Fallen Angels (17 page)

“Nobody should live that way,” Behan said with a sour expression, and Josie sensed he might’ve glimpsed one possible outcome of his own life. She also guessed he’d be especially attentive to the new Mrs. Behan that night.

They went back to her office where they could talk in private. Even Josie couldn’t deny the growing likelihood that a couple of rogue cops or cop impersonators were operating within the confines of Hollywood division. As soon as Behan left, Josie called Marge Bailey who was in the captain’s office in less than a minute.

“How’d you get here so fast . . . you loitering in the hallway?”

“It sounded urgent,” Marge said, searching in the bottom drawer of the file cabinet where Josie kept her stash of chocolates. She found a Hershey bar. “Lunch,” she said, unwrapping it. “What’s up?”

“Close the door,” Josie said, and saw a hint of apprehension on Marge’s face. “I’m expanding the number of officers on the hype car and giving it to you . . . with another supervisor.”

Marge chewed slowly and swallowed the chocolate. She didn’t speak but stopped eating and dropped onto the couch.

“It’s a joke right?” she asked, after several seconds.

“No, I want them reporting directly to you, start and end of watch.”

“If that’s what you want, you know I’ll do it, but wouldn’t it make more sense to give that mess to the narcotics team?”

“I trust you more than narco. Besides, they’ve got something else to do for Behan.”

“Okay,” she said. “So, how’d Donnie Fricke fuck up this time?”

“I’ll tell you, but only because the bureau knows, which means by now everybody knows.” Josie told Marge what the I.A. sergeant had revealed that afternoon about the investigation on Fricke and decided to give her everything Behan had learned from Roy Mitchell and Mouse.

“So we got a couple of bad cops or assholes pretending to be cops,” Marge said when Josie had finished. “I’ll ride herd on Fricke’s ass, no problem. What about Frank Butler?”

“Same,” Josie said.

“Too bad, I like him . . . actually offered him a job when he gets tired of cleaning up after Fricke.”

Marge said she would coordinate with Behan and the I.A. sergeant on Fricke’s surveillance, and continue to keep watch on Mouse who rarely wandered from the Melrose apartment these days.

Behan peeked around the file cabinet but left quickly when he saw Marge was talking to Josie.

“I’m outta here,” Marge said, snatching another chocolate bar from the filing cabinet. “I liked Red better when he was fuckedup. He’s so goddamn happy lately it’s nauseating.”

Josie grinned. “Keep in touch.”

“Yeah, don’t worry ’bout me, boss—you just see if you can come up with a few more ways to fuck up my life,” Marge said, saluting as she left.

When Josie got up, she saw Marge had cornered Behan in the outer admin office. They were huddled away from the staff, whispering, but it was a heated discussion. Finally, Marge stomped off and Behan came into Josie’s office.

“What was that about?” Josie asked. She didn’t understand why two good cops couldn’t get along. Their bickering was becoming an irritating distraction.

Behan seemed reluctant to talk about it, but when he realized Josie wasn’t going to let it go, he said, “Marge thinks I need to take a closer look at Lange and Milano for the Dennis and Skylar homicides. I got nothing that points to either one of them, but little Miss Potty Mouth’s convinced they’re dirty. That woman’s like a pit bull locked on your balls when she thinks she’s right.”

“They’re probably dirty for lots of things,” Josie said. “I can’t see how we can connect them to those murders, but I’m not ready to write them off yet either—and I’d still like to know more about both of them. I asked Marge to get some background info.” She stood and stretched. Her back and neck were aching from a lack of exercise. Jake had a treadmill and stationary bike in the spare bedroom. She vowed to use them before dinner that night and immediately dismissed the thought. She’d ignored that resolution at least three times a week.

“That wasn’t the reason I wanted to see you,” Behan said. “I’m going to interview Carlton Buck tonight.”

“Who?”

“Buck, the retired sergeant that runs the security firm where half your division works off-duty.”

“Before you interview Howard Owens?”

“Like I said, Buck’s got nothing to lose. As long as we don’t threaten his P.I. ticket, I think he’ll cooperate. Howard’s got his lieutenant job to protect. Besides, Howard’s not working tonight, and I’d like to know more about this arrangement before I confront him.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“Because of the personnel thing, I don’t want any of my guys involved,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “Truth is I’m not sure how many of them are unofficially on Buck’s payroll. I could ask that I.A. sergeant to tag along, but I think his tight ass would just complicate everything. I don’t think I should do it alone, and Lieutenant Ibarra can’t make it. Did you want to come?”

“Where’s Ibarra?”

“Don’t know . . . took a couple of days off.”

Josie felt her face flush. Ibarra hadn’t bothered to ask or even notify her that he’d be gone. This was over the line even for him. She told Behan she’d go with him but made no secret of the fact she was angry. The big redhead retreated back to detectives and Josie told her adjutant to track down Ibarra. She’d been avoiding the situation up to now, but obviously needed to have a serious come-to-Jesus moment with her detective lieutenant.

NINE

I
barra called within a few minutes and apologized. He explained how he thought he had notified her in an email about his days off, and claimed he’d left the supervisor on the robbery table in charge of detectives until his return at the end of the week and had expected him to tell her.

“Why not Behan?” Josie asked. They both knew the homicide supervisor usually stepped in when Ibarra was gone.

