Fallen Angels (26 page)

“I was told he’d threatened her.”

“Who said that?”

“Don’t remember. Maybe one of the policemen told me,” Lange said, unconvincingly.

“At that time, nobody had the information except Behan, me and Hillary’s mother. Behan didn’t tell you so you talked to Mrs. Dennis.” Actually, she knew one other person who’d been told—Chief Bright.

“Like I said, I don’t remember.”

A hint of testiness had emerged in Lange’s voice. Apparently, he didn’t like being interrogated while he was trying to be charming.

“What’s your relationship with Goldman now?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Remember, I saw you and Milano having dinner with him the other night.”

“I told you outside the restaurant it was business. As I recall, we were working on the concept of public service posters for teenagers. Your deputy chief was there; ask him.”

“But we both know that’s bullshit, don’t we,” she said smiling sweetly. “What were you really talking about?”

He didn’t respond, but looked at Josie as if he were trying to figure out how much she actually knew. This is one cold fish, she thought. She’d thrown out a line hoping to pull in some tidbit of information, but Lange wasn’t biting. On the other hand his expression told her plenty . . . he was getting pissed-off and didn’t like this game.

“If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what’s going on in your own house and less about my business,” Lange said in a congenial tone that didn’t make his words less nasty. He waited a second or two for her clever comeback, but Josie didn’t offer one. He was trying to get some emotional response from her, but she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He finished his wine and paid the bill. “I’d still like to get together with you sometime,” he said with a cold stare that made her think if it ever happened she’d bring a food tester and back-up gun. “Good night,” he said holding out his hand. She ignored the gesture which prompted him to nod as if he forgave her rudeness. He patted her hand in a condescending manner and ambled away.

Josie caught the bartender grinning at her after she inspected the place Lange had touched, then wiped it on her jacket sleeve before finishing the wine.

FOURTEEN

T
he next morning, Josie was at her desk earlier than usual—another resurrected detective habit from her past when she’d needed to be in the office at daybreak to finish paperwork, line up witnesses, and get arrestees transported for arraignment. Today, she didn’t have to do any of those things, but knew Behan wanted to go back to Buck’s place as soon as he could get away and she was free. They were both eager to follow up on Bruno Faldi.

Not sleeping-in gave her an opportunity to catch up on the job she was actually getting paid to do. She spent over an hour sitting in her office going over routine matters, and gave her adjutant several pages of notes and directions until the young sergeant looked as if he’d reached his saturation point.

“You know it’s strange,” he said, packing up his laptop when they finished. “The bureau hasn’t asked for anything the last couple of days. Even Sergeant Perry has stopped pestering me.”

“Be grateful,” she said, but wondered if the silence had anything to do with Eli Goldman’s interview. Bright had shown an unusual interest in what the councilman had to say. Actually, he wasn’t just curious; he seemed worried.

On his way out, Sergeant Jones reminded her that Lieutenant Ibarra wanted a meeting with her as soon as they finished. Josie wanted to talk with him too, and knew Ibarra probably wouldn’t be all that eager if he knew what she was about to tell him.

Before anyone had an opportunity to summon him, Ibarra peeked into Josie’s office.

“I saw your door open,” he said. “Have you got a few minutes?”

He didn’t wait for an invitation, but sat quietly at the table facing Josie until the adjutant left and pulled the door closed.

“We need to talk about your association with Howard Owens and Carlton Buck,” she said as soon as they were alone. Might as well get to the point, she thought, and waste as little time as possible with this guy.

“Wish I’d known Howard Owens was retiring. I never would’ve agreed to leave you two lieutenants short.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Chief Bright offered me the detective lieutenant job at Wilshire and I took it. It’s closer to home and the captain at Wilshire and me were academy classmates. If I knew Howard retired, I would’ve turned it down.”

Josie should’ve been angry because Bright hadn’t consulted her about the change, but she was desperately trying to suppress a full-blown horse laugh. She’d been prepared to tell him he had to find another job. Instead she cleared her throat and managed to say, “Good for you,” and suppressed the temptation to add, “don’t let the door hit your incompetent ass on the way out.”

“Thanks, but I can delay my transfer until you get another lieutenant if you need me . . . you know, with Howard Owens retiring and all,” he said.

“Not necessary,” Josie said, emphatically, and when he started to get up, she ordered, “Sit down. We’re not done yet. Why didn’t you tell me you were working off-duty for Owens and Buck.”

“Actually, it’s just Buck.”

“You do protection details?” Josie asked, skeptically sizing up the scrawny man. If she were a client, she’d expect a lot more bulk for her money.

Ibarra swallowed a laugh and said, “No, he pays me to sit in a guard shack all night at the front gate of some actor’s estate in Brentwood. I watch security cameras and open the gate when cars come and go.”

“That’s it? You never got paid to bodyguard celebrities?”

