Cold Hit

Chapter 64

Sometimes things just have to get a lot worse before they can get better. A wise, if somewhat painful concept.

I just wanted my current string of downers to come to an end. But it wasn't to be. Zack's funeral and my son's USC visit were on a collision course for the same day.

I pulled Chooch aside and tried to explain it to him. "This guy was my partner and he died saving my life."

We were in Chooch's bedroom two days before the funeral and the scheduled USC visit, which were both set for Sunday. "There's not much that would keep me from doing this with you, son, but I can't miss the funeral. I owe Zack too much."

"It's okay, Dad. I understand," Chooch said, but his face was long and there was real disappointment in his dark eyes.

Saturday night I decided to take the family out to dinner to make up for it.

The dinner didn't work out either.

On the way to the restaurant, Alexa happened to mention that accounting had just notified her they were holding up Zack's Line of Duty death benefits because of questions pertaining to his possible involvement in the Fingertip murder case.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Sammy killed those homeless guys?" I said, hotly.

"Shane, I feel terrible about this, but it's out of my hands. As soon as Homicide Special closes the serial murder case, and as long as Zack's not involved, then the paperwork can proceed. We can't give Zack Line of Duty benefits or the two extra years on his pension as long as he's in any way a suspect. The same goes for you putting him up for the Medal of Valor. The press would skin us alive."

So to keep the bottle flies happy, we were going to deny Zack the only two things he'd ask me to do when he died.

I started brooding like a ten-year-old and ruined my own dinner party. But I knew how the game was played. There would be no more murders, so the task force would disband and the case would eventually go cold. Zack would remain a suspect and his survivor benefits would be frozen forever.

At the restaurant, Alexa and I fell into a chilly silence. Dell and Chooch made small talk and tried not to get us going again.

Later, sitting in the backyard, Alexa and I attempted to clean up the trouble between us. I admitted that I knew it wasn't technically her fault this had happened to Zack.

"Technically?" she said, seizing on this one, carefully parsed word.

"You were worried about me," I added. "You went to the wrong window. Shit happens."

"I was trying to save your life."

"Yeah, but Zack was the one who actually did."

As I said it, I remembered that in the end it was Alexa who smoked Sammy Petrovitch. She and Zack had both saved my life. It seemed my life took a lot of saving. I needed to calm myself down. Yelling at Alexa wouldn't solve anything. After about five minutes of silence, I tried to change the subject.

"How do you come out on Virtue, and what he did?"

"He's just bad material. He's going away. The system is good. You can't blame the system for one bad apple. Fortunately, Nix survived, or we wouldn't be able to file against the son of a bitch. As it is, once Nix turns state's evidence, Virtue is toast. If he wants to stay in politics, he'll have to run for the convict council in Soledad."

I thought about what she said, and then asked, "Is this new, redefined system really good, or are we little by little, losing what this country once stood for?"

"We're cops, Shane. We need all the powers we can get to put dirtbags away."

"Virtue was using USPA and FISA to take away due process. Do we really want these emergency powers and lack of due process in the system?"

"Cops are getting overrun by crime," she argued. "If you don't believe me, just take a look at my monthly stats."

"Yeah, maybe." I fell silent.

"Go ahead and say it." She knew I didn't agree.

"I just don't think it's smart to give up our freedoms in an attempt to protect them."

She sat quietly for a long moment, then without saying anything else, got up and went into the house.

On Sunday, Alexa and I went to Zack's funeral. It was a very small turnout. He told me once that he didn't have many cop buddies, and this sparse event surely proved it. Fran was there with their two boys. I was glad to see Broadway and Perry. Roger was on crutches with his leg wrapped to the hip. My bandaged left hand wasn't quite so huge now, but I still couldn't open a can of beer. Between the two of us there was enough gauze to wrap a mummy.

Emdee and I helped Roger hobble across the lawn to the gravesite. Alexa and I spoke to Fran and both of Zack's sons. They looked confused and rigid. This isn't the way anybody planned for it to end. Too much had been left unsaid. We took our places in a small group of mourners.

Just before the service began, I was surprised to see Stanislov Bambarak pull up in his embassy car, followed a few minutes later by Bimini Wright in her silver Jag. They made their way over to us. Bimini looked gorgeous in a simple black dress. Stanislov, as usual, was as big and wrinkled as a walrus.

The service was mercifully short. After it was over, we walked toward the parking lot. The Russian and the CIA agent shook hands with Roger, Emdee, Alexa, and me.

"Bit of hard cheese, this," Stanislov said, indicating the coffin. "Sorry I couldn't help out."

"Cotta people had to die to keep me alive," I said. "Come on, Shane. Stop it," Alexa said sharply. She was determined to get me past this.

Bimini agreed with Alexa. She looked at me and said, "Sometimes freedom comes with a high price tag, Shane."

I had asked others to pay so much that I really didn't know how to respond.

Then she smiled brightly. "Guess what? After you got us all together, Stan and I decided to compare some more notes. We finally solved the 'Eighty-five Problem. Kersey Nix filled in the blanks and confirmed our theory two days ago. Guess who the fourth man turned out to be?"

"Virtue."

I'd had three weeks to ponder it since the frustrating hours spent locked in the trunk of Sammy's car. Virtue was an FBI agent stationed in Moscow in 1985. Virtue was heartless and ambitious. He paid the Petrovitches to be his moles inside the KGB, then brought them to L. A. to work for him off the books. I figured back in '85, he sold information to both sides to gain power. It was a brilliant political move. By giving up some of Bimini's Russian double agents, he gained influence with the bureaucrats inside the KGB, and that allowed him to learn the identity of the American traitors. By catching Aldrich Ames and Robert Hansen, he subsequently became a star in Washington. He was a traitor who thought he was a patriot.

"I guess there is some good that comes from everything," Broadway said. "If Sammy Petrovitch hadn't snapped and started killing homeless men, who knows, it might have ended with R. A. Virtue in the White House."

"Now that we've put the hat on that piece of business, I guess my people will be sending me home," Stanislov said.

"What people are those?" I deadpanned. "Are we talking about the directors of the Moscow Ballet?"

He chuckled. "Rather silly, I know, but you take the post they give you." He smiled at Bimini. "I've sort of grown used to it here-the warm weather, the sunshine in winter. Agent Wright said if I retire and promise not to dabble in espionage, she'll look into getting me permanent resident status."

"You know what they say?" I said smiling, "Once you buy your first barbecue you'll never leave L. A."

They asked all of us to join them for lunch, but I needed to talk to Fran. Alexa was going in to the office, and Roger and Emdee had plans, so we begged off and watched them go. As they headed toward their cars, Stanislov accidentally bumped up against the beautiful CIA agent. Or was it an accident?

After everybody left, I waited for Fran to leave the gravesite and took her aside. We stood under the shade of a beautiful elm.

"I put Zack up for the Medal of Valor," I said. "He's always wanted it. I think what he did, saving my life, certainly qualifies him."

Even as I said it, I realized that my chances of getting him that medal while he was still on the Fingertip suspect list were somewhere near infinitesimal.

"I don't care about that damn medal. That was Zack's fantasy. My needs are more basic. Zack Junior goes to college next year. I can't afford to send him without Zack's line-of-duty benefits."

"I'll find a way to get it for you," I took her hand and squeezed it. "Now both of you have my word."