“I figured he’s got enough on his plate,” Ibarra said and quickly added, “Look I’m sorry if you didn’t get my email, but I’m taking vacation time. It’s only a few days.” His attitude made it clear he thought she was overreacting. “I’ll come back if you really need me.”

“No,” Josie said, thinking if it were possible she’d rather have him somewhere else most of the time. “Next time tell me face-to-face when you take off, so I don’t hear it for the first time from one of your subordinates. We’ll discuss this when you get back. Where are you?”

Ibarra stuttered, searching for the right words, and finally said, “I’ve got some personal stuff I have to take care of.”

He apologized again, and she ended the conversation. She was positive if she asked the robbery supervisor, he’d say he didn’t know he was in charge until a few minutes before Ibarra called her, and the email she didn’t get was never sent. When Ibarra came back from vacation she’d tell him to look for another job. She was done with him and couldn’t wait any longer for the Wilshire captain to work up the gumption to steal him.

It was early evening before Behan could arrange a meeting with Carlton Buck. The P.I. invited them to his office on the top floor of a building on Sawtelle Avenue in West L.A. Josie knew from the address it was only a few blocks from the West L.A. police station.

Buck’s building was a modern granite and glass structure, six stories high, which covered most of the corner lot where it was located. From the outside, Josie could see the lights were on in the top floor windows, but most of the other offices on the lower floors were dark. There was a sign out front advertising office space for lease, and the large underground parking garage had two cars, both parked near the elevator in spaces marked for Buck, Inc. One of them was a new Porsche Carrera 911 similar to Jake’s.

The lobby had a fresh coat of paint and a new carpet smell. The hall was empty when Josie and Behan got off the elevator on the sixth floor. A tasteful bronze plaque with the words “Carlton Buck, Inc.” was mounted on the wall between the two elevator doors, and his name was stenciled on the glass doors leading to the receptionist’s desk. Behan entered a code Buck had given him earlier into the keypad on the wall near the doors. Once inside, they noticed there was no one at the front desk, and a large room with several cubicles was also unoccupied.

They walked around the empty space and through a hallway with pictures of several downtown and Hollywood locations. Josie thought everything looked expensive and more to a lawyer’s taste than a private investigator. Eventually they arrived at a door with Buck’s name engraved in the wood. His secretary’s desk was empty so Behan knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a man’s voice shouted from inside.

They entered and were greeted by a well-dressed, stocky bald man with wire-rimmed glasses. When he reached out to shake hands his suit jacket opened a little, and Josie could see he was not only a little overweight but carried a semi-auto handgun. His office was spacious, decorated with mahogany furniture and walnut shelves well-stocked with an assortment of law books and boxed files. His desk was covered with file folders and paperwork, but he had a long glass table in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Josie pulled out a leather chair and sat facing the view which was magnificent—the Century City skyline and, in the distance, the lights of downtown L.A.

Buck invited them to help themselves to an assortment of small crackers and cheese stacked in a tray at the center of the table, and he poured three glasses of sparkling water without asking.

“Sorry I didn’t meet you out front,” he said, dropping into the chair beside Josie. “I couldn’t get a client off the phone. But I figured being cops you’d find your way back here.”

“This is pretty impressive,” Josie said. “How many employees do you have?”

“In here, about fifty, but there’s hundreds in the field.”

Behan explained why they had come, and told Buck what Art Perry had said about Hollywood officers working off-duty for him.

Buck was quiet for a few seconds as if he were calculating how much he wanted to reveal, and then said, “Have you talked to Howard Owens? He’s my contact man. I get most of my active officers from him.”

“Just how’s that work?” Behan asked.

“Has Owens done something wrong? I don’t want trouble with the department.” Buck’s demeanor never altered. He didn’t look nervous or worried, just curious.

“No,” Josie said. “We’d just like to know what your business arrangement is with him.”

“That’s no problem, but Owens doesn’t tell me much, except he’s got a list of cops who want to work. He doles out my jobs so everybody gets a chance and one or two of them don’t hog all the cash . . . course I know he’s got his favorites.”

Buck went on to describe how his business provided security guards for stores, banks and other businesses, but those jobs were usually reserved for the LAPD and sheriff retirees who wanted extra cash and could work thirty or forty hours a week. He had a section that provided personal security for movie premieres and for those people who could afford the five-hundred-dollar-an-hour private guard.

“What about supplying extras or guys for bit parts in movies?” Behan asked.

“Not my thing. Owens maybe does that on his own, but it’s not something I’m paying for. What’s this all about? Did my people do something wrong?”

“Don’t know yet,” Behan said.

“Do I need a lawyer?” he asked, laying his glasses on the table.

“Up to you, but I’m not accusing you of anything. Now tell me again. Exactly what does Owens do for you?”

Buck didn’t answer immediately, maybe considering whether he should continue to talk so freely. After a few seconds he said, “What the hell, Howard recruits the guys to work armed security.”

“And you have nothing to do with getting them parts in movies?” Behan asked.

“No, why would I? There’s no profit in that for me. My biggest return’s in private security. Every bimbo and prima donna in Hollywood wants a clean-cut armed man opening the car door for her or him, or staring down some pimply-faced kid with a Nikon who says he’s from TMZ or the
National Enquirer
.”

“Has Owens given you a copy of his list of active officers?” Josie asked.