Vigilante

CHAPTER 37

The LAPD has had a major face-lift in the past few years. Besides the PAB downtown and the Hollenbeck Station, the Hertzberg-Davis Forensic Science Center at Cal State Los Angeles is fully operational. It’s a five-story brick and terrazzo building with inward-leaning sides, which makes it look like a long, rectangular pyramid with the top third cut off. The LAPD shares the 209,000-square-foot space with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, a fact that causes a little elbowing in waiting lines but on balance is a big improvement over our old space.

The Forensic Science Center has specially equipped areas for ballistics and firearms identification as well as forensic biology. The old DNA facility had space for about eight people, but with the ever-increasing demand for biological evidence, by the time we moved, there were almost forty CSIs camping out in the hallways. It was an overcrowded hive of squashed-together scientists, all buzzing angrily, about to sting. Over here everyone had wide smiles and they served you coffee.

Hitch and I handed over the two cups and gave instructions to run them for a match against the cup we found in Lita’s driveway. We asked for our results ASAP.

I went to the ERT area to check on our footprints. I found a young guy named Adam Rush who pulled the results up on his computer.

“Lotta Blackhawk! Warrior, light assault, lace-ups,” he told me. “They’re real popular in Patrol, so we’re starting by checking those against the cops who were on the scene.” He clicked to another shot.

“And here’s Waldo,” he said, pulling up another footprint. “This guy doesn’t fit the others. Sole pattern is from a rubber Baffin outdoor boot. Size thirteen. It doesn’t lace up, so no cop would be wearing it. You can see it’s got a triangle-shaped nick in the left heel and some pronounced tread scuffs. Also, the dust we recovered on the footprint has traces of ammonium polyphosphate, which is a chemical used to put out fires. Not sure what that means yet.” He printed me out a copy of the boot print and I left, feeling like it was progress. A tiny bit of physical evidence.

I called Alexa and gave her a heads-up on what was going on, ending our conversation by asking her to call Forensic Biology and put a little command staff oomph behind our request.

Hitch was still filling out the paperwork for our DNA, so I used the time to visit the Electronic Surveillance Department. I got one of the lab techs to go out in the parking lot with me and wand the Acura for bugs. I was pretty sure I’d picked up something at the marina, and I had. There was a little satellite voice transmitter with a GPS function buried inside the Acura’s rearview mirror. I had to make a decision as to whether to leave it there or to have the bug removed. If I took it out, it would alert Nash that I had found it and that might change his behavior. In the game of chess I was playing, knowledge was power, so I left it where it was.

When Hitch came downstairs I showed him the Baffin boot print and told him about the bug in the Acura. He was buoyed by the size 13 rubber boot and agreed it was a good idea to leave the bug where it was. If we rode in the Acura, we’d have to keep our discussions off the case.

“This is our unsub,” Hitch said, still looking at the boot print in his hand. “He went to Lita’s house to kill her. He knew it was going to get messy, so the guy wore rubber boots.”

I agreed. We caravanned back to the PAB and closed out the day making phone calls.

I drove home at six and went out to the backyard to watch the moonlight on the water. Alexa wasn’t home yet and I was feeling lonely and a little afraid for my future.

I hadn’t spoken to Chooch in at least a week, so I dialed his cell. He was in midterms at USC and didn’t sound like he had much time to talk, but he did let one gem slip.

“Listen, Dad, next semester I’m thinking about taking Introduction to Police Science,” he said unexpectedly.

“You’re a finance major. What’s a finance major need with police science?”

“You and Mom are cops. I just want to understand what you do. How can that hurt?”

“It just seems like it’s not something you’ll need, is all.”

“Todd McNear, my left-side tackle on the scout team, took it last semester and he says it’s really interesting and kind of easy. Never hurts to pile up a few easy credits to pump up the GPA.”

My alarms were ringing. Chooch has a 3.5 average while playing Division I football at USC. DI ball’s a huge time commitment, and even so, he’d been an academic All-American for three years straight. His GPA was fine. I wasn’t keen on the idea of him taking police science. I didn’t know where it might lead.

“Listen, Dad, I gotta get back to this review sheet. Call me on Sunday.”

“Right. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

After he hung up I sat there watching the moon on the water and tried to keep my mind off the possibility of my son being wooed into a law enforcement career. I guess you naturally set higher goals for your children than yourself. I had visions of him using his finance degree to run a large multi-national corporation or something. I chose police work because of who I was and a need for an identity back when I didn’t have one. It was a perfect choice for me, but I had larger ambitions for Chooch.

I finally pushed that thought away and also tried not to think about the two cases Hitch and I were working on. I’ve discovered that a little separation can be helpful. If I create some distance, the next time I open the folder I might see things I’d completely missed before.

But my thoughts kept pulling me back into that strange meeting with Nash aboard the Bounty. I wondered about his insistence on equating a British naval mutiny that took place over two hundred years ago to current law enforcement practices in Los Angeles. The more I thought about it, the more it had me wondering about his mental state. Or maybe I just wanted him to be crazy because crazy people are easier to catch.

So far, Nix Nash had not made any obvious goofs that I could spot. It wasn’t hard to figure out why he kept inviting me to go to work for him in rooms he controlled. I was pretty sure Bligh’s cabin and Nash’s studio dressing room were both outfitted with hidden cameras or mikes, just like the one in my car. My new paranoid theory was Nash wanted me to agree to sell out the department on some hidden camera so he could unpack me in front of his national TV audience.

The front door opened and I heard Alexa drop her briefcase on the table.

“I’m home,” she called out.

“Bring me a beer,” I called back.

A moment later she appeared on the patio and handed me a Corona. Then she sat down beside me.

“I’ve been worried about those two coffee cups ever since you called me,” she said. “If the science lab puts Stephanie or Lester Madrid in Lita’s driveway the night of her murder, then we’re going to have to bust one of them, and that’s going to set our inner city on fire.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” I said.

But of course the next morning that’s exactly what happened.