Street Rules (11 page)

Bending over to swipe up the keys, he told Noah, “You’re fuckin’ psycho.”

“Fuck you, you drunken asshole,” Noah spit back.

Frank patted his face roughly, “Hey. Knock it off. Johnnie, go home. Bobby, get back to the table.”

Johnnie left, rubbing his jaw, swearing. Frank pulled Noah toward the door.

“What the fuck was that all about?”

“You don’t have to drive around with him all day, Frank. He’s a goddamn moron.”

“He’s been a moron for years. Why’d you decide to punch him now?”

Noah glanced at Placa, splay-chested on the table.

“He had no right to call her that. I mean look at her. She’s defenseless. If she’d been here she’d have wailed on his ass.”

“She’d a put a curse on him to make his dick fall off,” Frank said softly.

“Yeah,” Noah smiled, but he ducked his head against the tears welling up. Frank hurt for her friend. She rested a hand on his shoulder and he looked back at Placa.

“It’s just, you know, some of these kids. You watch ‘em comin’ up and they’re bright and they got so much potential and you just wanna see ‘em make it out of this fuckin’ cesspool. And she just had so much goin’ for her. I mean if anybody coulda made it out, it’d been her, but no, she had to die cause she was wearing her barrio on her arm. I mean where’s the fuckin’ sense in it?”

He’d asked the question earnestly and Frank had to admit she didn’t know. He hung his head again and she said, “Look. Go home. Play with the kids. Pat Trace on the ass. Have a couple drinks. Okay?” she asked, catching his eye.

He nodded and she squeezed his neck.

“There you go. You all right?”

He nodded again and she said, “Call me if you want. I’ll be up late.”

“Yeah.”

“Bobby. Take No back to the station. I’ll finish this.”

“Want me to come back and get you?”

“No. I’ll grab a cab.”

The men left and Frank resumed her stand at the steel table.

“Sorry about that.”

“Not at all,” Gail spoke wryly. “That was exciting. We don’t get many fistfights in here.”

After the sudden outbreak the room seemed overly calm. The big air conditioner hummed efficiently and MEs dictated into their recorders and talked quietly to their techs. The whispering of paper gowns and click of metal on metal was almost soothing. Gail was slicing the diaphragm from the body wall and said without looking up, “She must have been pretty special to you guys.”

Frank sighed like she’d trained herself to, slowly, so that no one could see.

“She was a good kid,” she said, dispassionately.

Gail glanced at Frank and they continued the autopsy without conversation. When the ME finished, she had a tech replace the organs and stitch the Y She peeled her gloves off and bunched her fists into her kidneys.

“I don’t know about you,” she said to Frank, “but I’m calling it a day. If you could wait around a bit, I’ll give you a ride back to your car. Maybe we could stop for a drink somewhere. You can hang out in my office while I finish up these notes and grab a shower. What do you think?”

It had been a long couple of days. Frank was beat and not much in the mood for company, but a drink sounded good and a ride was better than popping for a taxi, especially in commuter traffic.

“Okay. I’ve got some notes I can work on too.” Pulling off her mask, Gail beamed, “Great! Give me half an hour.”

The man who’d created the building that housed the Los Angeles County Coroner’s Office had been a flamboyant character and the Chiefs office reflected his style much more than Gail’s. Frank took in the big furniture, piled high with papers and folders and jars of she didn’t want to know what. Clean bones, misshapen bullets, and excisions in plastic were scattered around like the toys of a very disturbed child.

Frank settled into a plush sofa, pushing the coroner’s clutter to one end. She quickly jotted the highlights from the autopsy into her notebook. The most tantalizing clues were the evidence of recent intercourse and the name tattooed on Placa’s thigh. Pulling the latest leads together gave Frank an interesting story with a beginning, middle, and end. Placa was doing it with Ocho’s girl, which both Placa and La Reina kept on the QT. Dating rivals demanded an instantaneous beat-on-sight at the very least, not to mention the fall from grace that would ensue. But suppose Itsy figured it out. She snitched to Ocho for revenge. Ocho found Placa alone, got her in the back of his T-Bird and took her .25 away, then showed Placa what La Reina
really
liked. Knowing Placa she probably hurt him pretty bad and jumped out of the car. To save face, Ocho grabs the .25 and caps her as she’s trying to run for cover. End of story.

