Street Rules

right now so she tried stalling.

'This isn't just a drive-by. I think it's something a little bigger, little more volatile.'

Foubarelle tensed.

'How much bigger?'

'I'd rather not say yet. Until I have more facts I'm just shooting from the hip.'

'How much bigger and how much more volatile?' he repeated, his bluster evaporating.

Frank chewed on the inside of her lip. She'd have to tell him sooner or later. She'd just hoped it was going to be later.

'I think it might be an officer involved incident,' she gave up.

'What?'

Fubar was turning red and Frank wouldn't have been surprised if the top of his head flew off like a jack in the box.

'I don't have all the facts yet,' she said calmly. 'That's why I haven't told you anything. But I didn't want Bobby or Nook digging up any more on this. That's why I took it over.'

'I see. Well that certainly casts the situation in a different light.'

Foubarelle looked sick and Frank almost felt sorry for him.

'Is it an officer from Figueroa?'

'Yeah.'

'Oh, Christ,' he said. 'We better call Langley.'

He was referring to his boss, the deputy chief.

'I wish you wouldn't.'

'Why the hell not?'

'Because I don't have a lot to go on right now, just circumstance and second-hand testimony.'

'That's enough that he should be told about it.'

Frank disagreed, suspecting Fubar just wanted someone to shoulder this heavy load with him.

'Just give me some time, John. Another day.'

As he grabbed for Frank's phone he shook his head.

'Langley's got to know.'

He got the DCs secretary, telling her he had 'a situation' and to have Langley call ASAE.

'Tell me what you've got,' he said, biting on his thumbnail. As she told him, he paced and kept repeating, 'Oh, Christ.' Frank declined to give the cop's name and Fubar didn't push it. He already knew more than he wanted to.

Two hours later she sat in Langley's office, telling the story again. The DC listened intently, not saying anything until Frank was finished.

'Well,' he mused, leaning back in his large chair. Silver-haired, tanned and trim, Langley looked like a Beverly Hills surgeon. Like Foubarelle, the DC was a political animal, but at least he'd spent some time in uniform. His understanding of what happened on the streets was better than the captain's, yet he too was disinclined to buck prevailing political winds. When he smiled indulgently, Frank felt her stomach roll over.

'Lieutenant, as you're well aware, lately the department has had some rather serious setbacks. Mind you, some of these difficulties we've brought on ourselves. Others are . . . inadequacies with public perception. Regardless however of who's at fault, it all adds up to give us a rather tarnished image.'

The DC chose his words carefully and deliberately, as if choosing steps through a yard full of dog shit. It was his media speech, the let's-give-them-something-but-not-what-they-want talk and she knew what was coming next.

She barely listened as he said, 'You must see, that with so little evidence we are in no clear position to proceed with these allegations. At this point your charges are highly speculative. Certainly if the officer in question has been involved in inappropriate activities he should be investigated. It's the department's responsibility to investigate all such allegations and take action dependent upon the outcome of said investigations. However, this is not a good time to bring certain of these charges to light, particularly with so little evidence to back them. Speculation at this stage is pointless, and should word leak out, the department could have a rather inflammatory incident on its hands. Surely you can appreciate the reaction to this?'

When Frank's reply wasn't forthcoming, he continued, 'I appreciate the job you're doing, Lieutenant. Credit is due you for your diligence. Though I'm sure it has pained you to implicate a fellow colleague, you have pursued a difficult line of inquiry to its logical conclusion. At this point however, I would deem it more fruitful to follow a different path. Various of these allegations have merit, and I can assure you they will be brought to IADs attention.'

Frank couldn't look at the DC as he continued with a thinly disguised warning that should this somehow become public knowledge, that would be extremely unfortunate. Did both the captain and the lieutenant understand that? 'Yes, sir,' Fubar piped up.

Langley waited, his paternalistic urbanity, turning cool. 'Do you understand what we've discussed, Lieutenant?' Holding her teeth together, she said, 'Yes, sir.'

'Very good,' he said standing to end their meeting. Shaking Frank's hand he added with absolute sincerity, 'Keep up the good work, Lieutenant.'

Chapter Twenty-seven

Frank swore all the way back to her office. She had nothing on this bastard for the Estrella murders. She knew that. Nor could she substantiate Luis Estrella's murder. But with Placa she'd had a better chance. He'd been taken by surprise and forced to make mistakes. Still, even if he'd been caught kneeling over Placa and firing into her heart the department would be reluctant to pursue charges against one of their own. Such a reluctance might almost have been noble if it were a matter of a brother protecting a brother, but the code of silence wasn't about protecting a comrade; it was a sickening reflection of how many heads might roll if the truth got out.

Frank's stomach cramped through her anger and she tried to remember the last time she'd eaten. Camped in traffic, she decided it was going to be a long night and that her first priority should be food and a drink so stiff it was rigored. She wasn't far from USC and wondered if Gail was still at work. It'd be nice to talk to someone sane for a little while.

Frank dialed her office and got Rhondie, who said she'd page Gail. Frank hung up. Maybe she'd just go on over to the Marengo Grill. If Gail couldn't make it she'd just eat without her. No big deal, she thought, swinging onto Cesar Chavez, but was glad when Gail called back a few minutes later.

'Hey. Interested in dinner at the Grill? I was close and thought maybe you could join me.'

'You thought right,' Gail answered. 'Can you give me about forty-five minutes?'

'Is that Lawless time or real time?'

When Gail laughed the answer Frank knew how badly she wanted to see her. And it scared Frank. She'd gotten used to not wanting anything. It made life so much simpler. And duller, she admitted. Frank wondered what Clay would have her do, knowing the answer even before she finished the question.

'Jesus,' she let out with a deep breath. It was just dinner. She warned herself to quit nutting up, rationalizing that she was just wired from the afternoon and all she still had to do. Frank had wanted that bastard nailed five ways to Sunday before even whispering his name and now three other people knew. She needed damage control pronto. Her best scenario was that Langley wouldn't follow through. But she doubted it. He'd pass something along to IAD just to cover his ass. Exactly what he offered and how far Internal went with it was unpredictable. She had to proceed on the assumption that her suspect would eventually know he was being investigated on extortion charges at the very least. That could either work against her or for her.

She slid into a parking spot at the restaurant and ordered a double scotch before the waiter had even finished seating her. Frank recognized a defense attorney at one of the tables and watched him laughing, thinking she needed to talk to McQueen. She could lay out what she had, tell Queenie it was hypothetical, and hope she wouldn't give Frank her withering, 'You've got to be kidding' look.

That was the damn frustrating part. When Tonio had first told her, Frank didn't want to believe him. But all her little clues and circumstances had lined up to back his story and the more she thought about it, the more it