Fallen Angels (33 page)

However, when someone is consumed by fear it’s different. Instead of providing an opportunity to make better decisions, it paralyzes the brain and body.

Josie recognized the unpleasant odor of a frightened man’s sweat lingering in the interview room long after Cory had gone. She’d worked in crowded hallways serving search warrants with dozens of nervous detectives when they didn’t know what danger waited for them on the other side of a barricaded door. They were scared, but it was a healthy fear, the kind that kept cops alive. When the moment came, most of them fought to be first through the door; but there were those who hung back a little, and when everything was over, they’d have that same stench of panicked fear on them.

She’d surmised Cory Goldman was being eaten alive by his fears. He talked to Behan to spite his father and the pushy lawyer, but at some point he was going to think about what he’d said and regret his decision. That’s what guys like Cory did. They wasted their lives regretting or hiding. Josie had to admit she was feeling a bit guilty. The boy was damaged goods and she’d taken advantage of him, but she kept reminding herself it had been for an important reason.

T
HE EXPECTED
call from Bright didn’t come until the following day. The deputy chief was angry and demanded a full report on why his orders hadn’t been followed. Josie calmly explained that the decision had been Cory’s. The boy insisted on talking to them alone. Nevertheless, Bright’s tirade continued for several minutes until he ordered her to be in his office the next morning with a better explanation. Josie didn’t argue. She hoped by tomorrow his invective would lose some steam. She would pretend to be contrite, and since he was a simple man, winning the argument was usually enough for him.

There wasn’t a lot of time to worry about Bright’s threats. As soon as Josie hung up, Deputy City Attorney Harry Walsh was tapping on her open door. It was a pleasant surprise.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Harry said, taking a few tentative steps inside the room. “Is this a bad time?”

“Actually, it’s the perfect time,” she said, getting up and shaking hands. Harry’s sharp mind and gentle nature were exactly what she needed at the moment. The conversation with Bright had been depressing. “I’ve had a miserable morning.”

“Sorry, I can come back.”

“I need your advice,” she said, and saw Harry’s expression change. He looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a personal problem.”

He immediately relaxed and smiled. “I’m not good at giving people advice, but I enjoy police predicaments. First, may I ask why I haven’t had any arrest reports from Fricke for the last couple of days?”

“He’s dealing with some personnel matters,” she said.

“Not again,” Harry said, looking disappointed. The deputy city attorney claimed every time Fricke got suspended for misconduct, there was a minor crime wave in Hollywood that persisted until he got back and restored order.

Josie closed the door and gestured for Harry to sit at the table. She’d decided to trust him because her instincts were usually pretty good about people. It probably would’ve been smarter to wait and see which city employee names popped up in Hillary’s pay-to-play diary, but she couldn’t imagine Harry involved in high-priced prostitution. She was certain now Councilman Goldman was connected, and Chief Bright’s behavior was suspicious, but if other city leaders or high-ranking police personnel were involved, she was going to need someone for legal advice.

Josie carefully recounted the details of the two homicides and explained how Fricke had been implicated. She tried to cover all the complicated connections.

“So what it comes down to is, I’ve got a dead teenager who might’ve had a little black book or diary of some sort with the names of very important people who bought sex with her. She decides to blackmail a few of them for extra cash and gets herself and maybe her agent killed,” Josie said without taking a breath.

“I don’t believe Donnie Fricke helped that girl buy drugs or any of it,” Harry said when Josie paused for a moment. He was stuck on that part of the story.

“I don’t either, but the allegations are serious enough that I had to take him off the street, which I think is what they really wanted; but I didn’t have much choice.”

“So, you don’t have any idea who’s in that book.”

“Cory pretty much told me his father’s there, but the councilman might not be the only participant who had something to lose if word got out he was paying to have sex with a teenager. The fact that Lange wants the book tells me Milano thinks it’s worth something, or Lange’s got another client who’s afraid he might be outed.”

“Nothing Milano does surprises me, but blackmail’s a little subtle for him,” Harry said. “He’s more the kneecap-breaking type of guy.”

“Maybe there’s something in there about him or his nephew he doesn’t want the world to know. Problem is we’ll never know if Lange finds Mouse before we do.”

“You’re assuming it’s just you and Lange looking for her diary. What if there are other former . . . what’d you call them, participants, who want it?” Harry didn’t wait for an answer. “Regardless, you’re a long way from needing my kind of help. Of course, I’ll do whatever I can, but I think if you find the diary you’ll probably find who killed that girl. And maybe I can figure out a way to avoid publicly embarrassing a lot of weak men. With Hillary dead, most likely there won’t be enough evidence to prosecute anyone anyway.”

Josie wasn’t going to argue with him because she respected Harry; but if embarrassing those men was all she could do, then she’d do it. They were creeps who’d taken advantage of a vulnerable, unstable young woman. Josie would’ve preferred throwing their sorry butts in jail for statutory rape, but ruining them would be enough if that’s all she could manage.

Remembering that Harry seldom came to her office unless there was a problem, Josie asked, “Did you want to talk to me about something besides Fricke?”

“Mostly, I was curious about Fricke . . . but.” He exhaled. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Susan Fletcher’s been sniffing around my office trying to find out what you’re up to at the needle exchange.”

