– in this case the contents of the bedroom waste-basket – used Kleenexes, used Christmas ribbon and wrapping paper, the kind of plastic bag they wrapped shirts in at the dry-cleaners. 'This is evidence?'
Terrell pushed another bag toward Freeman, answered wearily. 'You know the drill, sir. It's here if you want to use it. It's your decision what's important.'
Freeman pulled the bag nearer and slid the gun out onto the table. He picked it up, checked its serial number against the prosecution's proposed exhibit list, smelled the barrel. He checked the fingerprint report and his eyebrows went up. 'They didn't find her prints on the gun?'
'The clip.' This wasn't any surprise to Terrell. He pulled another bag and pushed it to them. 'She wiped the gun.'
'Somebody wiped the gun.' Freeman gave him the bad eye.
And Terrell shrugged. 'If you say so.' It was getting late on a Friday afternoon, and the room in the basement of the Hall of Justice didn't have the best ventilation.
Freeman tipped up the bag, expecting the clip to fall out. Instead they were all looking at another gun. 'What the hell is this? Where's this on the list?'
Terrell read from the list. 'Bag 37, Dumpster contents. Want to see the egg cartons we found with it?'
'Yeah, but what the hell is it?' Freeman repeated. 'Why is it here?'
Terrell was holding up his hands. 'It was there. Now it's here. How should I know?'
'But it's a gun.'
Terrell reached over and picked it up. He put on his official voice. 'Sir! Please, calm down.'
'I'm calm enough!' Freeman sat back in his chair. 'All right, son, I'm calm.'
Terrell explained. 'It's a toy gun. It's a good toy gun, but it's plastic. See? That's all. As far as I know it's got nothing to do with the evidence in this case.'
'Then why is it here?' Hardy could play the straight man if it came to it. The questions were obvious enough.
'It's here because they found it in the same dumpster as the other gun, the murder weapon. I thought at the time it might be worth holding onto.'
'The same dumpster?'
Terrell nodded. 'They both clunked out onto the street. Guy who found 'em, when he saw the real gun, gave us a call.'
'The garbage man?' Hardy asked.
'Right.'
'How does this connect?' Freeman was still sitting back, trying to get a take on it.
'It doesn't, that's what I'm trying to tell you. I just had a theory and thought I'd run with it. You never know.'
Hardy knew this was Terrell's MO. 'What was your theory?'
'I don't know. The perp comes in with this gun – looks real, doesn't it? – maybe he's doing a burglary, keeps it to threaten people. He gets to the bedroom, sees the real gun, gets surprised by Larry and the boy, panics, boom boom. This was before I fingered Jennifer.'
'Did they print that gun, the toy?'
'Sure. Nothing, though. Anyway, I figured they had to be connected, right? But I was wrong. Besides, the guy tells me guns are the number-one toy you find in the garbage sector.'
'Garbage sector…?'
'His words. Parents don't want their kids to grow up violent, so some relative sends them a gun for Christmas or something, they toss it. Second is Barbie dolls. You believe that? Who'd throw away a Barbie doll, brand new?'
'Can we stick to the gun?' Freeman was leaning forward now, interested.
Terrell shrugged. 'Hey, you want it, you can have it. Here, check it out.'
He handed it to Freeman, who gave it the once over, then passed it to Hardy. 'What do you think?'
'It's a toy gun in a dumpster.'
Freeman mulled it a few more seconds. 'Anything else in this dumpster you bagged that isn't connected to anything, Wally? You want to waste more of our time.' Freeman was picking at the bags, lifting them, dropping them. 'We got trash, we got toy guns…' He shook his head. 'Christ. How 'bout we get to see the clip?'
Afterward, Hardy went up to homicide and finagled Glitsky into a stop at Lou the Greek's. Freeman had gone to wherever it was he went on Friday nights – Jennifer was calendared for Monday morning and Hardy thought he was probably up to some behind-the-scenes shenanigans with somebody.
Now Hardy was trying to convince Abe that Hawaii was where the Glitskys ought to go for vacation, Glitsky saying that Hardy must be out of touch with what policemen made nowadays if he thought Abe, Flo and their three children could spend fourteen days at a Kampgrounds of America site, much less soaking up rays on Maui. He concluded by saying he thought they'd probably go to Santa Cruz for the weekend, maybe the Russian River, spend the rest of the vacation painting the apartment. 'If we can afford the paint.'
'Things a little tight?'
Glitsky chewed the ice from his tea. 'Things were a little tight before my voluntary five percent pay cut.'
'You got that?'
'Everybody who makes over fifty grand. And now, after a mere nineteen years on the force, when I have finally graduated to that lofty height, they whack me for getting there.'
Abe swirled his glass in its condensation on the table, stared at the window. 'Just the other day I was saying to Flo – 'Hey, hon, why don't I volunteer to work two hours free every week next year?' She thought it was a great idea since we don't need any money to live anyway.' He drank some tea. 'You know what I did? I went in to Frank' – this was Frank Batiste, Glitsky's lieutenant – 'and asked him for a $2,001 pay cut, save the city some money.'
'And what'd Frank say?'
'He said he wouldn't – it wouldn't look cooperative. I tell him I'm making $52,000 – take away the five percent, I'm down to $49,400. My two grand and a buck idea puts me at $49,999. All things considered, I'd rather have the extra $500.'
'I would have done it.'
Glitsky shook his head. 'No, you wouldn't. You know why? Because the difference is fifty bucks a month, which after taxes is maybe thirty-five – call it two burgers a week. And for that you get a rep for being difficult. After nineteen years! And guess what happens to difficult guys? Here's a hint, eighty-five didn't get to take their voluntary cut – they got pinked.'
'Eighty-five?' The number was higher than Hardy would have thought. How could the city lay off cops? This was almost five percent of the force. 'Eighty-five?'
'Sure. What do we need cops for?'
'Or health workers.' Hardy mentioned the picket lines at the Mission Hills Clinic.
'But guess what? The mayor's still got his driver. You wouldn't want the mayor driving his own car around, would you? What would people say? How would it look?'
Hardy drank some beer. 'Well, at least he's got his priorities straight. If it were me, I'd definitely do the same thing – lay off the police and keep my driver.'
'I'm going to look into setting up my own security business,' Glitsky said. His eye caught something behind Hardy. 'And here comes my first recruit.'
Terrell slid in beside him, across from Hardy. 'First recruit for what?'
'Glitsky Home Security. Armed response in minutes.'
Terrell took a pull from one of the bottles of Bud he'd brought over. 'We get to shoot people, no Miranda? Catch 'em and put 'em down?'
'Yep. And get paid for it.'
Terrell was bobbing his head. 'I like it. I'm in.' He had another swig, focused on Hardy. 'Your partner might be famous, but whew!'
