“I’m still bothered with the setup in the living room. I can’t see Relovich sitting on the sofa across from Fuqua. A veteran cop would never allow himself to be maneuvered into that kind of setup.”
“If Fuqua’s pointing a nine at him, he’ll sit wherever the hell he’s told to sit. What else?”
“A week before Relovich was killed he called Internal Affairs.”
“It’s not so unusual for a retired cop to call I.A.”
“But he’s killed before he ever gets to talk to them. I don’t like the timing.”
Duffy backhanded the air with a dismissive flick. “He could have been seeing I.A. about any thing.”
“Fuqua just spent a nickel in Folsom. The blacks and Mexicans are at war in there. A black wouldn’t partner up with a Mexican after hitting the streets.”
“But it looks like Fuqua did.”
“Maybe.”
What else?”
“A few other things that you’ll just blow off. Why don’t you cut me some slack. I think I’ve earned a second look at this case.”
“Every time we clear a case in here, there’re always a few things that don’t add up. Fuqua’s our guy. He had the motive. And you can’t argue with DNA. All this shit you’re laying on me, you knew about it from the get go, but you still chased Fuqua and jacked him up.”
“When that DNA matched Fuqua, the case came together so well, I just rode the momentum. But now-”
“Now that the momentum’s run out, you’re suffering from the paralysis of analysis.”
“I’m not saying Fuqua didn’t do it. I’m just saying I want to find the partner.”
“You think that pimp Abazeda who ran those escort girls was involved?”
“No. I don’t think he’s got the balls for it. He’s just an asshole with a big mouth.”
Duffy crossed and uncrossed his arms. “Damn it, you’re a pain in the ass. Sometimes you’re like the cow that gives the farmer a bucket of milk. Then kicks it over. Then pisses on it.”
“I resent-”
“Let me lay it out for you. Pete Relovich’s murder is cleared. Fuqua’s in custody. Fuqua had a motive. Fuqua was tied to the crime scene. So the chief is happy. The assistant chief is happy. Commander Wegland is happy. Captain Paganos is happy. And I’m happy.”
Duffy began pacing in his small office. “Remember what your old guru, Bud Carducci, used to say?” Duffy asked.
“Yeah. When you hear hoofbeats-don’t think zebra.”
“Well? Why ignore the obvious explanation and go looking for some far-fetched one?”
“Carducci’s saying doesn’t apply here.”
“I think it does. You should be proud that you got that gangster off the streets. If you start all over on this one, you know what that means for me? I’ll be pestered again with phone calls from the brass all fucking day. I’ll be badgered by reporters, asking why this case isn’t wrapped up. I’ll be hassled by the other detectives who want to know why they keep getting paged at three in the morning for new cases, while I refuse to put you back on the on- call board.”
“I think it would be worthwhile-”
Duffy held up both palms. “Ash, you know I respect your instincts. But frankly, you have a tendency to overthink a case. I think you’re doing it on this one. Still, I asked you to come back and solve the homicide. And you did. So I’ll give you one more week. I owe you that much.”
I shook my head. “I need a month to put this case together properly.”
“A week,” Duffy said. “You’re back on call next Monday.”
“Three weeks.”
“Ash, I’m not going to haggle with you. You get a week.”
“I need three weeks.”
Duffy narrowed his eyes. “One week. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.”
“But after your week,” Duffy said, pointing to the on-call board posted on a wall, “you’re going back up there.”
CHAPTER 20
The next morning, I opened up the Relovich murder book, but couldn’t concentrate as I flipped through the pages. I grabbed my cup from my bottom drawer, walked across the squad room, filled it with coffee, returned to my desk, and tried again.
Finally, I snapped the murder book shut and called the LAPD’s Behavior Science unit. In a hushed voice so no one in the squad room could hear me, I asked a secretary if Blau could squeeze me in today. She told me he just had a cancellation and could see me in a half hour.
I drove over to the bank building in Chinatown, sat in the waiting room for a few minutes, until the receptionist buzzed me in. I eased into a chair across from Blau.
“How are those stress headaches you were telling me about last time?”
“Better,” I lied.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m glad I’m back on the job,” I said, trying to change the subject.
“That’s good to hear.”
“I probably never should have left.”
“It seems you’ve adjusted pretty quickly to being back.”
I listened to his fountain burble for a moment and then I said, “I think I have. But I’m still having a problem with something. Remember we talked about that case-the murder of Bae Soo Sung, the Korean market owner? And I mentioned that a witness to the shooting, a woman named Latisha Patton, was killed?”
Blau nodded.
“Well, I’m still having a lot of trouble dealing with it.”
“Why is that?”
I thought about Latisha and felt queasy. The room began to blur. I filled my cheeks with air and slowly exhaled. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Like I told you, my partner and I pick up the case from the South Bureau Homicide. A few days into it, his back goes out and he’s off for two weeks. So I’m working it solo. But I don’t have shit. The case looks like a dead end. There’re a few wits around, but all they see is a guy in a Shrek mask run out of the store with a gun in his hand. He jumps into a car parked across the street and speeds off.
“Patrol found the car later that day, but it wasn’t much help. Car was stolen and the shooter was wearing gloves, so we got no prints. After a few days, the case is really getting to me.” I pounded my chest with a fist. “Every other day the wife calls me and asks in fractured English, ‘You find who kill my husband?’ And then she breaks down sobbing. She’s a widow with three young children. She’s working the store alone now, scared out of her fucking mind that the shooter will come back and finish her off. But she’s got no choice. She’s got no other way to support her family.
“I really feel for this lady and her kids. And I’m very, very pissed off. Sung cooperated completely. Yet asshole killed him anyway. For no reason. And destroyed four lives. I figure it’s only a matter of time until he does it again and shatters another family. So I vow to myself that I’m going to nail this guy. The first week I’m working fourteen, sixteen hours a day, rousting and questioning crackheads, gangbangers, bag men, and strawberries.”
“Strawberries?” Blau asked.
“A woman who exchanges sex for crack. I interview probably fifty people in the ‘hood. But I’m not getting shit. Every day, I’m looking for a revelation, I retrace the shooter’s steps, from the time he parked his car, walked down the street into the store, pulled out the gun, grabbed the cash, shot Sung, ran across the street, and drove off.
“The car was parked in front of a thrift shop run by a church. There was a woman who worked there by the name of Latisha Patton. When the South Bureau Homicide detectives first interviewed her, she told them she hadn’t