That explained Placa, but did nothing to clear the rest of the deaths in her family. Frank allowed that maybe Placa had a boyfriend. With a bad-girl rep to protect, she’d probably kept that a secret too. Or if the dude was an off-brand, she wouldn’t want that getting out. Placa was pretty hardcore King and Frank couldn’t see her balling a rival
vato.
But Ocho’s girlfriend,
that
would be the ultimate insult.

She made a note to ask Placa’s home girls, some of the Kings, and the Playboys closest to Ocho, about a boyfriend. The Toluidine had stained Placa, indicating ripping and abrasion during the intercourse. Frank had asked if she was a virgin but Gail said no. The sex had been rough, consistent with a rape, which also offered a convenient explanation for why she wasn’t strapped. That led back to the bullets.

They’d recovered three slugs at the scene and had found the other two lodged in Placa’s thoracic cavity. Her chest was so smashed up it was impossible for Gail to follow their complete trajectory. Three of the five shots were immediately fatal and Frank thought again that the shooter knew what he was doing. Not only that, the trajectory of the bullet to her head indicated the shooter had fired from directly behind Placa once she was down. It was clear the shooter wanted Placa dead — not scared, or frightened, but stone dead.
Just like whoever shot Julio Estrella’s family.
As with them, the shooter had done the job thoroughly and accurately. And just like whoever shot her uncle’s family, the person who shot Placa had taken the time to pick up the spent .25 casings. The trajectory of four of the five bullets was consistent with the shooter standing in the spot where Nook had found the lone casing. But the other four casings were missing. Frank had seen a lot of drive-bys but never one where they’d stopped to clean up ejected shells.

Apart from the wound traumas, Placa’s internal exam had revealed nothing unusual. Her organs were pale from hemorrhaging but unremarkable. The stomach was empty except for what looked like antacid residue. Frank didn’t think it was common for kids to chew Rolaids, and wondered about the cause of Placa’s upset stomach.

Because no one was around, Frank blew out a huge horse breath. She laid her head back against the comfortable couch, wishing they’d seen Placa’s bruises in the dark. The chances were slim they’d have pulled anything useful, but still she would have liked to dust them for latents. Frank hated working scenes at night just for that reason. There was so much to miss and by the time they returned in the morning scenes had changed and were contaminated, sometimes even cleaned up.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Gail breathed, bursting through the door. “A couple of the residents cornered me. They lie in wait for me outside the locker room.”

“No problem. I was just going over what we found.”

“Or didn’t,” Gail said apologetically.

Frank stood by the door, waiting for the doc to finish up. A fruity shampoo scented the office and Gail’s dark bob concealed her face as she stood over the desk. She’d changed into jeans and a faded UA sweatshirt. The scrubs fleshed her out a little and Frank noticed when she was in regular clothes that she was very angular. Watching her leave the Alibi one Friday night, Noah had called her rawboned. Bobby had added that she looked like one of Modigliani’s blue women, then Johnnie had chimed in that the doc gave him blue balls.

“Okay,” she said straightening, swinging the damp hair from her face. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Gail covered the room in long strides and was just about to turn the light off when she said, “Hey, turn your face this way.”

Frank did as told. Gail put a fingertip below her temple and said, “Looks like you’ve got a bruise there.”

Frank felt it gingerly.

“Must’ve intercepted a round meant for Johnnie.”

“Ouch.”

They walked to the elevator and Gail said, “That surprised the hell out of me. Noah seems so easy-going.”

“He is. That’s not like him to blow up.”

“Was he close to Placa?”

“Kinda.”

“You seem to have a pretty good rapport with those guys.”

“We get along.”

Gail took a sidelong glance at Frank and grinned, “Why do I get the feeling that if they had awards for understatement you’d bring home the trophy every year?”

“Don’t know. Tell you what. Instead of driving me all the way back into town, why don’t you just give me a lift home. You’re in San Marino, right?”

Gail nodded and Frank said, “I’m on the way. I’ll just catch a cab into work in the morning.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure.”