“Really,” Josie said, smirking.

“Claims she’s had complaints from constituents. Although, I’m not aware of many heroin addicts who vote.”

“It must be working.”

“I didn’t hear that. She can be very nasty, so I wouldn’t poke that sleeping bear if I were you. From what you’ve told me, there’s plenty on your plate right now without provoking her.”

“With Fricke at home, the hype car’s pretty much out of commission, so she should be pacified for a while.”

“Somebody’s arresting them. I’m getting a lot of under-theinfluence reports from different cops in the vicinity of the needle exchange, not as many as Fricke, but still quite a few. Sergeant Bailey’s signing as supervisor.”

They chatted a few more minutes about other gossip in Hollywood. The local community leaders considered Josie their chief of police and Harry Walsh their private prosecutor. In their minds, Hollywood was a sovereign city and the captain at the Hollywood police station worked for them. From Josie’s perspective that was a good thing. They were her power base. Anyone who tried to screw with her would get a big loud push back. Lately, she was counting on it.

S
HE WASN’T
surprised that Marge had tried to keep the hype car busy while Fricke and Butler were assigned home, but from what Harry had told her they were making too many quality arrests for neophytes still learning the ropes. Josie had intended to transfer the unit back to the narcotics supervisor—but hadn’t as yet—and was suspicious about who was training and advising them, because as far as she knew Marge had no narcotics expertise.

The vice office was empty, so Josie contacted Marge on the radio and asked if they could meet somewhere. Marge responded quickly with an address Josie recognized. It was Murray’s. Big surprise, Marge was eating again.

It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, so the place wasn’t crowded. They sat at the same table Josie and Behan had occupied about a week ago, and it started her worrying again about the unstable condition of her homicide detective’s life. These days, it was complicated to talk to Marge about Behan. If that little hand-touching scene in Nora’s the other night was what it appeared to be, they were involved; and Marge might’ve been the catalyst for what was looking like his latest marriage disaster.

Sammy took their order, came back a few minutes later to take it again, but never delivered it to the kitchen. The ex-boxer had that faraway stare reaching out to touch something only he in his world of dementia could see as he left the restaurant. They waited until his son came out of the kitchen, wiped his hands on his dirty apron, and jotted down the order a third time. He didn’t even attempt to apologize for the old man’s behavior. All the regulars knew about his father’s condition, and he didn’t seem to care much about the others.

The restaurant was nearly empty except for two men dressed in business suits sitting at a table in the corner. Dirty dishes were stacked on the counter, and the other tables hadn’t been cleared. A young woman walked in and casually removed debris from the table behind Josie, placed dirty dishes on the counter, and wiped the table with a damp rag that had been left on one of the stools before she sat down. The strong smell of sautéed onions and eggs filled the small restaurant making Josie hungry again.

“Harry Walsh’s telling me the hype car’s been staying pretty active,” Josie said, trying to keep her mind off that wonderful aroma and back on the business at hand.

They’d been friends a long time, and Josie always knew when Marge was uncomfortable and at the moment she was fidgeting. The pretty woman pulled nervously at the band around her long blond hair before saying anything.

“I’ve tried to keep them busy,” she said, brushing some leftover crumbs off the table.

“I’m curious who’s training them now that Fricke’s not around?”

“The guys at narcotics have been very helpful,” Marge said, and added quickly, “Donnie had given them an excellent foundation on the basics before he left.”

“They must be good. It took me years to learn to do schematics and write reports that well. Frankly, just locating that many hypes is amazing for guys with their limited experience.”

Marge sat back, folded her arms, and stared at Josie. “What the fuck’s this about,” she asked. “If you wanna ask me something, just fucking ask.”

“Who’s helping you?”

The omelettes oozing cheese and mushrooms were delivered to the table by Sammy’s son, but neither Josie nor Marge looked at the food or moved.

“Fricke isn’t the only cop in the city that knows how to do a hype schematic,” Marge said, finally picking up a fork.

“The schematic can be faked if you’ve got a decent one to copy, but finding that many heroin addicts every night takes a lot more expertise. As far as I know, narcotics hasn’t got anybody that can do what Fricke does and I know you can’t.”

“Well, I guess you’re wrong about that because we’re doing it,” she said, and shoved a big chunk of juicy eggs into her mouth.

They were quiet for the five or ten minutes it took to devour their omelettes and those thick slices of wheat bread Sammy’s kid brought on his next trip to their table. Sammy returned as soon as they finished eating, and cleaned up all the dirty dishes, wiped the tables and counter, and carried on a coherent conversation with the woman behind them before disappearing into the kitchen again.

“I’m going out with your talented guys tonight because I’d really like to see them work,” Josie said, wiping the remnants of toast off her face. She’d suspected Fricke was working with them and Marge’s reaction confirmed her suspicions. “That okay with you?”

“Why not? If you don’t trust me, you can do whatever you want. It’s your division. You’re the boss.”

“I’m also not an idiot.”

Marge bent forward and her face looked pained as she tightened her mouth, scrunched her eyes nearly closed and belched, not a faint, hand-over-your-mouth, ladylike burp, but a harddrinking, taco-eating truck driver’s bellow that echoed through the small restaurant, and caused the woman behind them and the two businessmen to laugh out loud.