They feed to separate hard drives, so it was easier that way.”

Scott flashed on the parking lot outside Club Red, and felt an adrenaline rush.

“A camera covers the parking lot?”

“Mm-hm. That’s right. I clipped the time from their arrival to their departure. That’s what Detective Melon said he wanted.”

Secret pieces appeared. One by one, they snapped together. A pressure in Scott released like a cracking knuckle.

Maggie sensed something, and stirred behind him. He glanced in the mirror, and saw her stand.

Scott said, “I’m embarrassed to say this, really, but it looks like we lost the outside disc.”

“No worries. That isn’t a problem.”

The man sounded so confident Scott wondered if Levin had walked them to their car, and could describe the entire evening.

“Do you recall what Pahlasian or Beloit did in the parking lot?”

“I can do better than that. I have copies. I’ll burn a replacement for you. That way nobody gets in trouble.”

Levin laughed when he said it, and the adrenaline burn grew fierce.

“That’s great, Mr. Levin. We don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”

“I can send them or drop them? That same address?”

“I’ll pick them up. Now, tonight, tomorrow morning. It’s kind of important.”

Scott drove on as they worked it out. Maggie climbed onto the console, and rode at his side until they left the freeway.

35.

Joyce Cowly

At ten-oh-four the next morning, Cowly was in her cubicle. She stood, straightened her pants, and used the opportunity to check the squad room. Orso was in the LT’s office, discussing Daryl Ishi’s murder with Topping, Ian Mills, two Rampart Homicide detectives, and an IAG rat. The rat was grilling Orso about Scott’s access to the case file. They were digging for some sort of administrative violation, and Orso was pissed. Cowly had already been questioned, and expected to be questioned again.

Two-thirds of the squad cubicles were empty, which was typical with detectives out working cases. The remaining cubicles were occupied, including the cubicle next door. Her neighbor was a D-III named Harlan Meeks, but Meeks was on the phone with one of his four girlfriends, flashing his perfect false teeth and shoveling bullshit.

Cowly sat, picked up her phone, and resumed her conversation.

“Okay, keep going. Does it match or not?”

The SID criminalist, John Chen, sounded smug.

“Tell me I’m a genius. I want to hear those words drip over your luscious, beautiful lips.”

“You’ll hear the sound of a harassment charge. Knock off the crap.”

Chen turned sulky.

“I guess we were too busy flirting to pay attention in science class. Only iron and iron alloys rust, and rust, by definition, is iron oxide. Hence, all rust is the same.”

“So you can’t tell?”

“Of course I can tell. That’s why I’m a genius. I didn’t look at the rust. I looked at what’s
in
the rust. In this case, paint. Both samples contain paint residue showing titanium dioxide, carbon, and lead in identical proportions.”

“Meaning, the rust on the watchband came from the fence?”

“That’s what I said.”

Cowly put down her phone and stared at the picture of her niece and nephews. Her brother was making noise about a family cruise to Alaska. It was one of those ten- or eleven-day voyages where you sail from Vancouver, follow the Canadian coast from port to port, and end up in Alaska. See glaciers, he said. Killer whales. Cowly had her fill of killers on the job.

Orso and the others were still locked in conversation. Cowly got up, and wound her way past Topping’s office to the coffeepot. She took her time, trying to eavesdrop. The faces in these meetings changed, but the talk remained the same, and Cowly found it troubling. People who should have no knowledge of such things discussed Scott James’ psychiatric and medical history with authoritative detail as they debated a warrant for his arrest. It seemed like a done deal.

The I-Man noticed her lingering at the coffee machine, and closed the door. Cowly dumped the coffee and returned to her cubicle.

The phone rang as she settled into her chair.

“Detective Cowly.”

Scott James asked her the damnedest question.

“Can I trust you?”

She straightened enough to glance next door. Meeks was still on with his girlfriend, laughing too hard at something she said. Cowly lowered her voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you a bad cop, Joyce? Are you part of this?”

His voice was so strained she grew scared the people in Topping’s office were right. She lowered her voice even more.

“Where are you?”

“Someone broke into my home. The next night, someone broke into my shrink’s office and stole my file. Dr. Charles Goodman. North Hollywood detectives Broder and Kurland have it. Call. So you know this is real.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Call. Whoever stole Goodman’s file is feeding the information to someone inside the department, and that someone is trying to frame me.”

Cowly checked the squad room. No one was listening or paying attention.

“I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

“I don’t like living it.”

“Why did you run? You know how bad that looks?”

“I didn’t run. I’m getting it done.”

“What are you getting done?”

“I have things to show you. I’m not far away.”

“What things?”

“Not over the phone.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m on your side. I had SID check the rust on Daryl’s watchband. It matches the rust on the roof, okay? He was there.”

“I can beat that. I have the missing disc.”

She checked Topping’s office. The door was still closed. Meeks was still on with his girlfriend.

“The Club Red disc? Where would you get the missing disc?”

“The manager kept copies. You want to see this, Joyce. Know why you want to see it?”

