Cold Hit

Chapter 8

After dinner that evening, Alexa and I got into a rare, but somewhat heated, argument. It ended up being about Zack.

We were sitting in our backyard looking out at the shimmering canals of Venice, California. The development was a Disneyesque version of Venice, Italy, designed by a romantic dreamer named Abbot Kinney, back in the thirties. The five-block area was spanned by narrow bridges that arched over three-foot-deep canals. Several of our neighbors had added rowboat-sized gondolas that bobbed like plastic ornaments on the shiny, moonlit water.

Alexa and I had just popped open two Heinekens, and agreed that Pete Carroll and USC would be a good fit for Chooch, when I decided to get something off my chest. I'm not good at keeping secrets from Alexa, so I launched into my theory on why I thought John Doe Number Four might be a copycat murder, running all the evidence past her.

She greeted the information in typical Alexa fashion. Her analytical mind dissected and examined what I was saying. When I finished, she nodded in agreement, realizing that there was good reason for my suspicion. But like Jeb Calloway, she wondered how a copycat would know about the symbol carved on Forrest's chest.

"It's something I can't explain. Maybe it leaked."

"Damn," she said softly. "I was counting on this one to give us something. We already told the press about finding the bullet. If you're right, and this is a copycat, I'll have to figure out how to downplay their expectations."

"Why tell those assholes anything?" I said, my anger flaring.

"Grow up, Shane. It's a media case in a media town. Once this stuff gets into the news, we can't stonewall. If we try, all they do is start putting pressure on politicians, who in turn, threaten us. The trick is to find the right balance. Give the press just enough to keep them cool."

"And when you can't hold 'em off anymore, you form a bullshit task force."

It sounded accusatory, and she turned to study me more carefully, those big, beautiful eyes suddenly hard and speculative. "You have something more to tell me, don't you?"

"Yeah. If you form a task force it's a vote of no confidence in me and Zack. You put me on this and I want some damn protection."

She remained silent, so I argued my case. "You know task forces are bullshit. They obstruct the sharing of information. The feds always show up and you know what happens when we invite the big feet from the Eye into our tent. They end up running the show."

"Shane, in the long run, it's not going to be my call. It's Tony's."

"You're the head of the Detective Bureau. I've seen you go up against Tony and win. Don't hide behind him."

"He's the one the press is gonna skin, not me. If we set up a task force, it gives the news people something to write about. It looks proactive. While we're setting it up and getting it organized, it buys a week."

"And in the meantime, the case gets trashed."

"Then solve the thing, Shane. You've been on it for almost two months. Solve it and take us both out of this jackpot."

It was heating up. Our voices were rising in the cold night air, floating across the Venice canals. Our neighbors were probably rolling over in bed and muttering, "Those damn Scullys are at it again."

"Even Cal doesn't want you to form a task force. He says it's gonna bitch up the investigation."

"So I'm hiding behind Tony and you're hiding behind Cal."

"I'm not hiding behind anybody, because I completely agree. We can solve it ourselves."

"Okay. Then as long as we're on the subject of solving the case, maybe we ought to review it from an operational standpoint."

"Operational?" I was lost. "Okay, what's wrong operationally?"

"I'm hearing rumors that your partner is a problem." "Look, Alexa, my partner is my business."

"You're sitting here giving me grief about setting up a task force while you're investigating the biggest case we've had in ten years with a fall-down drunk. Maybe that's why we're not getting anywhere."

"Too many lies and loose bullshit gets passed around your floor at Parker Center," I shot back. "My partner's problems are his and mine. We'll deal with it."

"Okay, then just look me in the eye and tell me he's not fucking up."

She was angry. But she was also right and she was under a lot of pressure from Tony. She had recommended me for this case and after seven weeks I was nowhere. Since my position on Zack was untenable, I did what most outflanked husbands do. I got pissed off.

"People go through tough periods," I almost shouted. "God knows I did, and Zack was the one who. ."

"I don't want to hear about how Zack saved you back in the day! I'm talking about now. Four men are dead and if this fourth John Doe is a copycat, then the only clues we have on this damn serial murder case in seven weeks just evaporated." She threw her empty beer into the trash can next to the barbeque. "So tell me, Shane, is this guy the problem?"

"No, dammit! He's not the problem. You're the problem! You and all the other backstabbers at Parker Center."

I got up and stalked into the house, immediately feeling like a total ass. She wasn't the problem. Zack was. And I was, for protecting him.

I went into the den, picked up the murder book and angrily flipped it open. Proving Alexa's point, the binder was a complete mess. Things were filed wrong. The initial victim, whom I had named Woody after finding him in the wash at the Woodman Avenue overpass, had one of John Doe Number Three's crime scene photos pasted in his section by mistake. The section on John Doe Number Three, dubbed Cole for Colfax Avenue, was also a mess. Alexa and Cal were right. Zack was just going through the motions. He didn't give a damn. In fact, he was screwing up evidence.

I sat in the den and worked for almost two hours, reorganizing and bringing the murder book up to date. Some of it I had to do from memory because the transcriptions of our original crime scene audio tapes were missing. Fortunately, I'd held on to the cassettes. If Zack couldn't produce the transcripts, I'd have to get them redone. When I finished, I thought it was about 90 percent accurate. There was still paperwork missing that I'd have to look for in the morning.

I closed the book and went down the hall to our bedroom. Alexa was already in bed. I took off my clothes and lay down beside her. It was dark, but I knew she was awake.

After a long moment, she spoke softly. "I'll do the best I can to hold off the task force. And I'll leave Zack up to you unless it becomes impossible."

What more could I ask?

Then she rolled over and took me into her arms. "Because I know a man with good work ethics and a sense of the team is going to take care of business." Using Pete Carroll's words.

What do you say to a woman like that?

I guess you say, I'm sorry, I was wrong. So after a short internal struggle, that's what I did.

I lay in the warmth of my wife's arms and thought about that. Pete Carroll said you win by depending on your teammates. But how could I depend on Zack?

Before I fell asleep, I remembered Cindy's translation of the old Cyrillic warning.

Don't wake up, the tattoos cautioned.