Vigilante

CHAPTER 29

“You go first,” I told Hitch. We were sitting in his Porsche parked outside the Trumbulls’ condo with our crime scene interview books open in our laps. Mine was a cheap spiral notepad. Hitch had his three-hundred-dollar red leather journal embossed in gold. Captain Calloway thought Hitch used it to make notes on new screenplay ideas, but I knew it was only full of crime scene sketches and case observations made in his tight, almost illegible scrawl.

“Why do I have to go first?” Hitch countered.

“Because I went first at Lita’s house.”

“Okay, I think we gotta figure Hannah was probably dating cops. And that really sucks the big one.”

“I agree. Fits right into Nash’s overall premise that we’re all dirtbag killers. He’ll say Hannah and her cop boyfriend got into a fight and the cop dumped her. When Hall and Monroe found out, they were just covering for their fellow officer.”

I tapped my pen on the cover of the spiral pad, then flipped it open and started to write. Hitch did the same. We were silent as we both wrote out our impressions of the Trumbull interview, getting them down while they were still fresh.

When he finished he looked up and said, “Hannah’s dad was right about cops and nurses having a thing. I did that once. It’s just easier. With a nurse you don’t have to explain the darkness you feel, because they feel the same things.”

I nodded. “Even though we’re walking in a minefield here, I’m kind of glad we put in for this case. I feel bad for the Trumbulls. I don’t think they got much of a murder investigation.”

“Me either,” Hitch said.

“I’d sure like to talk to Detective Monroe. We should stay close to his wife. If he calls in early from his hunting trip, he needs to contact us.”

Hitch nodded. Just then my pager went off. A couple of seconds later, so did Hitch’s. We glanced at each other as we dug for our phones. A double page meant trouble.

I hit my speed dial first and got right through to Jeb.

“Get in here fast,” he said. “Bring Hitchens.” He hung up abruptly.

“Don’t bother,” I told Hitch. “It’s Jeb. Wants us both. He’s in comic book mode.”

“Fuck. What’d we do now?”

Fifteen minutes later we were in Calloway’s small office along with Alexa and DC Bud Hawkins. Deputy Chief Hawkins was a tall, angular, dandruff-sprinkled guy who had short gray hair that grew in about four different directions on his head and was also sprouting out of his ears and nose.

Alexa wasted no time: “We’re going to suspend Captain Madrid on administrative charges pending a Board of Rights hearing,” she said.

“For hitting Lita?”

“For that and for mishandling that whole damn situation. She got so involved in that dispute she completely forgot to open her chute. Deputy Chief Hawkins and I are going to appoint Lieutenant Jasmine Nishikido as temporary chief advocate and get her to take over immediately.”

“Given this video, we need to question Captain Madrid again on Lita’s murder,” I said. “That assault could constitute provocation.”

Alexa nodded. “But let’s take this a step at a time. We don’t have any direct evidence tying her to Lita’s murder, so there’s no criminal case yet. I’ll call the DA’s office and put them aboard, but they’ll just tell us to get more evidence before we bring them in or try to book it. That means all we’ve got so far is this administrative complaint.

“We’ve already filled out the IA charge sheet. Captain Madrid’s two blocks away at the Bradbury, but I don’t like picking up armed police officers. We did that once a few years back and it turned ugly and got dangerous. We’re having a sergeant at the jail call her and tell her that one of his detainees has volunteered important information on an IAG case she has going in her division. The sergeant will say that the informant will only discuss it with her.”

“Okay,” I said.

The reason this was a good idea was because all police officers have to surrender their weapons before entering the jail. Once Captain Madrid was disarmed they would be able to safely detain her without incident for an interview. Not that anybody really thought that she’d go for her gat and start blasting, but you never know.

Since Hitch and I were the lead detectives on the Mendez case, we would be the ones to interview her. It was a path fraught with career danger. If we swung and missed, we’d have a lifelong enemy with a grudge who was still a ranking IA commander.

Alexa was ahead of me on this. “I’m going to handle the suspect interview,” she said. “Shane, you and Detective Hitchens will be there, but only to observe.”

Captain Madrid was called and given the message. She hurried to the Central Jail to hear whatever dirt the fictitious incarcerated detainee had to contribute.

She left a Glock 9 in the police lockbox at the jail reception desk. As soon as she was inside an I-room, Alexa entered and handed her the charge sheet. Hitch and I stood behind Alexa and watched as the shock slowly registered on Captain Madrid’s pugnacious features.

“Even though you know all this, I’m required to inform you that the two-week clock on this complaint starts at this time and date,” Alexa told her. “You retain all of your administrative rights and privileges, including your right to a Skelly hearing, which will take place anytime before the end of the two-week period. At your Skelly, you’ll be allowed to bring a defense rep and a POA rep, and will be able to respond to these charges in detail. Until then you are suspended.”

Alexa read Stephanie Madrid her Miranda rights and the captain sat on the bench in the jail I-room glaring as if Alexa had just crawled up through some trapdoor from hell.

“If that charge sheet is trying to suggest that because of some shouting match in the court parking garage last week I had anything to do with Lita Mendez’s murder, you really are insane,” she said. “I don’t know who told you about that, but there are two sides to everything. That sheet hardly captures the incident. What happened is completely open to interpretation.”

“Maybe you should take a look at this,” Alexa said.

She turned on a small monitor we’d brought into the room and played the video the court clerk had taken in the garage. When the video ended, Stephanie Madrid sat there stiffly.

“Comments?” Alexa said.

“I want to see my union rep,” the captain replied.

“You don’t want to make a statement to me and just clear this up for us?” Alexa asked.

“Clear what up? You saw what happened. I pulled up to discuss the case and Mendez verbally assaulted me. I gently pushed her out of my space, and then she attacked me. I didn’t like her, but I sure didn’t kill her. As far as I’m concerned, we’re through talking until I get some professional advice.”

“Okay,” Alexa said. “That’s it, then.”

“Are you planning on holding me here?” Captain Madrid asked. “Because as I see this, all you have is a potential administrative offense. You can’t connect me to the death of Lita Mendez. I have an alibi and I’ve already given Detectives Scully and Hitchens my verifiable time line.”

“Are we finally at that point where you would be willing to submit to a lie detector test?” I asked, trying to keep from sounding pissy.

“What do you think, Detective?” Captain Madrid snapped.

“My intention is to OR you, Captain.” Alexa was referring to a release on Madrid’s Own Recognizance. “However, I’d like you to remain here until you talk to your union rep in case he advises you to cooperate more fully.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Stephanie Madrid met with her rep from the Police Officers Association. Her POA rep was a retired lieutenant named Beau Butler. After they spoke, she refused to give further statements, on his advice. She agreed to a set of restrictions, including the promise that she remain in Los Angeles unless notifying us first. Since she would be tried at IA, Alexa agreed that Captain Madrid could retain the use of her office in the Bradbury Building and the use of her adjutant in the preparation of her defense. Then, escorted by her POA rep, Captain Madrid left the Police Administration Building.

Hitch and I stood in the lobby and watched as she crossed the quad with Lieutenant Butler. They made their way across a wide setback, which separated the PAB from the street barricades designed to prevent a car bomb from taking out the mirrored front walls of our new monument to twenty-first-century policing.

Captain Madrid got into her POA rep’s Lincoln Town Car, leaving her sedan in the parking garage. We watched as they drove up First Street until the car disappeared.