“Look at me,” he said, pointing at his slender frame. “I’m not exactly the bodyguard type. I just sit in my shack and make fifty bucks an hour mostly to sleep.”

Josie wrote down the address where Ibarra claimed he worked and the celebrity’s name, another movie star she’d never heard of. Ibarra told Josie that unless she held up his paperwork he’d be on the next transfer to Wilshire. She assured him nothing would interfere with his departure.

“You knew Behan was looking at off-duty employment. Why didn’t you tell him you worked for Buck?” she asked.

“I had a work permit on file. I guess I just figured he knew.”

She didn’t believe him, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Ibarra had kept that information to himself for a reason, but she figured the best way to find that reason might be through Buck.

“Ibarra,” she called as he was leaving. He turned and stood by the door. “I meant to ask. Do you know Bruno Faldi?”

He hesitated, folded his arms and nervously shifted his weight before saying, “He was a sergeant who retired a few years ago, wasn’t he? As I recall he retired early.”

“You’ve never worked with him on or off-duty?”

“Not that I can remember,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d have to say no.”

She nodded. His nervous body language said he probably had. “Thanks, enjoy Wilshire and give my best to your new C.O.,” she said, and waited until she was certain he was gone to do the yes! arm pump. She was tempted to call the captain at Wilshire who was probably gloating and thank him, but she worried he might still have time to cancel the transfer. She’d wait a few weeks. It would be more meaningful after Ibarra had worked there a while and Wilshire felt the full effect of his ineptitude.

Behan couldn’t escape from the homicide table until almost eleven a.m., but before Josie could get out the back door, she got a call from Bright at the bureau. He wanted her to send Fricke’s personnel complaint back to Internal Affairs.

“The chief of police’s decided it’s probably better if I.A. handles this particular investigation,” Bright explained.

“Why’s that?” Josie asked. She really wasn’t concerned about who did Fricke’s investigation, but knew the decision to give it back to I.A. smelled more like Bright’s idea than the chief of police.

“The chief wants you to concentrate your resources on this Dennis investigation,” he said.

“The allegations against Fricke are linked to her murder,” Josie said, stating what she thought was obvious.

“He’s being accused of some serious misconduct and it’s more appropriate . . . the chief thinks it’s better if an Internal Affairs sergeant handles it.”

“Okay, anything else?” Josie asked. She decided deciphering Bright’s convoluted reasoning was too distracting with this morning’s schedule. “I’ll have someone drop off the complaint after I relieve Fricke and Butler and send them home.”

“Internal Affairs can do that, too,” he said.

“I’ll do it,” Josie insisted.

She wasn’t about to have anyone else order her officers out of the field. Her tone of voice must’ve warned Bright she wouldn’t give in on that point without a fight because he didn’t insist. Besides, he should’ve known that unpleasant task was always the commanding officer’s responsibility.

Sometimes it was astounding how ignorant the man could be, Josie thought as she hung up the phone, but immediately vowed not to waste any more of her valuable time contemplating ‘Not So’s’ shortcomings.

F
RICKE MUST’VE
surmised why he’d been summoned to the captain’s office several hours before the start of his shift. There was none of the usual joking and wisecracking between him and his partner. Butler closed the door and they sat quietly side by side on Josie’s couch waiting for her to give them the bad news.

Josie had too much respect for the men not to tell them the truth. There was a personnel investigation with two informants alleging that Fricke had assisted Hillary Dennis in obtaining and using heroin and that he’d had an improper relationship with her. The charge against Butler was that he knew or should’ve known what Fricke was doing. Due to the seriousness of the charges, they would be assigned to their homes with full pay until the investigation was finished. Fricke didn’t look worried, or even despondent, until she told them the investigation would be handled by Internal Affairs.

“You know how I got such a high opinion of you, ma’am, but those I.A. guys, they don’t care nothing about the truth. They just want a copper’s scalp to make themselves look good and get promoted.”

“You both got reps?” Josie asked.

Fricke shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Either you do or you don’t.”

“Protective League gave us this fat sergeant that talks a lot, but don’t seem to be doing much,” Fricke said. “I wanted a lawyer, but I guess they don’t think I’m worth it.”

Frank Butler didn’t say anything. He sat next to his partner staring at his tightly clasped hands resting on his knees. His was the lesser charge, but his association with Fricke could negatively impact his career for years. They were friends but Josie had to believe Butler harbored some resentment for being in the middle of Fricke’s predicament.

“What do you think, Frank?” she asked. Josie was worried about the quiet man. It wasn’t good to keep anger and frustration bottled up. Sometimes, it was healthier to rant like Fricke.

“What I think is we’re fucked,” he said, softly, still focused on his hands.

“If you didn’t do anything, you’ll be alright,” she said.

Now he glanced up at her. The guy was a retired marine and in his young life he’d faced tougher things than police department discipline, but they both knew what she’d just said was naïve and she really didn’t believe a word of it.