Fallen Angels (39 page)

When they were alone, she waited while Jake collected his notes and stacked them on her desk. “You did a good job,” she said, when he finished. “Maybe you should’ve been a detective.”

“No thanks, sleuthing is way too nerve-wracking for me, but I can see why you like it so much; it’s exciting.” He looked at her and smiled. “You’re quite a woman to do this stuff every day.”

She could feel herself blushing and the only response she managed was, “Thanks.” It mattered that he was proud of her.

“Guess I’ll go home and get some sleep,” Jake said.

“New home or old home?”

“The apartment, not really home but probably best for the time being. You don’t need any more complications in your life.”

“I’m a pedigreed jumper; one more hurdle’s not a problem.”

“Try keeping both feet on the ground for this one, honey. If it goes sideways, I’m a pretty good lawyer, call me,” he said, kissing her as if nothing in their lives had ever changed; and then added on his way out of the office, “Just ask Donnie Fricke. He’s about to get his complaint cleared as unfounded.”

She wanted to know how he’d done that, but by the time what he said registered, he was out the door and strolling through the lobby. She always hoped the combined credibility of Mouse and Little Joe with no corroborating evidence wouldn’t be enough to sustain allegations against Fricke or any other cop for that matter. Although Fricke didn’t have a clean rap sheet, Butler’s work history and reputation were impeccable and this time reason prevailed. Whoever got the two snitches to make the false charges had to know they wouldn’t stick, but Josie suspected the allegations were a diversion to get Fricke off the street and keep her and the Hollywood detectives distracted.

If what Jake said about clearing the complaint was true, Fricke and his partner could be back on the street in a couple of days. She was tempted to call him tonight, but thought better of it. Having her most productive cops working again would be great, but it might be best for him if this case got wrapped up before he returned. Like most hard-charging cops he was an easy target, and she really didn’t want him in the middle of this mess again.

By the time Jake left, it was after seven p.m. Josie was hungry and starting to fade. She hadn’t had the opportunity or inclination to change her clothes and was still wearing jeans, boots, and a pullover sweater. The mirror in her wardrobe was in a dimly lit corner of the room and when she checked out the state of her hair, she discovered the appearance of tiny crow’s feet at the corners of her tired-looking eyes. She had to get some sleep. There wasn’t any reason for her to hang around tonight, but she could sense the case coming together and the adrenaline rush was making her antsy. Instinctively, she wanted to do what Behan was doing, be a detective again and have her hands deep into the mix, but that wasn’t her job anymore. The smart thing would be to go home, get some rest and start again early the next morning.

Instead, she locked the wardrobe and went upstairs.

Marge was alone in her office, had her head down on the desk, and her face buried in her arms. Josie watched for a few seconds wondering if she was asleep.

“I’m not dead,” Marge mumbled without looking up.

“Good,” Josie said. “I’m already down two lieutenants.”

She lifted her head just enough to peek over her arm and locate Josie standing in the middle of the room. Slowly, reluctantly she sat up and asked, “What’s up, boss?”

“Nothing . . . wanna go across the street?”

“Stupid question,” Marge said. She picked up the police radio lying near her arm as she pulled on her jacket.

“
Y
OU OKAY
?” Josie asked, as soon as they had settled in at the table closest to the bar. Marge was always the prettiest girl in any room, but tonight she looked the way Josie felt, weary and old. Her hair had been hastily pinned back, and makeup that might’ve looked good that morning needed some serious touching up.

“No.”

“You gonna tell me about it?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Does it have anything to do with Red?”

“No, it has everything to do with Red. That’s why I’m not telling you.”

“Is he leaving Miss Vicky for you?” Josie asked. She knew she was being annoying, but wanted to know.

Marge didn’t answer but glared at Josie in an attempt to make her boss back down. Josie didn’t blink. Scarier people than Marge had tried to bully her without any success. She’d come in here just wanting to eat, but wasn’t leaving now until Marge spilled the whole story. Behan and Marge brought their personal problems into her police station and that made their relationship her business.

The menus were on the table. Marge picked one up and started reading, set it down again and looked at Josie. Her eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears, but she wouldn’t cry. She took a napkin and held it over her eyes with both hands. Her lips were pressed tight as she fought her emotions. After a few minutes, she was able to sit back and take a deep breath.

“I dumped him . . . told him to go back to his wife,” Marge said, attempting to sound as if she’d gotten over it. “The woman is crazy about him and she’s got all that money.”

“Maybe he loves you and doesn’t care about the money,” Josie said, immediately regretting the comment.

“Then he’s a fucking moron.”

“What if she won’t take him back?” “She will.”

“You talked to her?”

Marge nodded. “She’s willing to give him up if that’s what he wants. But like I told her, Red doesn’t know what the fuck he wants.” She closed her eyes for a second or two and said, “If he doesn’t stick it out this time, he’ll just keep dragging his sorry ass from one woman to another until he dies alone and broke, just another sloppy drunk in some shit-filled gutter. She’s his only shot at any kind of real life.”

The woman had been her friend for years, but for the first time Josie felt some genuine admiration for Marge. This had been so difficult for her, but she did what she thought was best for somebody else.

