'Videotape from a black-and white surveillance camera.'
'There wasn't a tape in the Washington thing.'
'It was a hidden camera.'
'And this tape shows the incident?'
'Yes.'
'In its entirety?'
'Yes.'
'Can I see it?'
'You going to come alone?'
'You know better than that.' Giving me pissed. Giving me Had Enough. 'There's a video repair place called Hal's on Riverside just east of Laurel in Studio City. The guy owns it knows me. It's early, but he'll open up to let us use a unit. Can you meet me there in forty minutes?'
'Sure.' Most of the traffic would be coming this way.
Lou Poitras hung up without saying good-bye.
I put the cassette into a plastic Hughes Market bag, locked the room, and went out to the parking lot. Thurman was waiting in his car.
Thirty-five minutes later we pulled off the freeway in Studio City and found Hal's Video in a shopping center on the south side of the street. Lou Poitras's car was in the parking lot, along with a couple of other cars that looked abandoned and not much else. Eight A.M. is early for a shopping center. We parked next to Poitras's car, but Thurman made no move to get out. He looked uneasy. 'You mind if I stay out here?'
'Up to you.'
He nodded to himself and seemed to relax. 'Better if I stay.' It was going to be hard, all right.
I took the plastic bag with the videocassette and went into Hal's. It was a little place, with a showroom for cheap VCRs and video cameras made by companies you'd never heard of and signs that said AUTHORIZED REPAIR. Lou Poitras was standing in the showroom with a Styrofoam cup of coffee, talking to a short overweight guy with maybe four hairs on his head. Hal. Hal looked sleepy, but Lou didn't.
I said, 'Hi, Lou.'
Poitras said, 'This is the guy.' Some greeting, huh?
Hal led us into the back room where he had a VCR hooked to a little Hitachi television on a workbench. The Hitachi had been turned on. Its screen was a bright, motionless blue. Waiting for the tape. 'Everything's set up. You want me to get it going?'
Poitras shook his head. 'Nah. Go have breakfast or something. I'll lock up when we leave.'
'Forget breakfast. I'm gonna go home and go back to sleep.'
Hal left, and when we heard the front door close, Lou said, 'Okay. Let's see it.'
I put the tape in the VCR and pressed PLAY and Charles Lewis Washington appeared in the swivel chair behind the counter at the Premier Pawn Shop. I fast-forwarded the tape until Riggens and Pinkworth entered, and then I let it resume normal play. I said, 'You know those guys?'
Poitras said, 'No. They the officers?'
'There were five guys in Eric Dees's REACT team. Dees, Garcia, Thurman, Riggens, and Pinkworth. That's Riggens. That's Pinkworth.'
'Is there sound?'
'Unh-unh.'
A couple of minutes later Riggens left and came back with Garcia and the case of bullets. I said, 'That's Pete Garcia.'
Poitras's face was flat and implacable as a stretch of highway. He knew where we were going, and he didn't like it.
Charles Lewis Washington nodded to conclude the deal, and the three onscreen officers produced their guns and badges. Riggens went over the counter, and the beating began. I said, 'You see Washington go for a gun, Lou?'
Poitras kept his eyes on the screen. 'They're behind the counter part of the time. You can't see behind the counter.'
Washington came from behind the counter, and Garcia whacked him into Pinkworth. Riggens and Pink-worth beat him as he held up his hand and begged them to stop. If he had a gun behind the counter, he didn't have one now. Thurman entered the picture. 'That's Mark Thurman.'
Poitras nodded.
'Here comes Dees.'
'I know Dees.'
'I don't see the gun, Lou. I don't see any aggressive or threatening behavior.'
'I can see that, Hound Dog.' His voice was soft and hoarse, and the planes of his jaw and temples flexed and jumped and he had grown pale. I quit while I was ahead.
