'Don't start up with me, okay?' Ruta growled. 'Way you're gonna do it is to follow me. We walk through the side door in the back of the garage, and without touching anything, you tell me who this junkie bitch is. Then we're gonna step back outside and have further discussions.'
'By 'junkie bitch,' are you referring to the deceased?' Shane was already burning with anger. He didn't need to see the body to know who it was.
'Let's go,' Ruta said, then led Shane off the sloping porch. Through the rear windows of the house, Shane couldn't see any furniture inside. The rooms looked vacant, the house deserted.
They walked across a weed-strewn lawn and through the rear door of the garage.
'Don't touch anything,' Ruta repeated.
'You mean I can't pick any of the evidence up, put it in my mouth or play with it?'
'Just I. D. this cunt and we're outta here.'
Then the big plainclothes dick stepped aside.
There were lab techs, photographers, forensic scientists, and DNA experts; maybe fifteen people busily working in the garage. Hanging from a beam in the center of all this activity was Carol White. She was naked and her hands had been lashed behind her. Somebody had done a pretty good job on her face before she died. Her eyes were swollen shut and caked with blood. Her lip was split and a perimortem bruise decorated the right side of her face.
In Shane's head a familiar whistle blew… somebody yelled, 'Play ball.'
'She had your business card in her purse,' Ruta interrupted, 'so who the fuck is she?'
'Her full name was Carolyn White but she went by Carol. She's a hooker. Her street name was Crystal Glass.'
'Okay, let's go. We can do the rest outside.' Ruta led him out of the garage. Once Shane was back on the lawn, the overweight detective turned and stepped forward, using his huge gut to back Shane up against the wall.
'Hey, Detective, you wanna ease off a little?'
'Let's lay some conduit, Scully. To start out, I don't like you.'
'Back up or I'm gonna give you a good fucking reason,' Shane hissed, and after a minute of appraisal, Ruta took a half-step back, giving Shane a little breathing room.
'Ray Molar and I were in the Academy together,' the fat detective vented. 'Ray was the best cop I ever knew, and you put him on the bus.'
'Ray Molar was a violent, out-of-control asshole who was shooting his arrestees and holding court in the street.'
'You piece of shit, there's still a lotto people on the job lookin' to close your show.'
'If they're all drunk whales like you, then I'm probably not in too much danger,' Shane said. Suddenly, without warning, he chucked Lou Ruta hard, with both hands to the chest, pushing him away. The heavy cop took a staggering step backward but held his ground. His rummy eyes were smoldering with hatred.
'You wanna talk about this murder, or you wanna stand out here and blubber about Ray Molar?' Shane said.
'Why'd this hooker have your card in her purse?' Ruta growled as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, clearing some spittle off the bottom of his Fu Manchu. 'You a client? You fuckin' her?'
'I was doing a favor for a C. I. of mine. He was trying to find her. I located her in the vice computer and paid her a visit. She was in a bar called the Snake Charmers, a few miles from here.'
'That junkie whore couldn't charm anybody's snake,' Ruta snorted.
'Hey, Ruta, you wanna hear this or you wanna stand out here and disrespect your victim? You're supposed to be her advocate. You're supposed to speak for the dead.'
Lou Ruta didn't say anything for a minute, just kept his pig-mean eyes on Shane.
'She's got a pimp named Paul Mills,' Shane continued. 'His street name is Black and I think he lives near the Snake Charmers Bar. When I was there, she told him to go next door and hang. You might pick him up and see what you can get out of him. He's a skinny fuck who wears a pound of gold jewelry and carries an umbrella.'
'So you found Carol White, and then what? You told your C. I. where she was?' 'Yeah.'
'I want the C. I.'s name. He just went to the top of my suspect list.'
'Hey, Sarge, my C. I.'s not a hitter. He didn't do this, okay? I'm not gonna roll him up for you.'
'This is a murder. My murder. You don't tell me what you're gonna do. 1 tell you. I want the fuck's name.'
'Well, you're not getting it. Best I can offer is, I'll go talk to him myself and then, if I think he looks good for any part of this, I'll hand him over to you.'
'You don't get to make that choice, Scully.'
'How many of your C. I.'s have you given up over the years? Without confidential informants, the police clearance rate in this town would be zero. I'm not giving up my guy unless I have to.'
'Then you're under arrest for obstruction of justice.' 'Blow me.'
The two of them stood nose to nose for about a minute. Ruta was barely in control of himself. The vein in the center of his forehead was throbbing ominously. He looked to Shane like a pre-op heart case.
'I could call one of those Blues over and you'd be explaining this to my lieutenant downtown. You want that?' 'What division does your lieutenant work for?' 'DSG.'
'Then I've got some bad news for you, Regis… The head of DSG is my wife. So unless you're sleeping with your lieutenant, guess who's gonna win this one? We'll see who ends up with days off for calling his vic a junkie bitch and a cunt, and for drinking on the job.'
Ruta's big belly was rising and falling with each angry breath.
'Gimme your card. I'll call you if my C. I. looks dirty,' Shane concluded.
After a long time, Ruta pulled out his card, and in a childish moment, flipped it at him. It fluttered to the ground between them. Shane squatted to pick it up, then stood and put the card in his pocket.
As Shane walked down the drive, his stomach was turning sour, his face felt flush, and it wasn't Lou Ruta who had caused it. It was Carol White hanging from that rafter, naked, with her face a bloody mess. She finally got her big part. She was starring in her own murder investigation.
Chapter 13
Nicky lived in one of two older steel-and-glass high-rise towers off Sunset, built in the late sixties. The condo buildings were called, appropriately enough, Hollywood Towers. Nicky Marcella had one of the East Tower penthouses, P-4.
Shane had been there before and knew they had security elevators, so he parked out front and pulled a big empty pizza box out of his trunk, which he sometimes used on occasions like this. He climbed back into the front seat, took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and waited. It was 12:50 A. M., but one of the advantages of working Hollywood was that the town never slept. They didn't roll up the streets at eleven.
Shane only had to wait about ten minutes before he saw an attractive thirty-year-old woman pull into the underground parking garage of the East Tower. She looked flashy, with blond hair and hoop earrings. He got out of the Acura, grabbed his pizza box, ran across the street into the building, and ducked under the closing garage gate. The woman was hurrying toward the tower elevator, where she used her security card. The elevator doors opened and she entered just as Shane arrived with the pizza box and caught the closing door.
'Hold it! Only three minutes till I'm over my half-hour time limit.' He smiled, then crowded into the lift with her, easily bypassing the building's only general security feature. The woman seemed slightly annoyed and maybe a little frightened, so Shane tried to put her at ease. 'Pizza Hut… I don't usually deliver, I'm the night manager, but this flu epidemic's got me down to three drivers.'
She smiled, more relaxed as Shane pushed the 'P' for penthouse.
The door opened on nine and she got off. Shane rode up to the penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor. When he
