Second Chance

Chapter 20

I STRAPPED ON MY GLOCK and grabbed Cappy and Jacobi on the way out before Lorraine had even finished filling me in. “I want a SWAT team out there,” I yelled.

Ten minutes later, we all screeched up to a makeshift roadblock on San Jacinto, a quiet residential street.

A radio car on routine patrol had spotted a Dodge Caravan parked outside a house in tony Forest Hills. What made him sure this was the car we were looking for was the decal of a two-headed lion on the rear bumper.

Vasquez, the young patrolman who had called in the van, pointed toward a tree-shaded Tudor halfway down the block, the white minivan parked at the end of the driveway. It seemed crazy. This was an affluent neighborhood, not a likely haven for criminals or murderers.

But there it was.

Our white van.

And Bernard Smith's Mufasa.

Moments later, an unmarked SWAT vehicle rigged to look like a cable TV repair truck pulled onto the street. The team was headed by Lieutenant Skip Arbichaut. I didn't know what the situation entailed, whether we would have a siege or possibly have to break our way in.

“Cappy, Jacobi, and I will go in first,” I said.

This was a homicide operation and I wasn't letting anyone else take the risk. I had Arbichaut deploy his men, two around back, three manning the front, and one with a sledge with us in case we had to bust in.

We strapped on protective vests and donned black nylon jackets identifying us as police. I clicked my 9mm off safety.

There wasn't much time to get nervous.

The SWAT truck started down the street, three black-vested snipers hugging its opposite side.

Cappy, Jacobi, and I followed the truck as cover until it pulled to a stop in front of a mailbox marked 610. Vasquez was right. The van was a match.

My heart was racing now. I had been in many forced entries before, but none with more at stake. We cautiously wove our way to the front of the house.

There were lights on inside, some noise from a TV.

At my nod, Cappy pounded the door with his gun.

“San Francisco Police. ”Jacobi and I crouched with our guns ready.

No one answered.

After a few tense seconds, I signaled Arbichaut for a ram.

Suddenly, the front door cracked open.

“Freeze,” Cappy boomed, swinging his gun into a shooting position. “San Francisco Police.”

A wide-eyed woman in powder blue exercise clothes stood frozen in the door. “Oh, my God,” she screeched, eyes fastened on our weapons.

Cappy yanked her out the front door as Arbichaut's SWAT team rushed the house. He barked, “Is anyone else at home?”

“Just my daughter,” the frightened woman shrieked.

“She's two.”

The black-vested SWAT team barged past her into the house as if they were searching for Elian Gonzalez.

“Is that your van?” jacobi barked.

The woman's eyes darted toward the street. “What is this about?”

“Is that your van?” Jacobi's voice boomed again.

“No,” she said, trembling. “No..”

“Do you know who it belongs to?”

She looked again, terrified, and shook her head. “I've never seen it before in my life.”

It was all wrong; I could see that. The neighborhood, the plastic kid's slide on the lawn, the spooked mom in the work-out clothes. A disappointed sigh was expelled from my chest.

The van had been dumped here.

All of a sudden, a green Audi knifed its way up to the curb, followed by two police cars. The Audi must have gone right through our roadblock. A well-dressed man in a suit and tortoiseshell glasses jumped out and ran toward the house. “Kathy, what the hell's going on?”

“Steve... ” The woman hugged him with a sigh of relief.

“This is my husband. I called him when I saw all the police outside our house.”

The man looked around at the eight cop cars, SWAT backup, and the SFPD inspectors standing around with weapons drawn. “What are you doing at my house? This is insane! This is nuts!”

“We believe that van was the vehicle used in the commission of a homicide,” I said. “We have every right to be here.”

“A homicide... ?”

Two of Arbichaut's men emerged from the house, indicating that there wasn't anyone else inside. Across the street, people were starting to file outdoors. "That van's been our number one priority for two days. I'm sorry to have upset you. There was no way to be sure.

The husband's indignation rose. His face and neck were beet red. “You're thinking we had something to do with this? With a homicide?”

I figured I had upset their lives enough. “The La Salle Heights shooting.”

“Have you people lost your minds? You suspected us in the strafing of a church?” His jaw dropped, and he fixed on me incredulously. “Do you idiots have any idea what I do?”

My eyes fell on his pinstriped gray suit, his blue button-down-collar shirt. I had the humiliating feeling I had just been made a fool of.

“I'm chief counsel for the Northern California chapter of the Anti-Defamation League.”