Cold Hit

Chapter 18

I'd picked the four cops that I already knew on the task force: Bola, Diaz, Ward, and Quinn. My long-lens photographers were Kyle Jute and Doreen McFadden, two patrol officers who were camera buffs. I'd used them both in the past. The last two players were the grieving parents, retired Sergeants Campbell and Stewart.

Everybody sipped watery coffee while I laid out the op. We would be on Handy-Talkies with earpieces and would stay well back, watch, and photograph everything, making sure to get close-ups of all the license plates in the parking lot for DMV checks later. We had no warrants, so we would make no arrests unless some overt crime happened right in front of us.

This was strictly a photo surveillance.

When I got home that evening, Chooch and his best friend Darius Hall were huddled in the backyard with their heads together talking earnestly. Chooch had just been notified by the UCLA athletic department that head coach Karl Dowell wanted to arrange a home visit. It was scheduled for the day after tomorrow at five-thirty in the evening. Delfina was in her room doing homework, so Alexa and I kicked off our shoes in the den and sipped cold beers.

"Good news about UCLA," she said.

"Very," I agreed.

"So how was your day?"

"Don't go there."

"Don't be an asshole," she smiled. "I want to hear about the task force. What's your take on the crowd Chief Ramsey picked?"

Instead of engaging in petty cheap shots, I told her about the funeral the following afternoon.

She was silent for a minute after I finished. "I thought you had John Doe Number Four down as a copycat kill."

"Might be. Might not be. Never can tell," I said, blithely sawing the air with an indifferent hand.

She looked at me critically. "Are you trying to get off this task force and be reassigned to this last John Doe murder?" picking off my brilliantly deceptive plan faster than a base runner stealing signs from second.

"Naw. . get off the Fingertip task force?" I lied. "How can you say that? We got invisible offices and a neat FBI leader who will tolerate nothing but brilliance. No ma'am. This is a chance to get my name in the paper. Maybe I can even sell this case to the movies, and put a second story on this house so Chooch won't have to sleep in the garage."

"Don't hedge, Shane."

I looked at her and shrugged.

"Let me see if I'm reading this right. You absolutely hate task forces. You know Zack is in career trouble. With all the white light the Fingertip case is getting, he won't last two days on that unit, so you want me to split this last murder off and move you and Zack onto it, out of the spotlight, until you can figure out what to do to save him." Busting me like ripe fruit.

"Listen, I agree with you about the task force," she continued. "But we've been backed into this by the mayor. Tony didn't want to do it."

"Then why did you put an FBI agent in charge?"

"That was a deal we had to cut with the Eye so they wouldn't take the case away. You know how they love a high-profile media murder. And after seven weeks, if they just take it from us, it looks like we muffed the investigation. That's bad for Tony and for me."

"How do they just take it away? It's our case."

"Honey, with the new organization in law enforcement, Homeland and the FBI have gained major power. They can more or less have anything they want."

I sat there for a long moment studying my shoes. It looked like they were due for a shine. Actually, I was due for new shoes. I wondered if I should step up from Florshiems to designer moccasins, or maybe get a pair of those butt-ass ugly Bruno Maglis like 0. J.'s.

"I need you on that case to be my eyes and ears," Alexa said, interrupting these weighty thoughts.

"I'm not a spy." My feelings were hurt that she would even suggest it.

"That didn't come out exactly the way I wanted," she said.

We sat together and finished our beers without speaking. Finally she got up and went into the kitchen to start dinner.

I wandered out and listened to Chooch and Darius in the backyard. They were talking about what they always talked about. Football. Darius was Harvard Westlake's star running back and was also being heavily recruited by UCLA. They had already offered him a scholarship.

"We should go as a package, dude," Darius suggested.

"Way cool," Chooch answered, excitement building in his voice. "I could tell Coach Carroll I won't go to USC unless they offer you a ride. You tell the same thing to Coach Dowell."

"Keep the old backfield intact."

I stood in the doorway behind them and listened to a few more minutes of this nonsense. I didn't think trying to blackmail a couple of blue-chip, Division-One college coaches was the best way to earn a full scholarship from either.

I went back into the den, switched on the TV, and caught the top of the seven o'clock news.

"Big advancements in the Fingertip murder case," the handsome blow-dry on Channel Nine declared triumphantly. "Today, Chief Filosiani announced the formation of a new task force. The unit will be headed by famed FBI criminal profiler Judson. Underwood. Underwood is perhaps best known for his capture of the Detroit Slasher and his subsequent best-selling book, Motor City Monster. The task force will be comprised of crack members from homicide bureaus all over the city."

Then my artist's rendition hit the screen. "Funeral services for the fourth victim, recently identified as Forrest Davies, will be held at the Old North Church at Forest Lawn cemetery at one-thirty tomorrow."

The shot switched back to the anchorman. "The funeral will mark the beginning of the second month on this horrific case where bodies have been mutilated and leads have been scarce. But tensions seemed to ease all around town today, as the details of this new, high-tech squad were revealed."

I wondered if our high-tech squad had any phones yet.