She knew what he thought, and gave him his own answer.

“Someone doesn’t want me to.”

“Yep. Someone up there with you.”

“Who would this be?”

“Ian Mills.”

“Are you crazy?”

“That’s what they say. Call North Hollywood.”

“I don’t need to call them. Where are you?”

“Left turn out of the building, walk across Spring Street. If it’s safe, I’ll pick you up.”

“Jesus, Scott, what do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know who to trust.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Come alone.”

“I get it.”

When Cowly put down the phone, she realized her hands were shaking. She rubbed them together as Topping’s door opened, and the sudden surprise made them shake worse. Ian Mills came out, followed by the IAG rat and one of the Rampart dicks. Mills glanced at her, so she snatched up her phone and pretended to talk. He glanced at her again as he passed, but kept going and left the squad room.

Cowly continued her fake conversation, waiting to see if Orso emerged. She waited for thirty seconds, then put down the phone, slung her purse on her shoulder, and quickly left the building.

36.

Scott let the Trans Am idle forward. He watched the Boat’s entrance from across City Hall Park. Maggie was on the console, with the AC blowing in her face. The cold air rippled her fur. She seemed to like it.

Scott hoped Cowly would show, but wasn’t sure she would. Ten minutes had passed. He grew afraid she was telling Orso or the other dicks about his call, and the passing time meant they were figuring out what to do.

Cowly appeared beneath the Boat’s glass prow and walked quickly toward Spring Street. She stopped at the corner for the light to change, and started across. Scott watched the prow, but no one appeared to be following her. He pulled up beside her at the next corner, and rolled down the window.

“Did you tell anyone?”

“No, I didn’t tell anyone. Can you get this dog out of the way?”

Maggie moved to the back seat when Cowly opened the door, almost as if she understood the front seat wasn’t large enough.

Cowly dropped into the car, and pulled the door. He could tell she was angry, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed her help.

“Jesus, look at this hair. It’s going to be all over my suit.”

Scott accelerated away, checking his mirror for a tail car.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come. Thanks.”

“I didn’t tell anyone. Nobody’s behind us.”

Scott took the first turn, and kept an eye on the mirror.

“Suit yourself. Where are we going?”

“Close.”

“This better be worth all the drama. I hate drama.”

Scott didn’t respond. He rounded the block, and a few seconds later badged their way into the Stanley Mosk Courthouse parking lot. Juror parking. They were three blocks from the Boat.

He found a spot in the shade and shut down the engine.

“There’s a laptop on the floor by your feet. We’ll watch, and you can tell me if I’m being dramatic.”

She handed the laptop to him. He opened it to bring it to life, and handed it back. The disc was already loaded. The recording’s opening image was frozen in the player’s window. It showed a bright, clear, high-angle image of the Club Red parking lot illuminated by infrared light. There were hints of color, though the colors were mostly bleached to grays. The angle included the club’s red entrance, the parking attendant’s shack on the far side of the entrance, and most of the parking lot. Scott had watched the disc seven times.

Cowly said, “The Club Red parking lot?”

“Outside camera. Before you see this, you need to know a couple of things. I have more than a disc. Daryl saw the shooting. He told a friend about it, and I have the friend.”

Cowly looked dubious.

“Is this person credible?”

“Let’s watch. Daryl told his friend one of the shooters took a briefcase from the Bentley. I’ve cued it to the end, when they leave.”

Scott leaned close, and touched the Play button. The frozen image immediately snapped to life. Pahlasian and Beloit emerged from the club, and stopped a few paces outside the door. A parking attendant scurried to meet them. Pahlasian gave him a claim check. The attendant ducked into his shack for the keys, then trotted across the parking lot until the camera no longer saw him. Pahlasian and Beloit remained outside the door, talking.

Scott said, “We can fast-forward.”

“I’m good.”

A minute later, the Bentley heaved into view from the lower right corner of the frame, moving away from the camera. The brake lights flared red, and Pahlasian stepped forward to meet it. The attendant got out, and traded the keys for a tip. Pahlasian got in, but Beloit walked past him to the street in the background. His murky image could be seen on the sidewalk, but he was too far out of the light to be seen clearly. Pahlasian closed his door, and waited.

Scott said, “It goes on like this for twenty-five minutes.”

“What?”

“Beloit is waiting for someone. This is the missing time.”

“I’m fine.”

Two young women as thin as reeds arrived in a Ferrari. A single man left in a Porsche, followed by a middle-aged couple who left in a Jaguar. When the cars entered or left, their headlights flashed over Beloit, who paced back and forth on the sidewalk. Pahlasian remained in the car.

Scott said, “It’s coming. Watch.”

A car on the street slowly passed Beloit, and stopped. Beloit was lit by its brake lights, and could be seen moving toward the car. Once he passed the brake lights, he could no longer be seen.

Cowly said, “Can you tell what kind of car that is?”

“No. Too dark.”

A minute later, Beloit walked from the darkness into the parking lot with a briefcase in his left hand. He got into the Bentley, and Pahlasian pulled away.

