Last Call

'I don't know nothing about that afternoon. Just like any other I guess.'

'What do you usually do in the afternoon?'

Frank hears the shrug in her voice as the woman answers, 'Watch Oprah, I guess. Get dinner ready.'

'For the record, who else lives here with you?'

'My two boys and my husband.'

Noah asks for everyone's names and she tells him.

'How old are your boys?'

'James is nineteen, Levon’s seventeen.'

'Must take a while to make dinner.' Again Noah's grin comes through the tape recorder and Frank almost turns it off. ' Who was home with you that afternoon?'

The tape hisses, picks up shuffling noises.

'Kevin 'd be working and the boys wasn't home yet. I don't know where they was at, but they wasn't with me.'

'Where does your husband work?'

Frank pauses the tape to hunt through the interview folders. That Noah doesn't follow up on the boy's whereabouts tells her he's already placed them during the critical time frame. His notes on Levon indicate he and James were doing blunts and videos at a friend's house. Satisfied, she continues the tape.

'Over to Grand Tire, off 'n Hoover.'

She hears more shifting, then Noah asks, 'Can you recall anything unusual about that day?' There's no answer and Noah prompts, 'Did you notice anyone unfamiliar outside or hear any funny noises you couldn't place?'

'No. Nothing I recollect.'

'Mrs. Ferris, are you sure there wasn't anyone else home with you that day?'

More shifting, then over-bright, the woman says, 'I forgot. My brother was visitin'.'

Consulting the notes, Frank reads that the interview was done as a follow-up to identifying the vehicles photographed within the vicinity of the dumpsite. Noah's disembodied voice asks where the brother was visiting from.

'From up north. Up to Bakersfield, where our folks live.'

'Where was he that afternoon?'

'Right here with me. He ain't never far from the kitchen when Fm in it. He's always pestering me something awful about when's the next meal and what's it gonna be. Lord, that man is worse than both my boys. You'd think he had a worm the way he eats.'

'How much of the day did he spend here with you?'

'All of it, as I recollect. We went to the Ralph's in the morning and I made him bring the groceries in, then I fixed him lunch and we watched TV and played Mexican Train until suppertime.'

'What's Mexican Train?'

'Dominoes. I recollect it was rainy and I made a stew. I thought it would last Kevin for lunch next day, but didn't Antoine eat it right up!'

'Dang! You must be a pretty fair cook.'

'I know my way aroun' a kitchen.'

'I'm jealous, Mrs. Ferris.'

Frank hears the grin again and recalls Noah's prodigious appetite. He was always hungry, always noshing on something and never gaining a pound. He got written up in his rookie year because he waited for his order at the drive-through before responding to a Code 2 burglary.

Frank hits the stop button. She can't do this. She needs a drink. Being on call, she can't get ripped, but by- fucking-Christ she can at least get a sweet buzz on. Drinking on call is a gross violation. One Frank often overlooks for a drink or two. Tonight she needs more than a drink or two and considers calling Fubar.

'Fuck it,' she declares. 'End of watch.'

She grabs her jacket, willing to take the chance that she doesn't get called out.

But it's a bad bet. Just as she's oiled herself into bed after Nightline, the phone rings. The watch commander calls her out to a domestic with an ugly ending.

Frank dresses while assessing her condition. She's tired but fairly clearheaded. She rinses with Scope and runs a little soap through her hair, hoping the combined scents will camouflage the ethanol seeping from her pores.

'Not good,' she reprimands the Frank in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot, but she justifies, 'What do you expect for the middle of the night.' Then, 'Still, girlie-girl. Tail's startin' to wag the dog.'

Frank packs her ID, gun, cuffs, wallet, notebook and change. Stuffing a stray latex glove into her jacket pocket, she takes off into the night that never really gets dark in Los Angeles. She drives fast, with the windows down, and the cool air makes her feel sober. She's got to make a limit to her drinking and stick to it, especially on week-nights and call duty. Though exhausted, she feels better by the time she gets to the scene.

Until Jill storms up to her, firing off, 'Johnnie's pasted.'

She follows her detective into an apartment with a lot of crying kids. The battered body of a female Hispanic lies on the kitchen floor. Johnnie stands next to her making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When he sees Frank he grins, 'Hey, Freek! You hungry?'

She steps to him and puts out her hand. 'Give me your weapon and your ID.'

Johnnie laughs. 'What for?'

'You're suspended.'

'What for? For making a sandwich? I'm hungry. It was sitting right here.'

'You're drunk, Johnnie. Turn 'em over.'

Certain Frank's bluffing, he says, 'Whoa, lighten up, ol’ Freek. I'm not drunk.'

He tries wrapping a beefy limb around her shoulder, but Frank knocks it away.

'Hey, come on,' he says, startled, swaying gently.

Frank motions two of the uniforms but Johnnie backs away from them.

'Quit it. You can't do this to me.'

'Watch me.' She advances on Johnnie and the uniforms follow her lead.

He bellows, 'Fuck you, Frank. Who the fuck you think you are? Your shit don't stink? How many times you come on lately smelling like a fuckin' barroom, huh?'

The uniforms have stopped. Jill and the onlookers glance between Johnnie and Frank.

'Who'za one always closing the Alibi with me, ripped to the tits? And on call too, huh? How many you had tonight? Everyone knows you been sluggin' 'em back since—'

Later she will realize it was a suicidal move, but Frank doesn't have the luxury of hindsight as her fist connects under Johnnie's chin. The blow staggers him, but the following left to his temple wakes him to murder. Frank steps out of Johnnie's first swing but can't avoid the second. It glances off her shoulder and slows her long enough for his third punch to land on her jaw. Frank's head snaps 180 degrees and she thinks of Trevor Pryce as the lights go out.

Chapter 23

'What in God's name were you thinking?'

Slumped on Gail's couch, Frank mumbles that if she were thinking she obviously wouldn't have swung at a man with over a hundred pounds on her.

Gail only glares.

Frank is tired. Foubarelle, the deputy chief, the IAD rats, even the drug-recognition expert who took Johnnie's urine sample (Frank was ordered to give hers, almost as an afterthought, well past dawn), they've all pointed out how stupid that was. She doesn't need to be reminded, thank you very much. She just wants to get some sleep, but Gail won't let it go.

Frank's jaw feels like it's packed with wet cement. She tries to minimize movement inside her mouth as she