Street Rules (24 page)

“Jesus,” Frank breathed, her mind speeding with the sudden possibilities. She glanced at Gail dozing with her mouth slightly open. Frank was glad the doc wasn’t awake to see the notes she was scribbling on the back of the report.

Frank paced around the dining room table in shorts and a T-shirt. A couple empties stood upside down in the sink and she scowled when the phone rang. Fubar was on call and she hoped it wasn’t him. When he caught something he often asked Frank to “help”. And she had to admit, she’d spoiled him because she usually did; it was easier to take the case from the beginning than clean up his mess later.

“Franco,” she answered.

“Hi. It’s Gail. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Nope. I was just sitting here thinking about Luis Estrella’s lab results.”

“Well, Santa’s heard you’ve been a good girl and he wants to give you an early Christmas present. Is it too late to drop it off?”

“Damn. Santa’s working overtime,” Frank smiled into the phone. “Come on over.”

When Gail arrived, Frank got her a beer, asking what she was doing out so late.

“It’s Tuesday,” Gail made a face. “Rounds until ten. Here. Before I forget and you yell at me again,” she said, handing Frank another envelope.

“I didn’t yell at you,” Frank objected.

“Yes, you did,” Gail sulked. “And here I was just trying to be nice. I’m wondering if Santa got his information mixed up about you.”

Frank grinned, “Who’s the one that took you to Santa Barbara and bought you that great lunch?”

“Well, that’s true.”

Frank fished out lab results for a beating death the nine-three caught had caught a couple weeks ago.

“I like this personal service,” she noted, scanning the data. Gail was propped against the table sipping her Corona.

“How’d you get that scar?” she asked, giving Frank’s knee a nod.

“Old football injury,” Frank murmured.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I was playing with my cousins and I fell on a broken bottle.”

“Ouch. How about that one?” she asked, leaning to swipe a finger over a jagged line on Frank’s forearm.

“That one …” Frank said, trying to analyze a 2x4 pattern on the victim’s cheek, “came from a chain link fence. I was chasing a punk and when I hit the fence I impaled myself on a busted link, I didn’t realize it, so I ripped half my arm off when I went over.”

“How many stitches?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Do they bother you?”

“No. Can’t feel a thing. They were both a long time ago.”

“No, I meant aesthetically.”

“Nah. Scars are like wrinkles; they’re war wounds. I’ve earned every one of ‘em.”

“That’s a good attitude.”

Frank didn’t look up when Gail volunteered, “I’ve got a scar.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. A mastectomy,” the doc said without a missing a beat. Frank lowered the report. She looked for a joke in Gail’s face but didn’t see it.

“Full or partial?”

“Full. My entire left breast.”

“When?”

“A little over two and a half years ago.”

“Been clean since?”

“Knock on wood,” Gail answered, rapping on the envelope.

“You can’t tell,” Frank said.

The doc flashed a quick grin.

“I’m flattered you’ve looked.”

There was a weighted silence, in which Frank wasn’t sure what to say. Gail finally admitted, “I don’t know why I told you. I’ve never told anyone outside my immediate family. I guess it’s good to practice on a friend.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah,” Gail said, “now you know better than to date me.”

“Think it makes you any less attractive?”

“I’ve rationalized in my head that it doesn’t, but on the other hand I haven’t had a date in two and a half years, so go figure. Anyway, I like what you said about a scar being a badge of honor.”

“Wear it proudly. Not every one gets the chance to.”

“You’re right,” Gail said, setting her beer down. “You have such a healthy perspective sometimes.”

Rolling her eyes, Frank said, “Tell Clay that.”

“It’s getting kind of late,” Gail said shoving off from the table. “I’ve got to go in early and prep for testimony.”

“I won’t keep you,” Frank stood. “You shouldn’t have come out of your way.”

“I don’t consider you out of the way,” Gail tossed off, then suddenly she wheeled.

“Hey! Now this isn’t fair. Here I’ve gone and shared my deepest, most intimate secret with you and
I still
don’t even know your first name!”

“Ahhh,” Frank said, “Tit for tat, so to speak?”

“You’re terrible,” Gail laughed, that sexy chuckle.

“This my price for such incredible personalized service from the coroner’s office?”

Gail held her palm out.

“Pay up, sister.”

