At First Sight

Chapter 26

SERGEANT APOLLO DEMETRIUS SHOWED UP AT CHICK'S house again on the Monday following Evelyn's murder. It was a day after the glorious phone call with Paige where she promised to come to L. A.

"Do you know anybody named Delroy Washington?" Demetrius asked. He was sitting in Chick's beautifully furnished living room, leaking his Aqua Velva scent and masculine vibe all over the place. The cold-eyed, ordinary-looking Charlie Watts wasn't there.

"Delroy Washington…? No, I don't think so," Chick said, going for puzzled confusion.

Then Sergeant Ain't-I-Hot-Looking Demetrius took some photographs out of his briefcase and laid them out on the coffee table. Six mug shots of glowering, black teenage assholes. They all had Afro-hip haircuts-fades with Zs cut into the sides. One or two had cornrows or dreads. Ghetto styles that screamed "Fuck you, Whitey." They all wore sullen expressions with angry eyes. Of course, Delroy Washington was right there in the mix, top row, far right side.

"This is what we call a six-pack," Demetrius said. "Not abspictures. We use them for eyewitness identifications. All these guys have been chosen because they are about the same age and build. One of them is a possible perp. Take your time and look them over, sir. See if one looks familiar."

Chick noted that he'd gone from "Chick" to "Sir"-a definite step in the right direction. He was no longer at the top of Demetrius's suspect list.

"He could be a guy who came to the door, selling something, or maybe he worked at some garage where you or your wife park your cars, a valet service. You might not know his name. Could be a vendor you use. Guy at the corner market. Anyone there look familiar?"

Of course, Chick wasn't about to claim Delroy Washington. The last thing he needed was for that angry asshole to say, "Yeah, I know this guy, too. He had a.45 stashed under the seat of a gold Mercedes I detailed at the wash."

Chick needed to keep his distance from Delroy until the angry gangster lawyered up. With all the physical evidence Chick had planted, he was pretty sure the lawyer would go for a plea bargain and agree to a nice second-degree murder, rather than take a chance on murder one with special circumstance. A plea bargain would be neat and quick. It would clear the case without ever involving Chick.

"Should I know him?" Chick said after pretending to study each picture carefully.

"If it was a random jacking, then no, but sometimes these gangsters steal on demand. Somebody orders a gold Mercedes like your wife's, and they target the vehicle in advance. That might have produced a contact?'

"None of these guys look familiar," Chick said, straightening back up.

Apollo Demetrius gathered up the pictures and returned them to his worn leather briefcase. "Okay, good enough." He got to his feet.

"Do you think one of those guys did it?" Chick asked. "They look very young."

"In the ghetto, youth is not necessarily a condition of innocence," Demetrius said, sounding for a minute more like a criminology professor than a cop. "I've got Pee-Wee G's in my gang book who are barely out of puberty and they've already skagged two or three rival homeboys… We got adolescent killers standing ten deep at Juvenile Hall. The juvie-rancho up in Saugus is a cesspool of homicidal, preteen violence. You wouldn't believe what's being raised in the inner city and getting passed off as human."

The detective started toward the door and Chick hurried to follow.

"So one of these guys did it?" he persisted, hoping to hear more.

"Yep. Think so… got the murder weapon. It's an old forty-five. It's what we call a street gun. Serial number was filed. A cold piece. I can't get an ownership trail. One thing it does have is Delroy Washington's prints all over it. We also found his prints inside your wife's car, on the back of the rearview mirror. Got a ten-point match-Delroy left more ridges and swirls on that crime scene than they got on the jewelry counter at Macy's."

"Prints on the back of the mirror?" Chick asked, trying for naive confusion.

"Asshole steals a vehicle, first thing he does is readjust the mirror so he can use it. On nine out of ten of these jacks we get a clean set of prints off the back of the rearview." Apollo paused, then added, "I think this is pretty much a slam dunk. Washington has a yellow sheet full of violent crimes. He has two prior carjackings. Shot one of the drivers. A nonfatal wound, but he went down on an attempt to commit. He's also been down on two previous felony assault car thefts, both class-A beefs because he likes using a gun."

