“The last time we talked was last April at the Westin Bonaventure Hotel, sir,” I said. “On that occasion you said that when I was ready to come back to the force, you would see to a placement of my choosing.”
The chief offered the barest nod. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I might not have even seen it.
“The doctors have cleared me to come back,” I said. “Unfortunately for Sirius, his injuries are such that he is no longer fit for K-9 duty, and he is now officially retired. Without him as a partner, I don’t want to return to Metropolitan K-9.”
I took a deep breath and tried to forget the view into myself that I’d experienced that morning. The vision that came after my fire dream wasn’t infallible, or at least I didn’t want to think so.
“What I’d like to be is a detective,” I said, “with a placement in Robbery-Homicide Division. I want Homicide Special.”
Ehrlich twisted his fingers into steeples and took a few moments before answering. “If you get your wish, have you considered the ramifications?”
Only seventy-six detectives are attached to Homicide Special. Because those detectives work on all the high-profile cases, it’s a job everyone wants. “I know it will ruffle feathers.”
“It will do more than that. There’s going to be a lot of talk about how the fix was in. Experienced detectives that have been waiting for placement on Homicide Special are sure to raise a stink. It’s unlikely anyone at RHD will greet you with open arms.”
“I can live without the hugs,” I said. “I paid for the position with my pound of flesh.”
“I won’t argue with that, but walking into a hornet’s nest doesn’t sound like the best way to start off in a job.”
“Is that your way of telling me it’s not going to happen?”
“If you’re set on Homicide Special, then I’ll start the ball rolling. I think there is a better option for you, though, a position that I believe is suited to your skills, needs, and desires.”
“Vice?” I asked. My self-imposed muzzle hadn’t lasted very long.
Ehrlich chuckled, or at least made the attempt, and then asked, “Why did you go into K-9?”
“I like dogs.”
“From what I understand you like autonomy even more than you like dogs.”
If he thought I was going to argue, I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“Before taking this meeting, I put in some calls to people that know you.”
I tried to look surprised, but the truth is that I had heard from several people the chief had talked with. The chief had told them to keep it on the QT. I knew that because that same phrase was used by a few of my sources, even if I wasn’t exactly sure what the QT was.
“Everyone said you were bright,” Ehrlich said, “perhaps to a fault. They said you were impatient, and that you use caustic humor as a defense mechanism. Is that about right?”
“Sometimes the humor is more puerile than caustic.”
The chief didn’t slap his knee, but he didn’t appear to take offense either. “How is it that you became a cop?” he asked.
“I was a sixth-year senior at Cal Northridge and was being forced to reluctantly graduate. There was a job fair on campus and I started talking to some cops manning the booth. My first question was about the department’s retirement package, and they told me right then and there that I was LAPD material.”
“What was your major?”
“For five and a half years it was undeclared, which seemed to suit me, but then the Northridge administrators said they were sick of me and that I better get my sheepskin in something. Since I had taken so many courses in so many subjects, I discovered that I qualified for the trifecta in anthropology, history, and humanities. If they’d let me stay another year, I could have had the pick six with political science, religious studies, and psychology, but I ended up with minors in those.”
“It sounds as if you enjoyed school.”
“It seemed like a good alternative to growing up.”
“You’re single I understand.”
“You understand right. As you undoubtedly know, my wife died.”
He nodded. “How did that affect you?”
“For a long time it was like starting and ending my day with a kick in the balls.”
“What about now?”
“It’s more like a kick in the ribs.”
“Do you have any family?”
“A mother,” I said, and then after a moment’s hesitation I gestured with my head to Sirius and added, “And my friend with the mange here.”
Sirius looked at me with his big, brown eyes. His mouth was open and it appeared as if he was laughing. I’m glad my partner appreciates my sense of humor.
“Your encounter with Ellis Haines made you famous,” said Ehrlich.
Haines was the real name of the Santa Ana Strangler, who was now also known as the Weatherman. When you’re considered the worst of the worst, I guess you’re entitled to two nicknames.
“As I understand it,” said Ehrlich, “you could have cashed in but didn’t. There were all sorts of movie and book deals offered to you, but as far as I know you turned down all those offers. Why is that?”
“I wanted creative control and ten percent of the gross. They might have accepted my demands, but unfortunately Sirius was holding out for a lot more. When I told him they were considering a female poodle for his role, he went ballistic and there was no reasoning with him.”
“You’re right,” the chief said. “Your humor is probably more puerile than caustic.” At least he said it with a smile. “But let’s call it what it really is: a wonderful defensive mechanism. And when you use it, most people probably forget the question they asked. I am still curious, though, as to why you didn’t sell the story of you and the Strangler.”
“Not everything’s for sale,” I said, “even in Los Angeles.”
He nodded. I don’t know if it was my answer, but the chief’s mind seemed to be made up. “Your notoriety from that case has put you in a unique position. Like it or not, the city of Los Angeles looks upon you and Sirius as heroes. To the public, that’s a designation that far exceeds rank. It’s no secret that the department would like some of your luster rubbing off on it.”
I was already shaking my head. “We did the required appearances. I am not going to be used as a glorified PR tool. I did the dog act. I won’t do the dog-and-pony act.”
The chief gestured with his hands for me to calm down. “I’m not talking about putting you onstage. Yes, your name would be associated with this office, and you might be required to serve on some committees and do some public outreach, but what I have in mind isn’t some PR flak position, because frankly I don’t think you’re qualified for that.”
“You got that one right.”
“There’s no name for the position I’d like to offer you, but what I need is much the equivalent of a devil’s advocate.”
I looked to see if the chief was smiling. He wasn’t. I spoke to my doubts, and maybe my vision: “Are vestments optional?”
“In the Catholic church the official title of the devil’s advocate was Promoter of the Faith. It was the job of the
“I don’t know how to break this to you, Chief, but I don’t think you have to worry about anyone in the LAPD being nominated for sainthood.”
“I think I’m aware of that, Officer Gideon,” Ehrlich said. “What I’m trying to tell you is that every organization needs its professional skeptic.”
I remembered my moment after, and how I’d had to confront my own festering wounds. I had even attributed a name to how I was feeling, a name I used again. “You’re looking for a Doubting Thomas?”
“I am looking for a point man that can both think and work outside the box. Los Angeles is like no other police department in the world. Our citizenry call this place La La Land, and Hollyweird. We have a unique caseload, and periodically our department is forced to confront situations that are anything but run-of-the-mill. I am looking for
