pawing around. It just feels too invasive.'
'Invasive,' I said. 'Right.'
Leaving Preston on my couch reading my latest pages and Xena trying to bite the stream of air from the floor vent, I gathered up my untraceable documents and my various theories and went in search of a detective.
'Since I wasted your night last time, I figured I'd give you first crack at it.'
I waited through the pause. I'd caught Cal at home, readying to forge into another day of Westside crime. Someone had kidnapped a poodle from a Brentwood nail salon, which meant that Fifi had wandered off but the owner wanted police help in retrieving her. Ethics bow before toy dogs. I looked down to plug in my headset, almost sending the Guiltmobile flying off a Mulholland ridge.
Cal said, 'Listen, as much as I'd like to get on this fuck, do I want to and as much as I appreciate your cutting me in, you're gonna have to bring it to Kaden and Delveckio. I can't dick around anymore. My captain caught wind of our Starsky-and-Hutch stunt and came down pretty good.'
Thus the poodle assignment.
'I didn't tell him you were there, though,' Cal said, 'though it might come out soon. Figured you got enough balls in the air, and I was the dumb-ass with the badge.'
'Shit, I'm sorry. How'd your captain catch wind of it?'
'Richard Collins is pressing charges.'
'What?'
'The whole fire-extinguisher thing.'
'I'd wondered whether that was within departmental regs.'
'I saw it on TV once. Aiden's War.'
Johnny Ordean's show. Served us right.
'Tell Richard Collins that I used my cell-phone camera to take a picture of the pot he was trying to wash down the disposal. And sent it, Web-time-stamped to my computer at the very minute we were inside his place.'
'He was? You did?'
'Yes. No. But it won't be worth his risking a third strike to call the bluff.'
Cal exhaled a relieved sigh. A lawsuit would've killed his chances of getting to Robbery-Homicide. 'You know I love you, Drew. Listen, you're not doing such a shitty job here. About the Richard Collins angle? We all step in it, as I proved. That's how investigations proceed. Like writing, I'd guess. You fuck up and keep trying until something hits.'
'It'll hit for you, Cal. You'll make RHD.'
'Yeah, right after I collar the poodle.' He laughed. 'Listen, I know I was a dick when you first asked for help. I was pissed I was stuck in West Latte Division and you murdered someone and didn't even call me first.'
'Next time,' I said, 'I'll be sure to.'
Kaden set a brick of a fist on the papers I'd placed on his desk. 'Where'd you get these documents?'
'They're illegal for you to have,' Delveckio said. 'This is confidential information. Just like the case files your buddy Cal Unger's been quietly digging around for.'
'Cal has? When?'
'Right. This is news to you.'
It was. Cal had just told me that since getting busted he'd stepped off the extracurricular investigation. He put in a request for the case files before then and hadn't told me? Or was Delveckio lying? As LAPD detectives, both were certainly in pole position to dick around with evidence. Why would Cal be secretive about seeing the case files? Because he was gunning for a promotion or helping me out but had to cover his ass since he was out of his jurisdiction. Or for more ominous reasons. What had he said to me when I'd first tracked him down? I think guys like you are exploitive bastards. But his name wasn't on the Volvo list I was sure of it. Was I paranoid? Yes. Wrong? Maybe. I made a note to have Chic get Cal's information to the database privacy invader. Next I'd be getting the guy to investigate Chic. And then himself.
'Now,' Kaden said, his tone snapping me back to the cool Parker Center air, 'how 'bout you tell us where you got the DMV records?'
'You know I can't tell you that. So can we skip this part and figure out how to use what's here?' Leaving out Lloyd's involvement, I'd explained to them twice already how I'd arrived at the DMV registration list and the suspect photos. Frustrated, I leaned back in the folding chair before Kaden's desk and peered around the squad room. I'd drawn a few looks of recognition and disdain on my way up and as I'd moved through the halls.
Kaden angled his computer monitor away from the glare of the bare windows. 'What's the witness's name again?'
'Junior Delgado.'
He hammered on the keyboard, then shook his head as if he'd found what he'd suspected all along. 'Kid's got a rap sheet longer than my dick.'
'So does my Aunt Hazel. Come on, Kaden, who do you expect to find wandering beneath the Rampart freeway overpass at two in the morning?'
Kaden fanned off my comment with a hand. 'We'll look into it.'
'When?'
'We have about a hundred leads, most of them from more reputable citizens than Hoon-yore Delgado.'
'And none of whom were there that night.'
'And none of whom were located and interviewed by a suspect in the case.'
'So my information is tainted.'
'Of course it is, asshole. We've got no corroborating reports of a brown Volvo anywhere in either murder investigation. And this minor' a finger jab at the screen 'seems like someone who'd be easily led by the nose.'
I laughed. 'Interview him. I beg you.'
'We will.'
'When?'
Kaden threw down his pencil. 'You're an amateur, so you don't see how many assumptions your guesswork rests on. Brown is the second most common Volvo paint job behind that shit yellow. There are a hundred and fifty- three brown Volvos with licenses starting with seven in L.A. County. Great. You know how many there are in the state?' More hammering on the keyboard. 'One thousand two hundred ninety-one.'
'How many are owned by convicted sex offenders?'
'How many of the victims in this investigation were sexually assaulted?'
'How about your theory that the killer evolved?' I tapped Frankel's sinister booking photo. 'The forensics line up. He's a hundred eighty-five pounds '
'Just like you.'
Delveckio leaned back so his thin shirt stretched across his narrow chest. 'And you maintain that Morton Frankel doesn't mean anything to you?'
'I told you already,' I said. 'I don't know the guy. I think the question is if I mean anything to him. And it's easy enough for us to find out. One strand of hair from this guy could prove our case.'
'Prove?' Delveckio repeated. 'Us?'
'The unidentified hair found on Broach's body might have nothing to do with anything,' Kaden said. 'Dumped bodies pick up hairs. Or it could be a plant, like your hair supposedly was. That's what you don't get. It's never neat. And even if it is, it's not just about evidence. It's about building a case.'
'Look at the guy. A jury'll hate him.'
'Not probable cause for a seizure warrant to force him to surrender a DNA sample. Frankly, there's not much from a legal perspective to differentiate him from the other satisfied Volvo owners on that DMV list.'
'Morton Frankel is a felon.'
'Let's just forget the nonfelons who drive Volvos,' Delveckio said. 'Guys too smart to get caught, we ain't interested in them.'
'I assume you have to start somewhere. And a car registered in L.A. County to a felon who lives around the block from one of the crime scenes seems like not a bad place.'
Kaden settled back in his chair and said, 'Oh. I get it.'
Delveckio: 'What's that?'