“What did you tell Red?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Is he going back to her?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Not really, but if I drink enough I’ll get better.”

They sat at the table in the nearly deserted bar eating greasy fried appetizers and drinking an expensive bottle of wine until Nora’s closed at two a.m. Josie felt good enough to drive, but decided to spend what was left of the night on the couch in her office. Marge found an empty cot with clean sheets in the women’s locker room across from the roll call room. The female officers had three cots available when they worked late and had to be in court the next morning. All of them were empty, so Marge fell onto the closest one and immediately passed out. She was snoring before Josie threw a blanket on top of her and turned off the lights. Officers working the day watch would be arriving in a few hours, but Josie doubted even noisy locker-banging could wake her.

The assistant watch commander waved at Josie as she entered her office. She waved back and asked the sergeant if he needed anything.

“Nope, we’re good, Captain,” he said. “Can I do anything for you?”

She shook her head and had to smile. He’d been running the graveyard watch since Lieutenant Owens retired and was doing a great job, one headache remedied.

When she closed the door, her office was cold but quiet. Josie lay on the couch and covered herself with one of the blankets she’d taken from the cot room. It reeked of bleach and Pine-Sol, but at least it was warm.

With half a bottle of wine in her, Josie should’ve fallen asleep immediately, but she kept thinking about Jake and how much she missed sleeping with him, not just for the sex but his closeness. She could get through the day, but the nights had become long empty hours. Unlike Marge, she’d decided giving him up wasn’t an option.

After an hour of restlessness, unable to close her eyes, she made herself think about the investigation. It didn’t help . . . more frustration. If Bright was involved, it became problematic finding someone to deal with in her chain of command. The only one above Bright was an assistant chief and then the chief of police. They were both political animals whose primary focus would be damage control, and she doubted the investigation would come to a conclusion she liked. She’d decided not to go to them until all the loose ends had been tied up, the case was ready to file and beyond shelving, but she needed more horsepower in dealing with Bright. The best solution was also the worst one and painfully obvious—Councilwoman Fletcher, the woman whose support Josie had effectively managed to destroy in the last few days.

H
OLLYWOOD STATION
was a bunker, red brick on the outside and not a single window anywhere. Knowing when it was night or day from the interior was impossible without a clock. When the electricity went out, which it did frequently, it became pitch black inside and everyone pretty much froze in place until the lights returned.

Normally, when Josie slept on her couch the noise generated by the station coming alive for the busy day watch always woke her around six or seven, but this morning it wasn’t necessary. She never really slept, but managed to close her eyes long enough to convince herself she was rested. All night her agitated thoughts bounced from Jake to the homicides. She’d pondered the different scenarios of how Hillary met her demise and what had happened to Misty and always came back to the same conclusion. Misty had killed Hillary rather than pay her extortion money, and somehow the Manuci family or one of their minions found Misty and killed her.

When Josie’s adjutant opened her door to bring in the mail and deposit that day’s paperwork, he was surprised to see her sitting at the conference table drinking coffee. He didn’t seem to notice she was wearing the same clothes she wore yesterday, or was too polite to mention it.

“I’m hoping to have this investigation wrapped up in a day or two,” she said, taking the stack of papers from him. “I want you to know you’ve done a good job. I really appreciate it and won’t forget how hard you’ve worked.”

“Thank you, ma’am, my pleasure,” he said, too confident to fake humility. “Detective Behan said as soon as you got in to tell you he has the tapes.”

She dumped the pile of papers on her desk, and without an explanation hurried back to the detective squad room where she found Behan sitting at his desk staring at the computer. He appeared to be the calm, rested, well-groomed newlywed again. She suspected all was back in order on the home front. Miss Vicky must’ve lured him away from the whiskey bottle last night and somehow convinced him he could survive without the home wrecker, aka the beautiful Marge Bailey.

He was concentrating on the screen and didn’t seem to notice her standing behind him. The DVD of Hillary’s last picture was just finishing, and Behan kept repeating the scene where the sultry star was hauled off to jail by Art Perry’s handsome celluloid alter ego.

“What’re you looking for?” she asked, after the third replay.

“Art Perry was the one who requested the information on Misty Skylar from the D.A.’s office.”

“You saw the security tapes?”

“The D.A. still had them. Perry signed Bright’s name, but it’s definitely him on the tape.”

“I can’t believe he’d be stupid enough to risk his job and maybe jail to retrieve that information for Hillary.”

“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was doing what Bright asked him to do,” Behan said, finally glancing up at her.

“Is that what you think?”

Behan yawned and stretched, followed by a long contented groan. “I don’t know what I think yet,” he said, ejecting the disc. “I need to sit Perry’s pompous ass down and make him tell me what he was doing and why.”

“Is Perry’s name in her journal at all?”

“Not as far as I can tell . . . and you can stop worrying about the city attorney. Harry Walsh was working with Hillary on a stalking case a year ago and gave her his card.”

“Who was the stalker?”

“Her bizarre mother, who else. After Hillary and her groupies moved out of her mother’s house, the old woman showed up at her apartment building a couple a times praying out loud in the lobby for her sinful daughter. Walsh threatened to jail her for trespassing and she stopped.”