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:
The first two told me with condescending patience that of course everybody had signed in — it was procedure. Bob Cramer of DEA hesitated, then was pointedly uncooperative. He said he wasn’t in the habit of giving out the names or whereabouts of DEA agents to “local law enforcement.”
I scratched the names off the list with increasingly bold sweeps of my pen, but I circled Bob Cramer.
I sighed and looked out the window at sun-drenched San Diego, still winter in America’s Finest City.
After lunch McKenzie and I left headquarters with a half-inch stack of wanted posters and a half-inch sliver of hope. Before making copies of the posters, we had scanned the picture to an SDPD flyer form with our department seal and WANTED FOR QUESTIONING at the top, and a description of the unidentified subject at the bottom.
First we stopped at the Ethics Authority Enforcement Unit building. The Little Italy sidewalks were busy with pedestrians enjoying the sunshine and I could smell the bread and garlic from the restaurants. Arliss Buntz looked at us when we walked in, then began straightening her desktop. Her ancient, near-green sweater hung on a coatrack by the stairwell and there was a very small vase of California poppies beside her telephone.
“Come on up,” said Van Flyke. He stood over us, looking down from the second story.
“Well, go on up,” said Arliss.
I closed the door and played the tape of Garrett Asplundh’s last conversation with Stella. Van Flyke listened with a frown, his head slightly cocked.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Our friends in law enforcement,” I said.
Van Flyke shook his head in disgust. “Some of the stuff that I have to put up with in this city. They create the Ethics Authority to watchdog the city, and what’s the city do? It watchdogs the Ethics Authority.”
“The conversation took place at four-thirty on Tuesday the eighth — the day Garrett was killed,” I said.
Van Flyke nodded but said nothing.
“Whoever heard it could know that Garrett was going to be down at the Cabrillo Bridge that night,” said McKenzie.
“He doesn’t say what bridge,” said Van Flyke.
“If you knew Garrett well, you knew what bridge he was talking about. Did he ever tell you about it?”
“He proposed to her there.”
“When did you get your copy of this tape?” I asked.
“Yesterday,” he said. “Always on Wednesdays, unless Kaven forgets and drags his feet. These tapes aren’t of high interest to us in Ethics. We think it’s demeaning to be taped and monitored in the first place. Especially by the mayor and you people.”
McKenzie took one of our new “Wanted for Questioning” flyers from her briefcase and showed it to Van Flyke.
“Looks like you with a mustache,” she said.
“I’m a Dolphins man,” he said.
McKenzie held a flyer up toward him for comparison. She raised her eyebrows and Van Flyke smiled and shook his head.
“He’s better-looking than you,” said McKenzie.
“Most men are,” said Van Flyke. “What they don’t have is my vibrant personality. Tack your poster to the wall behind Arliss’s desk and everybody who comes through here will see it.”
“We’ll leave a few on the downstairs table too,” said McKenzie.
“Great,” said Van Flyke. “And do me a favor — tell your bosses over at the PD to keep their noses out of Ethics Authority business. They want to pass around tape-recorded conversations, they can bug their own people.”
Erik Kaven said that he “irregularly” monitored and recorded Ethics Authority phone calls but he did not listen to the conversation between Garrett and his wife. He was not prone to spying on his own employees. Certain other individuals had access to the monitoring equipment and could have eavesdropped while the conversation took place or perhaps replayed it later from the tape. He said the policy of monitoring Ethics Authority calls was “asinine” and he was firmly against it, but because such practice was included in the Ethics Authority charter, he had to play by the rules.
“It was the mayor and council’s idea,” said Kaven. “It’s their way of keeping us under their political thumb. They want ethics, but they don’t want ethics with teeth.”
I thought of what Stella had said, how Garrett distrusted Kaven because of Kaven’s coziness with Sarvonola and the business interests of San Diego.
“You were against hiring Garrett, weren’t you?”
He eyed me. “I thought he’d be better off as a cop, but the decision was up to Van Flyke. I direct the Authority. I don’t dictate. And don’t bother asking me to let you hear any more Ethics Authority tapes. You want Ethics Authority property, go to court and come back with a warrant. Or talk to all your blameless captains — you can probably get anything you want from them.”
“We’ve already got some paper,” said McKenzie. She brought out another flyer. “Looks like you.”
He took and studied it. “‘Wanted for Questioning’... What kind of a face is that? Looks like a costume. What put you onto this guy? What’s his story?”
“Get some paper and we’ll talk,” said McKenzie.
Kaven smiled. Behind his gunslinger’s mustache his teeth were white and straight. “Fine. I don’t want to know. I know too much already.”
Over the next four hours we drove to three television studios, six radio stations, six newspapers, and three magazines. We could have just faxed the sketch to each of them, but in my experience a personal appearance helps get attention.
We were greeted with gravity and furrowed brows at each stop and we got assurances that our sketch would be aired, published, or — in the case of radio — described, by everyone we talked to. With each sketch we included a press release about the Garrett Asplundh murder.
At five that afternoon we were finishing up with the city-run community centers, all of which feature bulletin boards for local, allegedly nonprofit announcements. Among the flyers for natural-childbirth classes, baldness therapies, free kittens, gem and mineral shows, herbal weight-loss programs, haiku workshops, and nonmedical treatments for sweaty palms and poor eyesight, we tacked our “Wanted for Questioning” flyers of Hummer Man. He looked brusque and lowbrow in the optimistic mix of self-improvement schemes, educational programs, and free pets.
By the time we rolled back into headquarters it was almost dark and still seventy degrees. We had ten flyers left. I put a few of them in my briefcase and gave the rest to McKenzie. She began scanning one into her computer to post it on our PD Web site and send it out as a jpeg to some of the watchdog Web sites that are helpful to law enforcement.
Chet Fellowes eased into the Homicide room, shoulders sloped and arms long. He put both hands on my desk, leaned over, and turned to face me.
“We’re set for Eden Heights at midnight,” he said. “You found it, you can come along for the fun if you want.”
“Cortez, too?”
“Cortez, too. And wear your vests. People like Chupa Junior go well with body armor.”
“You talk to Villas?” I asked.
“Of course I talked to Villas.”
“Then we’re in.”
“You can ride in one of the tactical trucks with my people,” said Fellowes. “We’ll have two. I looked over the location yesterday. We’ll have some men waiting out back by that pool house. That’s going to be the emergency exit when Chupa spots us driving up.”
“All right. Thank you, sir.”
He leaned closer and whispered. “The video that Garrett had, with our guys and the girls on it. It hasn’t gotten out, you know? You’ve kept it in-house, haven’t you?”