Night Moves

Chapter 49

Judge Sonia Martinez was on vacation.

“Fishing in Alaska, hopefully a bear won’t eat her,” said Milo.

He called Biro for another name, Biro had nothing to offer. Several more calls finally pulled up Galen Friedman, a recent appointee with higher political aspirations and a rep as “a cop groupie, his daughter just started the academy.”

Friedman listened to fifteen seconds of Milo’s spiel and said, “You’ve obviously done your homework. Bring the application to my house and you’re all set.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Where are you?”

Friedman gave him an address on June Street in Hancock Park.

“Terrific, Your Honor. Meantime, may I assume verbal—”

“Is sufficient?” said Friedman. “You may, go catch some criminals, Lieutenant Sturgis. And don’t forget the little ones in December.”

“Which little ones?”

“Ill children are my fervent cause, Lieutenant. I chair an appeal for Orthopedic Hospital at year’s end. It defines worthy.”

“I’m on board, sir.”

“You bet you are, Lieutenant.”

After completing the warrant application, Milo said, “Just to keep things smooth,” and phoned Deputy D.A. John Nguyen.

Nguyen said, “You’re still after the loco cartoonist?”

“No, he’s off the radar.”

“What, then? Something’s changed?”

“A lot’s changed, John.”

When Milo finished, Nguyen said, “You’ve built up the grounds. I could’ve gotten you in with any judge.”

“Didn’t wanna bug you, John.”

“Sure, that was it,” said Nguyen. “Friedman hit on you for one of his charities?”

“Sick kids.”

“See you at his party,” said Nguyen. “You’ll get to see his house. Freakin’ castle. But shit hors d’oeuvres.”

Milo got a uniform named Shari Bostwick to deliver the paperwork to Friedman.

She said, “Hancock Park, ooh,” and left.

I said, “No desire to see the castle?”

“Not tonight.” He stood, shook himself off like a wet dog, and tossed his jacket over his shoulder. “My real estate dreams are more modest. Let’s see which troops I can convene.”

Moroni was on a motorcycle trip to South Dakota, Lincoln visiting relatives in Birmingham, Alabama.

Leaving Reed and Binchy and anyone else Milo could muster.

Everyone he talked to had reasons and excuses. The most he could get out of a harried sergeant was patrol cars driving by Evada Lane “maybe two, three times” per shift.

Milo said, “Appreciate it, but don’t bother.”

He phoned Raul Biro again. “What you said before, bored? Still that way?”

“Ready to shed my skin.”

“Okay, got something for you but it’s not gonna actually be stimulating.”

Biro said, “Better than the alternative.”

Milo told him to keep an eye on the Evada house. “Be there when the sun sets.”

Another email check ended with a smile. “Miracle of miracles, Mr. Light of Day actually came through — permission to enter the Marquette house by any means necessary. Okay, you go home and relax, Moe and Sean and I will handle it.”

“Smaller team than with Bitt.”

“Given what happened last year, maybe it’s better keeping it light and tight.”

I’d been there when a raid on another house had led to a murderer being shot to death by an overeager rookie. Ruled justified but the process had dragged on and the shooter had left law enforcement.

I said, “What time, tonight?”

He looked at me.

I said, “All this foreplay and no climax?”

“Listen to you, Dr. Salty. It’s the vest again and you’ll stand even farther back.”

“I’m getting used to the look and I don’t mind solitude.”

“Fine, but first help me scheme.”