The Fallen
- Автор: Паркер Т. Джефферсон
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 978-0-06-056238-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Fallen». Краткое содержание книги:
I could tell that these men were playing on a different field than I was. They were thinking ahead, thinking around, thinking big, thinking of themselves. Spin. Proaction. Damage control. Acceptable losses. Bureaucratic triage.
“I’m just trying to find a killer,” I said.
“Don’t say anything about these videos to anyone,” said Sutherland. “We’re going to have to figure out the best way to handle it.”
“Yes, sir. I just hope we don’t have to cover for whoring cops very long. Fellowes has no right to those girls just because he looks the other way when he’s finished.”
“That’s true,” said Villas.
There was a pointed silence then, as Sutherland, then Bogle, looked hard at Villas.
“Let me ask you something, Brownlaw,” said Sutherland. “You’ve spent the better part of a week looking at the life of Garrett Asplundh. You’ve talked to his ex and his boss and some of the people he was working with. Do you like what you’ve learned about him?”
“He seemed to have had integrity,” I said.
“He did. He was one of us. I mean us, Professional Standards. He knew what standards were, believe me. He knew them in his heart. In the end he wasn’t able to stay with us, because of other things in his life. But Garrett knew things. He understood things. He knew how the city works and how this department works and how people behave. He knew everything about everybody. And never once did Garrett go outside these walls with what he found. He always came back here with it. Internal solutions for internal problems. Van Flyke understands that. As does Director Kaven.”
Three looks in my direction. Brass is allergic to the idea of scandal. If the brass is a bun boy — that’s an officer who has worked his way up through desk jobs instead of working the streets — he’ll get hysterical at the mere possibility of scandal. Sutherland was just such a man.
For a moment I tried to distract myself, which wasn’t hard. I realized again, for the millionth time since Saturday morning, that Gina had left me, probably forever, and I tried to blame myself for sleeping too drunkenly to wake up and stop her. But really, I doubt that it would have mattered. And the anger I felt at her and at myself that morning was still there inside me. I wondered if she went in to work today. I wondered what she would do if I showed up at the Salon again.
I must have distracted myself quite well, because the conversation took a sudden turn.
“How are you feeling these days, Detective?” asked Bogle.
“Oh, fine. Thank you.”
“No problems with equilibrium?”
“None at all.”
“What about vision or hearing?”
“All fine, sir. The doctor checked me out in January. Full physical. I’m healthy.”
“That’s really good, Robbie,” said Bogle. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Tell us about the book,” said Sutherland. “Fall to Your Life!”
That was a surprise. I explained that Malic had written it to explain what he did and to help other people realize they can overcome problems and start new lives.
“And that’s you on the cover?” asked Sutherland.
I nodded.
“We’re told he shares the profits with you,” said Sutherland.
“I get twenty-five percent. It comes to two-fifty per book.”
Sutherland checked back through his notes. “You know, Detective, you signed a confidentiality agreement when you went to work here. You’re not allowed to publish information about the San Diego Police Department unless it’s submitted to us beforehand.”
“I didn’t write anything, sir.”
“You granted an interview to Mr. Malic, though, didn’t you?”
“Not formally. We got to know each other during the trial. I told him some personal things. Not much, really. And nothing about the department except that everyone here was pulling for me after the fall.”
“But interviews are very specifically covered under that CA you signed,” said Sutherland.
“Come on, Roger,” said Villas. “It’s a dumb book but it shows that Robbie is a good officer and that reflects well on all of us. Who cares if he makes some beer money off of it?”
Sutherland lowered a bored stare at Villas.
“IRS might,” said Bogle.
“Well, then let Robbie worry about the IRS. He’s a big boy. Robbie, don’t forget to report your millions in royalties come April,” said Villas.
“What’s the point of this?” I asked.
“Robbie, these guys were just a little worried,” said Villas. “Because of the book. They thought you might be tempted to somehow use or profit from what Garrett had found out. I told them you would never use your experience here for personal gain. But they don’t know you like I do. They just wanted to hear it from you.”
“I would never use what I learn here for personal gain,” I said. “I don’t operate that way.”
Sutherland and Bogle nodded without enthusiasm.
“If Fellowes knew that Garrett had him caught on video,” I said, “that could be a motivation.”
“Fellowes didn’t shoot Asplundh,” said Sutherland. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I have to talk to him, sir. And I can’t pretend that Garrett didn’t have him on tape with the girls. You don’t have to worry about Chet Fellowes telling the world about our internal problems. He is our internal problem. One of them anyway.”
Sutherland looked at me with a hostile calm.
“You might not want to tie Robbie’s hands like that,” said Villas. “If he tells Fellowes that Garrett had sex tapes, maybe that’s enough. Let Fellowes sweat it, not knowing if he was caught or not.”
Sutherland looked to Villas, then back to me. “Talk to Fellowes. Acknowledge the existence of the discs but not who is on them.”
I nodded and stood.
“I want the discs and all copies of them on my desk in ten minutes,” Sutherland said. “Forget you ever saw them. It’s eleven-forty now, and you are dismissed.”
Dale Payne, assistant chief of New Orleans Police, returned my call just after lunch. I was at my desk, thinking about what Sutherland and Bogle had said, wondering why fear was the number one motivator in our bureaucracy.
Payne spoke with the unhurried pace and sly humor of many southerners. In my earlier message I had told him briefly about the murder of Garrett Asplundh, and that I wanted to know what his department had done with the guns recovered from the Property Annex burglary of 2001.
“We put some of ’em back in the annex,” he said. “I mean, we made some changes to that annex first. Installed a real good alarm system. Don’t know why the old one never worked right. And we got new locks on the doors and windows. We’ve got an officer at the desk twenty-four/seven now. I don’t think we’re going to get burglarized again, Detective Brownlaw, but I never get tired of surprises. Some agencies wanted their evidence back, though. Got tired of us givin’ away their goodies, I think.”
I gave him the serial number for Carl Herbert’s Model 39 and asked him where it was supposed to be.