strong enough to stand erect.
“I just got released. Please don’t arrest me again.”
“No, ma’am, not those rights. We want you to know you have the right to complain. If you feel you were mistreated, or possessions not booked into evidence were illegally taken, you have the right to complain to the city, and possibly recover damages. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?”
Her face screwed up even more.
“No.”
Daryl Ishi walked up behind her. He squinted at Scott, but gave no indication of recognition.
“What’s going on?”
Estelle crossed her arms over nonexistent breasts.
“He wants to know if we were arrested okay.”
Scott interrupted. He now knew Daryl was home, and that’s all he needed. He wanted to leave.
“Are you Mr. Danowski or Mr. Pantelli?”
“Uh-uh. They ain’t here.”
“They have the right to file a complaint if they feel they were unfairly or illegally treated. It’s a new policy we have. Letting people know they can sue us. Will you tell them?”
“No shit? They sent you to tell us we can sue you?”
“No shit. You folks have a good day.”
Scott smiled pleasantly, stepped back as if he was going to leave, then stopped and dropped the smile. Estelle Rolley was closing the door, but Scott suddenly stepped close and held it. He stared at Daryl with cold, dangerous street-cop eyes.
“You’re Marshall’s brother, Daryl. You’re the one we didn’t arrest.”
Daryl fidgeted.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Marshall’s been saying some things. We’ll be back to talk to you. Stay put.”
Scott stared at him for another ten seconds, then he stepped back.
“You can close the door now.”
Estelle Rolley closed the door.
Scott’s heart was pounding as he walked back to his car. His hands trembled as he ruffled Maggie’s fur and praised her for staying put.
He loaded Maggie into the car, drove to the next block, parked again, and waited. He didn’t wait long.
Daryl left the house eight minutes later, walking fast. He picked up speed until he was trotting, then turned up the next cross street toward Alvarado, which was the nearest and busiest large street.
Scott followed, hoping he wasn’t crazy. And hoping he wasn’t wrong.
24.
Scott served in two-person, black-and-white Adam cars as a uniformed patrol officer. He had never worked a plainclothes assignment or driven an unmarked car. When Scott followed someone in a black-and-white, he turned on the lights and drove fast. Following Daryl was a pain in the ass.
Scott thought Daryl might catch a bus when he reached Alvarado, but Daryl turned south and kept walking.
The slow pace on a busy street made following Daryl in a car difficult, but following on foot would have been worse. Maggie drew attention, and if Daryl hopped a ride when Scott was on foot, Scott would lose him.
Scott pulled over, watched until Daryl was almost out of sight, then tightened the gap and pulled over again. Maggie didn’t mind. She enjoyed straddling the console and checking the sights.
Daryl went into a mini-market, and stayed so long Scott worried he had ducked out the back, but Daryl emerged with a super-size drink and continued hoofing it south. Five minutes later, Daryl crossed Sixth Street and entered MacArthur Park one block from where the arrest team staged to bag Marshall.
“Small world.”
Scott frowned into the mirror.
“Stop talking to yourself.”
Scott parked at the first open meter across from the park, cracked the door, and stepped out for a better view. Scott liked what he saw.
MacArthur Park above Wilshire contained a soccer field, a bandstand, and bright green lawns dotted with picnic tables, palm trees, and gray, weathered oaks. Paved walkways curved through the grass, inviting women with strollers, skateboard rats, and slow-motion homeless people pushing overloaded shopping carts stolen from local markets. Women with babies clustered at two or three tables, young Latin dudes with nothing to do hung out at two or three more, and homeless people used others as beds. People were catching sun on the grass, sitting in circles with friends, and reading books under trees. Latin and Middle Eastern men raced back and forth on the soccer field, while replacement players waited on the sidelines. Two girls strummed guitars at the base of a palm. Three kids with dyed hair passed a joint. A schizophrenic stumbled wildly across the park, passing three ’bangers with neck ink and teardrops who laughed at his flailing.
Daryl circled the ’bangers and cut across the grass, passed the three stoners, and made his way along the length of the soccer field toward the far side of the park. Scott lost sight of him, but that was the plan.
“C’mon, big girl. Let’s see what you got.”
Scott clipped Maggie’s twenty-foot tracking lead, but held it short as he led her to the spot where Daryl entered the park. Scott knew she was anxious. She brushed his leg as they walked, and nervously glanced at the unfamiliar people and noisy traffic. Her nostrils rippled in triple-time to suck in their surroundings.
“Sit.”
She sat, still glancing around, but mostly staring up at him.
He took the watchband from the evidence bag, and held it to her nose.
“Smell it. Smell.”
Maggie’s nostrils flickered and twitched. Her breathing pattern changed when she sniffed for a scent. Sniffing wasn’t breathing. The air she drew for sniffing did not enter her lungs. Sniffs were small sips she took in groups called trains. A train could be from three to seven sniffs, and Maggie always sniffed in threes. Sniff-sniff-sniff, pause, sniff-sniff-sniff. Budress’ dog, Obi, sniffed in trains of five. Always five. No one knew why, but each dog was different.
Scott touched her nose with the band, waved it playfully around her head, and let her sniff it some more.
“Find it for me, baby. Do it for me. Let’s see if we’re right.”
Scott stepped back and gave the command.
“Seek, seek, seek.”
Maggie surged to her feet with her ears spiked forward and her face black with focus. She turned to her right, checked the air, and dipped to the ground. She hesitated, then trotted a few steps in the opposite direction. She tasted more air scent, and stared into the park. This was her first alert. Scott knew she caught a taste, but did not have the trail. She sniffed the sidewalk from side to side as she moved farther away, then abruptly reversed course. She stared into the park again, and Scott knew she had it. Maggie took off, hit the end of her lead, and pulled like a sled dog. The three ’bangers saw them, and ran.
Maggie followed Daryl’s path between the picnic tables and along the north side of the soccer field. The players stopped playing to watch the cop and his German shepherd.
Scott saw Daryl Ishi when they reached the end of the soccer field. He was standing behind the concert pavilion with two young women and a guy about Daryl’s age. One of the girls saw Scott first, then the others looked. Daryl stared for maybe a second, then bolted away in the opposite direction. His friend broke past the back of the building and ran for the street.
“Down.”
Maggie dropped to her belly. Scott caught up fast, unclipped her lead, and immediately released her.