“Okay,” Frank gave in. “Here goes. You have to understand that my mother was always into fads and cults. Whatever the latest trend was, she was into it. Rebirthing, Zen, EST, Christian Science — you name it, she tried it. My dad used to call it her faith-of-the-month club, and when she was carrying me, she was into Wicca. Thought she was a witch or something. It was pretty harmless. I mean, I don’t remember her sacrificing goats in the living room or anything. Anyway, she got this idea in her head that a really great name, one that would confer a lot of power for a little girl, would be — are you ready?”

Gail nodded eagerly and Frank enunciated, “Lu-ci-fe-ra An-ge-li-na.”

“No-oo,” Gail breathed.

“Yep. My dad had a fit. Tore up the birth certificate. Told my mother to give me a decent name. But she never did. That was the name she wanted. Even after the Wicca stuff faded. She was the only one who ever called me that.”

“Thank God,” Gail said, repeating the name. “What a mouthful. Was your dad as trippy as your mom?”

They’d walked outside to Gail’s car and Frank’s soft smile was almost concealed by the modest city darkness.

“No. He was a rock. My mother was out there, but my dad held it all together. I think he wanted a boy, but he made do with me. Sometimes on Saturdays he’d take me on his route. He delivered bread, and sometimes we’d stop at a hotdog stand for lunch. He took me to Giants games when he could afford them. Took me with him to the bar almost every night. I’d sit next to him, drinking a Coke and eating peanuts. He and my uncle Al would be talking to their friends. Lots of politics, war stories, bullshit. My uncle was a cop and I loved his stories the best. Sometimes he’d tell a really gory one and one of the guys would say, ‘For Christ’s sake, Al, the kid.’ My dad’d rough up my hair and put his arm around me. I loved the weight of it, so heavy and solid. It was like nothing bad could happen as long as he had his arm around me.”

Frank fell silent, thinking it would be a short slide from good memories to bad ones. But she felt Gail’s eyes gently tugging her along.

“Look. You need to go home. Gotta look sharp in front of that jury tomorrow, right?”

“Right,” Gail smiled. She finally got in her car but before she closed the door, she said, “Thanks for the beer. And for the pep talk.”

“Anytime.”

“Promise?” Gail asked.

“Promise.”

Back to back homicides at Figueroa were telling Frank what the weatherman hadn’t, that summer had arrived. Now she was sitting in the Alibi knocking back stouts. Johnnie smacked the table and she thought her crew was probably generating more noise then the rest of the bar combined.

“Blam! Blam! Blam! Just like that. Three in a row! Jesus Christ!”

Frank listened to their bitching with half an ear. She could do her own but didn’t. She’d only managed to get to the Estrella’s twice this week. Once she’d encountered only Gloria and the kids, the other time it was Claudia alone, but her pager had gone off after only a few minutes. She was tempted just to drag them all down to the station but didn’t want push to come to shove. Something told her that might make the family clamp down even harder, and Frank had a new approach she wanted to try. She promised herself more time with them this weekend. Quality time, she thought sarcastically, especially with Tonio.

Diego vacated his chair and Noah slid into it, nudging Frank.

“So where’s the doc?”

“Now why would I know that?” she asked.

“Come on,” Noah winked. “I heard you two went to Santa Barbara last weekend. And you told me you were working,” he chided.

“I did. Worked all day Sunday.”

“I want to know what happened Saturday.”

“No big. Went for a ride, had lunch, saw some flowers. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Noah repeated.

“That’s it.”

Noah wagged his head. “I used to have more respect for you, Frank. That woman’s hot for you and you’re just sniffing
flowers.
”

Frank smiled slightly at the innuendo, allowed it because it came from No. He was straddling the chair and she leaned close to his ear.

“I know you pride yourself on your matchmaking skills, buddy, but maybe the girl ain’t as interested as you think. Might want to give this one a rest.”

“You mean she’s not one with the Amazons?”

“I mean we’re just friends. Period.”

“Why? Did you try something?” Noah pushed. “You know for sure?”

“Sure enough.”

“Ah,” Noah whispered, “Then no wonder you’re hangin’ with her. She’s
safe.”

Frank sat back, folding her arms over her chest. A sharp rejoinder leapt to her tongue but she bit it back, acknowledging instead, “Maybe that’s what I need right now.”

Diego was approaching them, so Noah stood up. Patting Frank on the shoulder, he nodded, “True, dudess. True.”

