hurried inside the house carrying a number of plastic grocery bags.
“Now that the pantry is stocked, do we go in without a warrant, LT?” Armijo asked. “Or do we wake up the DA and a judge and wait for the wheels of justice to grind on ever so slowly?”
Bromilow stomped his feet against the cold that had settled into his bones. “Why don’t we ask Mr. Birch nicely if we can search his house?” Without waiting for a response, he flipped open his cell phone and speed-dialed a number. “Arrest Morton Birch and bring him to my twenty, pronto. Lights and sirens if you please.”
He disconnected and smiled at Armijo. “I want the people Birch visited while you had him under surveillance picked up and questioned right now. Send two detectives to each address.”
“And if they won’t let us in?”
“Arrest them.”
“On what charges?”
Bromilow looked thoughtful. “Make something up.”
Armijo smiled. “I’ve always admired your ability to see the bigger picture, LT.”
Bromilow grunted. “Don’t try to be a kiss-ass, Armijo. It doesn’t suit you. Just go get it done.”
As Armijo hiked down the street toward his unit, Bromilow went into action, and it was soon clear to Clayton that the lieutenant had a flair for the dramatic. First, he ordered uniformed officers who were standing by to position their units in front of the house with headlights and spotlights trained on the building and emergency lights flashing. Then, using a bullhorn, he asked the occupants inside the house to join him on the street. Other than attracting a growing number of neighborhood residents, the invitation got no response.
When Mort Birch arrived on the scene accompanied by two arresting officers, Bromilow met him in the middle of the street directly in front of the house. The flashing emergency lights were almost blinding, the house was bathed in the glare of spotlights, and the uniforms were in cover positions behind their marked police units. It was pure theater.
Bromilow gave Birch a friendly smile. “I’m Lieutenant Bromilow.” He pointed at Clayton, who stood at his side. “This is Sergeant Istee. Thanks for coming.”
Hands cuffed behind his back, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a lightweight shirt, Birch shivered in the cold night air. “What are you doing here at my house?” he asked.
Bromilow nodded his head at the house. “Waiting for you. This is your place and so I need your permission to enter and search it. The people inside won’t even come to the door. I can only assume that they’re either very reclusive or extremely rude.”
“If my renters won’t let you in, that’s no skin off my back,” Birch said.
“Legally, as the owner of the premises, you can let me inside, and that would be a huge favor to me, Mort. In fact, if you give me your permission, I promise to do everything in my power to convince the district attorney to plea-bargain your case.”
“What case?” Birch snapped.
“Surely the officers told you the charges,” Bromilow replied.
Birch laughed. “Yeah, a trumped-up drug bust because I stopped off at a nightclub and gave a friend of mine some grass.”
“It’s so much worse than that,” Bromilow said gravely.
“How so?” Birch demanded.
“You’re facing a major drug trafficking fall, Mort.”
As far as Clayton knew, Bromilow’s ploy was total poppycock. The lieutenant had sent Detective Armijo off with a half-dozen narco cops to illegally arrest citizens in the dead of night without probable cause. Narcotic cops had a reputation for playing fast and loose and covering up their maneuvers that violated the rule of law. What Bromilow had done tonight could easily be challenged in court if word of it ever got out. Clayton wondered what he’d do if he was subpoenaed to testify on Mort Birch’s behalf.
“That’s nonsense,” Birch said.
“Try to show a more cooperative attitude,” Bromilow replied in a chiding tone.
Birch replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Like I told these officers who brought me here, I rent this place out. Whatever is going on inside, I know nothing about it.”
“Then you shouldn’t mind us taking a look.”
Birch hesitated and shook his head. “Get a search warrant. I want a lawyer.”
Bromilow sighed and shook his head sadly. “Of course, but not just yet. You’ll be allowed to call a lawyer after you’ve been booked into jail.”
Birch nodded. “Then take me to jail. I’m freezing out here.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Bromilow said.
“Get what?” Birch answered.
“We’ve had a tail on you all night,” Bromilow said. “All those people you visited after you left here. Well, they’re talking.”
Birch gulped hard.
“So you and I are going to stay right here until I hear what they told my people.” Bromilow pointed in Clayton’s direction. “By the way, where can we find Brian Riley? Sergeant Istee would like to know.”
Birch glanced at Clayton. “Who?”
“Brian Riley,” Clayton said. “Minerva Stanley Robocker’s friend.”
“The teenage kid she hung out with?”
“That’s him,” Clayton said.
Birch shook his head vigorously. “How the hell should I know where he is? I met him maybe twice.”
Bromilow’s cell phone rang. He answered quickly, listened intently, thanked the caller, and disconnected. “Okay, Mort,” he said. “This is the way it’s gonna go down. I’ve got five people in custody who say you’ve been dealing drugs to them. That’s a major trafficking beef. Now, I’ve been in this cop business for a long time, so I know you’re a new player in town and maybe not totally clued into what happens when you get busted, convicted, and sent to the slam. But the bottom line is, you’re going to lose everything, Mort: your freedom, your Mustang, your condo, this house. Think about that, and think about what you can do to make your immediate future a little less bleak.”
Mort Birch’s bravado began to waver.
“I know you’re probably thinking you can make bail,” Bromilow continued, “and keep your freedom while the lawyers try to work some magic on your behalf. But I’m not going to let that happen, Mort. My people are going to work overtime from the moment you’re booked to find, tie up, and seize every asset you have, so that no bondsman will want to take a chance on you. And believe me, I’ll make sure the DA asks the judge at your preliminary hearing to set a hefty six-figure cash bond. Have you got half a million, six hundred thousand lying around?”
Mort shook his head.
“As a first-time offender who cooperated with the police, you might get a lighter sentence at a minimum security prison. Let’s say five years, but out in two and a half with good behavior. Plus guys don’t get raped that much in the minimum lockups.”
Bromilow paused to let his words sink in. “What’s going on inside the house, Mort?”
“It’s a marijuana factory,” Birch replied. “A pot hothouse.”
“How many people are inside?”
“Two.”
“Two Vietnamese men?”
“Yeah.”
“Are they armed?”
“Probably.”
“How do they figure in this?”
“They’re part of a West Coast gang that was buying me out. A week from now they would have been back on the West Coast with the grass from this harvest and the title to the house, and I would have been completely out of the business.”
Bromilow nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes it’s a damn shame the way things turn out. Do I have your permission to enter the premises?”
“Yeah.”
