“When you’re trying to appear sincere, you really lay on that fucking accent.”
“I resent-”
“You know that when your countryman, Brian Callaghan, was promoted to assistant chief-and he came over when he was nineteen, not a kid like you-your accent suddenly got a lot thicker.”
“That’s not true.”
“And when he retired, your accent quickly faded.”
“That’s a load of horseshit. And it’s got nothing to do with why I’m here. Let’s stop wasting each other’s time. I’m asking you to come back. So make your decision. What’s it going to be?”
When my mother reappeared, I realized she’d been eavesdropping. “Why can’t you leave him alone?” she asked Duffy.
“Because the LAPD needs him. Because I need him.”
“Hasn’t the LAPD hurt him enough already?” she said. “That Latisha Patton business was devastating to my son. He’s risked his life so many times for your department. He’s solved so many cases for you. He’s given up everything for the LAPD. And how do they-how do you-treat him? Like dirt! Anyway, he’s considering going to law school. He’s been studying for the LSAT test.”
“Does the world really need another lawyer?” Duffy asked. “You’ve already got one lawyer son. Why do you need another one? I admit, Ash probably would be a fine lawyer-for someone starting out so late. But he’s already a magnificent detective. A brilliant boy. Truly gifted. Why not let him do what he does best?”
She pursed her lips for a moment and said to me, “You know how upset your father was when he first saw you in uniform? He saw the uniform and thought of one thing, those SS officers who-”
“Enough!” I shouted. “Why does everything in our family have to lead back to this? Why does every discussion in this house end in hysteria?”
“You’re meshuga if you go back,” she said. “You don’t need the tsoris. I don’t need the tsoris. Remember, your brother said as soon as you finished law school he’d hire you.”
“Marty’s got to get out of rehab first,” I said, disgusted. “Why is it more honorable to have a son who’s a drug addict lawyer than a son who’s a sober cop?”
“A goyishe parnosseh,” she muttered. A gentile trade. “It was the dream of your father that you and Marty open the law offices of Levine amp; Levine.”
“You’re really bringing out the heavy artillery tonight.”
“Me, I’m just worried about you getting hurt,” she said. “I don’t want to go back to spending my nights worrying that some shvartzeh in Watts is going to shoot you.”
“Mom, I haven’t worked South Central for years.”
Duffy clasped her hand in both of his and said, “We’ve got an excop murdered. He’s got a mother grieving for him. The killer may kill again if he’s not stopped. This is honorable work, Mrs. Levine. You know that. That’s why Ash cares so much, why he puts so much of himself into each case-”
I held up my hand. “Save the speeches for El Compadre. I want a few things.”
“I’m listening,” Duffy said.
“I pick up my pension benefits from the date I left.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
“I don’t care what you think. I want a guarantee.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure it gets done.”
“On this case, I don’t want to wait months for fingerprint and trace results and a year for DNA-the typical LAPD bullshit. I want you to call in your chits, lean on Grazzo, and promise to get everything back to me within a few weeks.”
“You know I can’t promise that.”
“Then find someone else.”
Duffy stuck a hand in his pocket and fiddled with his keys. “Okay. Cutting through the bureaucracy of the LAPD is like moving mountains. But I’ll get it done.”
“After that Latisha Patton crap, I don’t trust many people in that room. If you’re going to give me a partner, give me Oscar Ortiz.”
“He just partnered up. Can’t split them up now.”
“Then I’ll work alone.”
“I don’t like that idea and it won’t-”
“If you want me back, that’s the way it’s got to be.”
“Just on this first case,” Duffy said.
I walked across the room and grabbed a brown leather jacket out of the closet. “I want to go to Relovich’s tonight.”
My mother wagged a forefinger at me. “Chasing a murder on Shabbes. That’s a shanda. You should be ashamed of-”
“What about Pikuah Nefesh,” I interrupted.
“What’s that mean?” Duffy asked.
“To save a life,” I explained. “Jewish law allows you to break the Sabbath to save a life. Like if I was a doctor.” I turned toward my mother. “And I could be saving a life. If I don’t catch this guy soon, he could kill again.”
She swatted the air. “I don’t approve of-”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I interrupted.
She sighed heavily. “I just want you to be happy. I know you haven’t been happy this past year. So if going back will make you happy, then go back. You’ve got my blessing.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She kissed me on the cheek and said, “ Gay Gezunt.”
CHAPTER 2
As we strolled down the brick path toward the sidewalk Duffy complained, “I had to park two blocks away. Not a single spot on this street. I guess there’s still enough Jews left in this ‘hood who can’t drive again until sundown tomorrow.”
I wasn’t in the mood to chitchat with Duffy; I would have preferred to hit the crime scene alone. But I knew that since I was returning to Felony Special, I would have to keep it civil with him and maintain a rapport. If I wasn’t able to do that, there was no point in returning. He was my boss and there was nothing I could do about it. There would be a time to confront Duffy. It just wasn’t now.
Duffy kicked an empty Old English 800 malt liquor can into the gutter. “This street has hit the fucking skids. You ought to get your mom out of here.”
“I’ve tried. But she can walk to the synagogue. Her Hadassah chapter’s only a few blocks away. And one of her yenta friends still lives down the street. So she won’t budge.”
Duffy slapped the back of my head. “She’s stubborn as hell-just like her son.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence, past dozens of families on their way to shul, the men in dark suits and yarmulkes, the women wearing imposing hats and pushing strollers, the boys with their long side curls. We passed a duplex on the corner-Mrs. Pearl’s place, my mother’s last remaining friend in the neighborhood-with the only other garden that was still lush. The hibiscus in the front yard sprouted blood red blossoms and the flowers on the thick stands of oleander were so milky white they appeared to glow. The breeze carried the scent of gardenias.
We climbed into Duffy’s unmarked Crown Victoria, raced down Fairfax, pulled onto the Santa Monica freeway, and then headed south on the Harbor Freeway, toward San Pedro.
“So what’s happening with the Patton murder?” I asked. “I assume if someone had cleared it, I’d have read about it in the paper.”
“Still unsolved.”
“Who at Felony Special is working it?”