Scott stopped the playback, and looked at her.

“Someone in the investigation watched this, right? They told Melon and Stengler there was nothing worth seeing, and then they got rid of the disc.”

Cowly slowly nodded. Her eyes seemed lost.

“A briefcase wasn’t found in the Bentley.”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Not yet, but you will. Do you remember the Danzer Armored Car robbery?”

A deep line appeared between her eyebrows.

“Of course. Melon thought Beloit was here for the diamonds.”

“Twenty-eight million dollars in uncut, commercial-grade diamonds, right?”

Cowly gave the slow nod again, almost as if she sensed what was coming.

Scott took the velvet pouch with the ugly stain from his pocket, and dangled it between them. Her eyes went to the pouch, and returned to his.

“Daryl didn’t only describe what he saw. He gave his friend something he took off one of the bodies after the shooters left. What do you think they are?”

He poured the stones into his hand.

“Holy shit.”

“Really? My guess is uncut, commercial-grade diamonds.”

She stared at him, not amused.

“You believe the diamonds were in the briefcase?”

“That would be my guess. What’s yours?”

“That this stain on the pouch scores a DNA match with Beloit.”

“We’re on the same page.”

Scott poured the stones back into the pouch, and found Cowly still staring at him.

“Who gave these to you?”

“I can’t tell you, Joyce. I’m sorry.”

“Who did Daryl confess to?”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

“These things are evidence, Scott. This person has direct knowledge. This is how you build a case.”

“This is how you get someone killed. Someone up there murdered Daryl. Someone is trying to frame me for killing three people.”

“If this is true, we have to prove it. That’s how it’s done.”

“How, open a case? Go to Orso, and say, hey, what should we do about this? If one person up there knows, everybody knows, and I would be putting a target on this person’s back just like I put one on Daryl.”

“That’s crazy. You didn’t kill Daryl.”

“I’m glad somebody thinks so.”

“You have to trust someone.”

Scott glanced at Maggie.

“I do. The dog.”

Cowly’s face turned hard as glass.

“Fuck. You.”

“I trust you, Joyce. You. That’s why I called
you
. But I don’t know who else is involved.”

“Involved in what?”

“Danzer. Everything started with Danzer.”

“Danzer closed. Those guys were murdered up in San Bernardino somewhere.”

“Fawnskin. One month after the briefcase you saw in this video was stolen from Georges Beloit. The diamonds were never recovered. These diamonds.”

Scott dangled the pouch, then pushed it into his pocket.

“The Danzer crew—dead. Beloit and Pahlasian—dead. Daryl Ishi—dead. And the I-Man keeps showing up. West L.A. opened the Danzer case, the I-Man pulled it downtown, and used the West L.A. guys for his task force.”

Her mouth was a tight, grim line as Cowly shook her head.

“That’s totally normal.”

“Fuck normal. Nothing about this is normal. The I-Man shoved Beloit at Melon to convince Melon that Beloit had no connection to the diamonds—the same diamonds Daryl Ishi took off Beloit’s body.”

“Why would he do that?”

“The same reason someone lied about what they saw on this disc. Because Melon or Stengler or you would eventually find out about Beloit and Clouzot. The I-Man put himself in a position to control what Melon knew. Melon wouldn’t question him. Melon had to believe him. He did. Melon told me how it worked.”

“You went to Melon?”

“I got a vibe, like he has doubts about Danzer, and how Danzer closed.”

Scott could tell she was fitting the pieces together.

“We have to look at the people who opened the case, and see how they’re tied with the I-Man. Melon gave me a hint. He told me the I-Man never does anything alone, and only with people he trusts. He wasn’t implying they’re honest.”

“What do you want?”

“A head-shot case. Something so tight they’re off the street before they know it, and can’t kill anyone else.”

“Sooner or later, we’ll need Daryl’s friend. We need a sworn statement. Whatever this person says has to be checked. We might need a poly.”

“When you’re ready to lock the cuffs, I’ll take you to Daryl’s friend.”

“We’ll need DNA from the pouch, and an order for SID to run it. We’ll need the insurance company or some other authority to affirm these diamonds were stolen from Danzer.”

“You can have everything.”

“Great. Everything. Can I at least have the disc?”

“Why stir the water?”

Cowly sighed, and opened the door.

“I’ll walk back. I’ll see what I can find out, and let you know.”

Scott gave her the last thing.

“Daryl heard a name.”

She stopped with one leg out the door, and stared at him.

“One of the shooters called another by name. Snell.”

“Are you holding back anything else?”

“No. That’s it. Snell.”

“Snell.”

She got out, closed the door, and started away.

“Stay clear of the I-Man, Joyce. Please. Don’t trust anyone.”

Cowly stopped, and looked back through the window.

“Too late. I’m trusting you.”

Scott watched her walk across the parking lot, and felt his heart breaking.

“You shouldn’t.”

He had pinned a target on Cowly’s back now, and knew he could not protect her.