"He shot somebody before Evelyn?" Chick asked, sounding appalled.

Demetrius nodded, "I think we gotta great chance of setting him up for the needle. This is a lying-in-wait, special-circumstances murder. If the D. A. will file it that way, this kid could hit death row. If he won't, we're gonna lock Del up permanently on a third strike. But to do that, we've gotta take him all the way to trial, because his P. D.'s not going to plead him on a third strike. That means you're gonna have to be ready to testify. You up for that, sir?"

"Oh," Chick said. "Well, of course… " But he hadn't counted on a trial. Even though he'd been wearing the baseball cap and glasses, there was a chance Deiroy would remember the Mercedes, or worse still, recognize him in court. Of course, if that happened, it would be Chick's word against the word of a three-time loser. Sure I went to the car wash on Adams. That's undoubtedly where he must have seen Evelyn's car… Gun under the seat? Is he kidding? I don't even own a gun. I'm an Internet executive.

Still, Chick wished it could just be bargained off like he'd planned. That way they'd all be done with it. Nothing, when it came to Evelyn, was ever easy. In death, she was still causing him problems.

"The D. A. is ready to charge Delroy. We'll know how he's gonna file it in a couple a days. I guess we can forget all the other stuff, the lie detector test, the backup interview. We got our guy."

"Thanks," Chick said, looking sad, despite the fact this was the best fucking news since People magazine called in '98 to say they were doing a story on bestmarket. Com.

"When will you release my wife's body? I'm trying to plan her funeral:' He hoped he'd packed enough grief into that sentence to get it past Demetrius's smell detector. Of course, who could smell anything but Aqua Velva anyway?

"I think the coroner's done. We'll let go of her remains today or tomorrow. You can go ahead and make your arrangements," Demetrius said.

"Thanks," Chick said again, looking sadly down at the carpet, thinking murder wasn't all that tough if you thought things out. Planned without emotion and followed through methodically, murder could actually be a viable option. You just had to do it carefully and make sure all the facts were served.

And look at the high level of karmic improvement here. Delroy Washington, a mean, angry asshole who had achieved nothing in his short antisocial existence, other than fouling the L. A. Basin with violent crimes, was off to end his life behind bars. Evelyn, who had achieved no worthwhile skills beyond her bone-jarring dead lifts and rock-hard biceps, was also gone, removing a shitload of negative energy. Delroy was going to serve Chick's murder sentence, so that Chick could go on and make further, worthwhile contributions to the gross revenue product of L. A.'s business and tax environment, completing a perfect circle of positive fiscal and psychic energy. How can you beat that?

Chick walked Demetrius out of the house. They stood on the front porch and the detective shook Chick's hand.

"Must be hard," the handsome cop commiserated, turning from a suspicious asshole to a sympathetic friend in less than two days.

"I loved her very much," Chick drooped sadly.

"I hope it helps, knowing we got the doer."

"It helps, more than I can tell you," Chick said.

"Be sure your daughter doesn't skip her court date on the twenty-eighth for her meth possession bust. She's a first-time offender and if she plays it smart, she should come out of that with a suspended sentence. She's a minor, so after she turns eighteen, her record will be sealed. That bust won't even show up. But if she gets cute, she'll get hammered."

"Thank you," Chick said, surprised he knew about Melissa's pending legal problems.

Demetrius turned and walked down to his car, taking the dimpled chin and Aqua Velva reek with him. Detective Watts wasn't sitting out there in the front seat, making cell calls. Demetrius had come alone. The visit had been a wrap-up interview.

Chick watched as the detective drove off, then turned and walked into his overpriced split-level house and shut the massive oak door.

Case closed, he thought. Then a huge smile spread across his face. Evelyn was finally out of his life and Paige Ellis was coming all the way from North Carolina for the funeral.

He poured himself a tumbler of scotch and sighed. Could it possibly get any better than this?