The next morning, after punishing her hangover with a grueling workout, Frank headed into town. She caught Gloria and Tonio eating cereal and watching TV with the babies. Claudia and Alicia were in church. Frank asked a few questions and Gloria waved them away like they were gnats. No, Placa didn’t have an ulcer. No, she didn’t know where her sister went on the bus all the time. No, they didn’t know anyone who owned a car with a tan interior. No, they didn’t know anyone in the service.

Both of Claudia’s children were surly and uncommunicative, until Frank asked Gloria why her brother was making strikes against the LAPD. The question sparked the young woman into a full-blown rage. She slammed her cereal onto the table, spilling most of it onto the floor and demanded Frank leave her house. Frank stayed on the arm of the couch, so Gloria turned her fury on Tonio, ordering him outside in his underwear. Scooping up the babies and dressed only in a sheer nightie, she followed her brother through the front door. Frank sighed, leaving a card near the dripping bowl. There was no one outside and Frank assumed Gloria had gone to a neighbors house. Tonio’s bike had been locked to the porch when she came in, now it was gone. She drove around, unsuccessfully trying to find him.

Frank dropped by Lydia’s on her way back to the office. She was lucky enough to catch La Reina sitting on the apartment steps with her home girls. They were pissed when Frank told them to leave and Lydia complained,
‘Now
what you want?”

“Nothing. Just tell me who you know that drives a car with beige or tan carpet on the floor.”

She couldn’t think of any Playboys that did. Most of their rides were GTAs anyway, hot cars wired just for a spree then left abandoned. Frank made a note to check the GTAs twenty-four hours prior to Placa’s death.

“She ever tell you about any cops?”

“She told me about you once. How you and that black guy used to be real nice to her when she was little. How the black guy always was wantin’ her to go to art school.”

“She talk about anybody else? Any other cops?”

Lydia cracked her gum, wagged her head.

“Tell me who she was dealing to.”

“I already tolt you I don’t know. She never said nothin’ to me about that.”

“I got a lab report says she was handlin’ shit right before she died, and she was with you before she died.”

“Well, she musta been playin’ with it before she seen me, ‘cause I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no dope.”

“I understand your man’s out.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged.

“That’s not good news?”

“S’okay.”

Frank almost smiled at her ambivalence. She was beginning to see how this spunky girl would have appealed to Placa. La Reina was a tough kid, not to be underestimated, but she wore her heart on her sleeve.

“Did you love Placa?”

Lydia’s head drooped and she mumbled, “I don’t know. She was different from the boys. She was nice to me. She’d treat me respectful like.”

“I knew her since she was this big.”

Frank’s hands made a shape the size of a basketball.

“I loved her too,” she said simply, watching amazement grow in Lydia’s eyes. Slipping her another business card, she said, “Call if you think of anything.”

Driving back to the office, a nasty thought skipped around in Frank’s head. After she’d read Luis Estrella’s lab reports, she’d done some subtle snooping around on Hunt. Going through the old Figueroa news letters, she found the issue profiling Hunt’s rodeo exploits. He was a champion team roper and kept a stable of horses in Simi Valley. The article also mentioned John Knowles, Hunt’s equally successful teammate in the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association, and his old partner at Hollywood.

Hunt was a good old boy from up north, an Okie who’d started out with the Fresno PD. He’d hired onto the LAPD at Hollywood, then been demoted to Shootin’ Newton after a handful of unsubstantiated unnecessary force charges. His transfer from Newton came after another unfounded charge that he’d beaten a handcuffed prisoner badly enough to send him into ICU, followed by clouded allegations about his and Knowles involvement with a kilo of coke missing from the Newton evidence locker.

She’d snooped around about Knowles too. He was as ugly with his fists as Hunt, and because of it had been busted back to regular patrol. Frank played with the idea that Hunt and Knowles had walked off with the key, and that they were still partners, not in law, but against it. She had a list of things to check — Knowles whereabouts on the night of the Estrella shootings, whether Hunt knew Barracas while he was at Hollywood, what kind of car Knowles drove … she knew she was grasping, but it was about all she had to go and oddly enough her leads were all tying in somehow to Hunt and his partner. Even while she told herself that she was working a SWAG, just some wild-ass guess, the evidence continued pointing toward Hunt. So she followed it.