Scott nodded, but said nothing. He felt as if Mills was watching him.
“Have you remembered anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“You sure?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything else to remember.”
“You seeing a shrink?”
Scott felt a rush of discomfort, and decided to lie.
“They make you see someone if you’re involved in a shooting, but I didn’t get anything out of it.”
Mills studied him for a moment, then pushed a manila envelope forward and rested his hand on it. Scott wondered what was inside.
“You know what we do in Robbery Special?”
“You cover the big bank and armored-car scores. Serial robberies. Things like that.”
Mills made a satisfied shrug.
“Close enough. The people who shot you and your partner weren’t assholes who blew up a couple of rich guys and police officers for kicks. Your boys had skills. The way they worked together to pull this thing off tight. I’m thinking they were a professional crew—the same people who take down big scores.”
Scott frowned.
“I thought the robbery idea was ruled out.”
“Robbery as the motive, yeah. We chased bad leads for weeks before we ruled that one out, but we didn’t rule out the crews who take scores. Any asshole who will blow up bank tellers and rent-a-cops will do murder for hire. We keep tabs on these people.”
Mills opened the envelope, and slid out more pictures.
“Crews are made up of specialists. The alarm guy does alarms, the vault man does vaults, the driver drives.”
Mills turned the pictures so Scott could see them. Eight Anglo men with white or light gray hair and blue eyes stared up at him.
“These men are drivers. We believe they were in Los Angeles on or about the night you were shot. Anything?”
Scott stared at the pictures. He looked up, and found Mills, Orso, Cowly, and the two Parkers watching him.
“I saw a sideburn when he turned away. I didn’t see his face.”
“What about the other four guys? You remember anything new about them?”
“No.”
“Was it four or five?”
Scott didn’t like the empty expression in Mills’ eyes.
“The driver plus four.”
“The driver get out?”
“No.”
“So that’s four plus the driver makes five, altogether. How many got out of that Kenworth?”
“Two. Two got out of the Torino. Two plus two makes four.”
Grace Parker rolled her eyes, but if Mills took offense he didn’t show it.
“Four people running around, shooting, is a lot of people. Maybe someone pulled off his mask, or called out a name? Remember anything like that?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
Mills studied him a few moments longer, then picked up the pictures and slid them into the envelope.
“These aren’t the only drivers in town. Maybe you’ll remember something else. Maybe you’ll even remember someone else. Lonnie?”
Lonnie Parker leaned forward and placed yet another booking photo on the table. It showed a thin young man with sunken eyes and cheeks, bad skin, and frizzy black hair that haloed his head in a limp ’fro.
Lonnie Parker tapped the picture.
“Seen this dude before?”
Everyone was watching him again.
“No.”
“Skinny guy. Six feet. Take your time. Give him a good look.”
Scott felt as if he was being tested and didn’t like it. Maggie shifted beside his chair. Scott reached down to touch her.
“No, sir. Who is he?”
Mills stood with his envelope before anyone could answer.
“I’m done here. Thanks for coming in, Scott. You remember anything else—I don’t care what—let me know asap. Me and Bud.”
Mills glanced at Orso.
“You got it from here?”
“I got it.”
Mills told the Parkers to come see him when they finished, and left with his pictures.
Grace Parker rolled her eyes.
“They call him the I-Man. Ian ‘the I-Man’ Mills. Isn’t that precious?”
Orso cleared his throat to quiet her, and looked at Scott.
“Yesterday afternoon, at our request, Rampart and Northeast detectives arrested and questioned fourteen individuals known to resell stolen goods.”
Grace Parker said, “Fences.”
Orso pushed on.
“Two of these individuals claim to know a thief who laid off Chinese DVDs, Chinese cigarettes, herbs, and the kinds of things Shin carried in his store.”
Scott looked from the picture to Orso.
“This man?”
“Marshall Ramon Ishi. Last night, we showed this picture to Mr. Shin. Shin remembers Ishi would loiter in his store, but never buy anything. You put that with the two fences, and, yes, the odds are pretty good Mr. Ishi is the man who burglarized Shin’s store the night you were shot.”
Scott stared at the picture, and felt a cold prickle over his chest. Maggie sat up, leaned against his legs, and Scott realized Orso was still talking.
“The home he shares with his brother, girlfriend, and two other men is currently under surveillance. Mr. Ishi and the girl are not present. They left—”
Orso checked his watch.
“—forty-two minutes ago. They’re being followed by SIS officers, who tell us Ishi and his friend appear to be selling hits of ice to morning commuters.”
Grace Parker said, “Tweakers. They’re meth addicts.”
Orso nodded happily, and once more resumed.
“They’ll go home in a couple of hours. We’ll give them a chance to settle in, then arrest them. Joyce will have command. I’d like you to be with her, Scott. Would you go?”
All of them were watching him again.
Scott didn’t understand what Orso was asking, then realized he was being handed a ticket into the investigation. He had spent nine months wanting to help catch Stephanie’s killers, and now felt unable to breathe.
Maggie rested her chin on his leg and gazed at him. Her ears were folded and her eyes appeared sad.
Grace Parker said, “Damn, that’s a big dog. Her poop must be the size of a softball.”
Lonnie Parker laughed, and it was the laughter that helped Scott find his voice.
“Yes, sir. Absolutely. I absolutely want to be there. I’ll have to clear it with my boss.”
“It’s cleared. You’re mine the rest of the day.”
Orso glanced at Maggie.
