'I don't know. I don't know what the connection is yet, if there even is one. But we've got a car like Ruiz' at the scene. He's on the fly. Let's say he took out Placa. Why? Coincidence? Maybe Luis did kill his family, but we've got no motive for that either. All I'm saying is that maybe they're all tied up. Maybe Ruiz is the link, maybe he's not. Just keep in mind that this could be bigger than a banger thing.'
'But if we pin Ocho to that party ...'
'Then we got shit,' Frank conceded.
Mourners started drifting from Placa's gravesite and Frank scrutinized every movement, thinking if there was going to be trouble, this was when it would start. Bobby flicked his leaf away, watching too.
'Well we know it wasn't an accident. Whoever shot her took a lot of trouble to do it. It wasn't just some wild-ass drive-by. That the car was parked, tells us she was probably in it with the shooter, or that whoever was driving it was friendly enough with her that they could take the time to park. So it had to be someone she knew.'
'Kid spent her whole life in the 'hood so that doesn't exactly narrow the field for us.'
'Yeah,' Bobby agreed. 'And dig this. Why would you come home and then leave after a few minutes? Tonio said she came home around six-thirty, quarter to seven. She was only there for a couple minutes then she left. He remembers because she kept walking in front of the TV and he was trying to watch Hercules. But why come home at all if you're not going to stay?'
Frank twisted her invisible ring, caught in the irresistible lure of chasing a homicide.
'To change clothes.'
'Okay. Do we know what she was wearing at the park?'
Frank shook her head and said, 'Find out. What else? How about to get something to eat?'
'Tonio said she didn't go in the kitchen. Just into her room then out, like she was getting something. Maybe she was getting strapped. Maybe she came home to get a stash and went out to sell it.'
Closer to the truth than she knew, Frank nodded, 'There's something about the drugs. I'll call Narco on Monday, see what I can find out. Maybe we can get a warrant. I'd like to search the whole house Monday. I'll set up the paper and have it good to go if Narco gives us anything.'
'What are you looking for?'
'Anything. I want to check her personal effects, pictures, notebooks, backpacks, scrapbooks, pockets, drawers, anything that might indicate who she's been hangin' with, or where. Maybe she's slangin', who knows?'
'If there's incriminating stuff like that don't you think they'd have thrown it out buy now?'
'Maybe,' Frank admitted. 'I probably should have asked for a consent that first night, but I was too focused on Ruiz. Bad move on my part.'
'I think we were all leaning to him. It seemed like a grounder.'
'Yeah. Well, look. Get home to Les. Better not piss her off anymore than you already have.'
Bobby smiled, 'No, she's all right.'
Frank started walking away, then called, 'Hey!'
Bobby turned, and she asked if he'd ever brought the Estrellas donuts. He thought carefully then answered, 'No.'
'All right. Check with Nook would you? See if he took them any?'
Ever meticulous, Bobby made a note of it right there. Frank drove away, aware the donut she'd had with Claudia had long since worn off. A hole-in-the-wall off Crenshaw made incredible catfish and greens, but the place only had two tables, so Frank called in an order. She added a side of corn-bread, and coffee and bean pie for dessert.
At the tiny restaurant a large man, whose name she couldn't remember, greeted her with winking gold teeth. Black vats of oil simmered behind him and he gleamed gunmetal blue in the close kitchen. Frank poured hot sauce and salt on the greens then propped the containers open in the passenger seat. She went south on Van Ness to get back into Figueroa territory, then meandered east on 52nd. She drove slowly through the residential streets, eating with her fingers, enjoying the sweet, greasy fish and hot, sharp bite of the greens.
Even on her day off, her eye caught the three kids slinking into the alley too fast, the woman in the too-tight outfit near Tripps Market, the crackhead jerking toward a cluster of young men at the corner and their defiant perusal of all traffic. But none of that bothered her right now. With the sun warm through the window and hip-hop on the radio, she rolled through the shadows of tall palms and billboards advertising Hennesy and Alize, Virginia Slims and Camels, Whitney Houston and Ice Cube.
Strikes and tags boldly proclaimed which gang's turf she was in. Van Ness Gangsters and P Stones Jungles, Rollin' 60s and Rollin' 50s, Barrio Mojados and 38th Street. Where the boundaries met, rival names were repeatedly crossed out. Fresh names were painted over, then they too got crossed out and repainted. Frank made note of new tags and recognized old favorites. She turned onto a stretch of Denker that Placa had sprayed regularly. She didn't see anything recent, but paused at a tire yard fortified by brick walls and steel gates.
On the north wall, below the concertina wire and above a garbage-strewn lot, Placa and Tonio had painted a hauntingly beautiful memorial. Clasped black and blue hands, tattooed with three dots, prayed to a Grim Reaper rippling overhead. A weeping Madonna and Virgin of Guadalupe, skillfully robed in blue and yellow and orange, flanked the hands. The mural was circled with the names of fallen Kings. The inner ring had been completed long ago. As more kids died, their names had created a second, and then a third ring around the figures.
Sure she could have painted her way out of south-central, Bobby had barraged Placa with scholarship forms and program applications. Frank didn't know if she'd ever filled them out. Too late now, she thought, finding Placa's name flowing in blue script, a temporary tail on the outer circle. Chuey's name was painted near the beginning of the first ring and Frank wondered if Tonio's would be up there someday, and if so, who'd strike it for him?
Putting the old Honda in gear, Frank continued resolutely down Placa's unfinished canvas.
Chapter Eighteen
Later that evening, it took time for a ringing telephone to penetrate Frank's hard sleep. She rolled off the couch in the den, and jogged to the kitchen, answering, 'This is Franco.'
A CRASH unit had caught Ruiz taking a leak against a building just a block away from Lydia's apartment. They'd requested back up and taken him in. Frank had called Nook and Bobby and they'd met her at Figueroa. Ruiz had been waiting in the cramped interrogation room.
Nookey suggested, 'Let's do good cop — bad cop. I'm little like him, so you,' he nodded at Bobby, 'can be the Intimidator. Besides, he might be more willing to talk to a gook than a spook.'
'Well, when you put it that way,' Bobby grimaced.
'Yeah. Try that,' Frank agreed. Meanwhile, she banged out a warrant to impound Ruiz's T-bird. By three AM she was standing in Judge Levine's living room watching him sign it. Back at the office her detectives worked Ruiz. Nook was nice and bought him a Coke. He offered him cigarettes. He praised the Playboys and ragged on the Kings. He told Ruiz he was their prime suspect because of the car, but that if Lydia's alibi held up it would clear him. He wheedled, he cajoled, he joked. He made out like he was Ruiz' best friend. Then Bobby, three times larger than Ruiz, loomed over him, believably menacing. Nook interjected. He defended Ruiz and apologized for his partner's behavior, seeming to whisper behind Bobby's back that he was a monkey. But it was okay. The kid could trust Nook.
Frank watched all this from the small viewing window. Her boys put in a valiant effort but Ruiz wasn't buying the old 'I'm your friend' routine. It was amazing how many idiots did buy the tired ruse, admitting sins mortal and venal that no one in their right mind would tell an interrogating police officer. But Ruiz was one of the cagier perps. He wouldn't open his mouth even after Nook confided that Lydia had copped to the party in Eagle Rock. For a second Ruiz had looked alarmed. Bobby had hammered him, but the boy sat with his lips clenched and fists in his lap.
After a quick briefing at 6:00, Noah followed Frank back to the window in the box.
'Does Ruiz know you?' he asked.
'I don't think so.'
'Maybe you should put on the bra. Doesn't look like they're gettin' anywhere with him.'
Frank stroked her chin.