Once they were buckled into Gail’s Pathfinder, the doc confessed, “I’m glad your boys had that spat. This way I get to spend some time with you.”

Frank studied the ME’s profile, glowing deep pink in the dying sun.

“What’d I do now?”

“Nothing. I just meant I only see you during autopsies or on Friday nights. Neither place is very conducive for conversation.”

Curiosity edged Frank’s fatigue out of the way and she decided to spar a little with the doc.

“No says you were asking questions about me the other night.”

Gail immediately bristled.

“Did he say that?”

“Yep. He’s my main dog. Tells me everything.”

Enjoying Gail’s embarrassment, Frank continued, “Now that we’re in such a
conversationally conducive
spot, what did you want to know?”

“I was just… wondering about you,” Gail stammered. “You’re so reticent.”

“If I’m not mistaken, your exact description was intriguingly impenetrable.”

“My God, what’d he do? Recite our entire conversation verbatim?”

Frank was like a cat with a mouse.

“Said you asked about me and Kennedy.”

“Oh, God,” Gail cringed. “I will
never
ask him anything again.”

“Not if you want to keep it a secret,” Frank grinned. “No’s the department gossip.”

“So I see. Oh God, how embarrassing. It’s none of my business, I know. I was just curious about you.”

Frank didn’t know the doc that well and calculated just how much she wanted to reveal. She and Mag had called themselves roommates, rarely acknowledging the carpet cleaner and muff diver comments. During the long drought between Mag and Kennedy it hadn’t been much of an issue; people made presumptions and she’d let them. Besides, she was sure her relationship with Maggie was carefully documented in an IAD file somewhere. Being in the LAPD and having secrets was a contradiction. She’d believed in “don’t ask, don’t tell” long before Clinton had thought of it. Conversely, Frank didn’t like lying to the people closest to her. Her partners knew, and Joe had known. Frank decided to let Gail off the hook, offering, “Kennedy and I are just friends.”

She summarized their bad bust on Johnston, and how they had become close as a result. Then Frank appended, “There was something between us, but it’s been over for a while.”

“Thanks for leveling with me,” Gail said, catching her eye. “You didn’t have to.”

“No big deal.”

The light was red and Frank looked away first. Checking out the street scene, she said to Gail, “Your turn.”

The doc hesitated. She seemed strained and Frank said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Gail breathed. “That’s not it. There’s just nothing, and no one to tell about. I’m just starting to hate the way that sounds. I’ve been so busy building a career that in all honesty I haven’t ever made the room for a relationship. There were affairs here and there, people I really should have tried harder with, but I was too selfish. And I’m wondering if it’s too late now. If I’m too set in my ways.”

The doc trailed off, staring straight ahead. She didn’t continue and Frank didn’t push.

“Where are we going for that drink?” Gail asked.

“Tell you what. I know a place that serves the meanest roast beef sandwich in L.A. with the coldest imported ale. You up for it?”

“Sure. Tell me where to go.”

“My place,” Frank said. Gail chuckled. The sound was low in her throat and Frank liked it, thought it was kind of sexy. She wondered if Gail did it for effect or if it was just natural. Taking in the doc’s simple clothes and the lack of make-up or jewelry, she decided Gail wasn’t into artifice.

“What’s so funny?”

“Do you always play everything so close to your vest?”

“Always,” Frank admitted.

“Does anybody at work know you’re gay?”

Frank squinted out the window, “Except for Noah, it’s something most of my squad just assumes. I don’t talk about it and they don’t bring it up.”

“I would imagine the LAPD’s not the most tolerant institution.”

“Now
that’s
understatement. What about you? Rumor mill’s outed you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Gail smirked. “All you have to do is reject a couple Neanderthal’s and that automatically makes you a dyke. I feel sorry for straight women.”

Gail turned where Frank told her, continuing, “I’m not out at work and don’t intend to be. I’m not real comfortable mixing boudoir with business.” Making an apologetic face, she said, “I know it’s not PC, but frankly I’ve worked too hard to get where I am and don’t want to blow it because of who I sleep with or don’t.”

“You don’t think the good citizens of Los Angeles could handle a lesbian in the Chief Coroner’s office?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to find out.”

The doc swiftly rerouted the subject, asking Frank how long she’d been a cop.