White Sister

Chapter 33.

I WAS PARKED in Dupar's lot with Alexa's computer resting on my lap. I left the material on her computer, but made a DVD copy and transferred the information to a blind file on Chooch's laptop. After I finished, I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through the contacts to find Figueroa's number. It was almost midnight, but I dialed him anyway. "Yeah?" his sleepy voice mumbled after the second ring. "It's Shane." There was a long pause before he said, "Okay." "I need to see you and Tommy tonight." "Meet you at our office on the fifth floor of the Police Administration Building," he said. "We can be there in an hour." "All good, except for the part about meeting at the PAB." "Shane, we're not meeting you any place but Parker Center." "I've got Alexa's computer. There's some interesting stuff on it you might wanta hear about." The mouthpiece of the phone was suddenly covered by his hand and I heard his muffled voice say, "Go back to sleep, Rachel. I got it." When he came back on the line he said, "Just a minute." Then I was on hold. A few seconds later, he was back. "Hadda change phones, sorry." "Rafie, I can't take a chance, going down to Parker Center. I might not walk out of there. If you guys want this computer, meet me at the Greek Theatre in an hour." "The Greek? You're kidding me." "You remember Sergeant Loveboy from Valley Vice?" "Big fat guy. Retired." "That's him. He's the plastic badge at the Greek now. He'll let you in." "What's going on, Shane?" "Tell ya when I see ya." Then I hung up. I left my Acura at Dupar's and put the Jeep in gear, pulling out of the parking lot. The Greek Theatre sits in a small canyon off North Vermont Avenue in Griffith Park. Once, about three years ago, in an attempt to add culture to my life, Alexa had dragged me to a summer concert of Classics. While the rest of the audience was listening to Tchaikovsky and Mozart, my mind wandered and I found myself studying the layout. The amphitheater was nestled in the hills, surrounded on all sides by forest. I realized it would be possible to get in and out of this place by coming down from the fire road on the hillside above the canyon. I put the amphitheater on my list of possible spots for a clandestine meet. This location became even more attractive two years ago when my old Valley Watch Commander pulled the pin and became a night security guard at the amphitheater. Sgt. Dorsey Loveboy was a fat, loose-jointed guy who looked as if his shirt was always untucked even when he was standing a dress inspection. But we'd had a good relationship, which I was now planning to take advantage of. I pulled up North Vermont Avenue and stopped about fifty feet back from his post. I blinked my lights twice to wake him if he was dozing, then I pulled up and watched as he stood up from the swivel chair in the guard shack and looked out at me. He was wearing an oversized Romark Security uniform designed to resemble LAPD blue. He leaned down and looked into the driver's side window of the Cherokee. I saw a slight smile cross his lips. "Scully. Still on the right side of the dirt, I see. Musta got a lot quicker than before." "How you been, Sarge?" He leaned in closer and said, "I'm real sorry about your old lady, Shane. Never really knew the lieutenant, but the word I got is she's good people." "Thanks." There was a pause, then he said, "From what I've been hearing on TV, this can't be a social call." I nodded and said, "I need to use this place tonight. Can you pop the back lock on E-gate for me, leave this gate open for some friends of mine?" "I don't need any trouble." "I'm just meeting two cops from Homicide Special. Since they're undercovers, we didn't want to use the PAB. This seemed like a good, quiet place," trying to smooth it out. "Just don't screw me up, Shane." He knew he wasn't getting the full story. "I promise. I'm going to come in from the back. These guys may be a little hinky, but they're good cops. Just let 'em in." He gave it a long moment of thought before he turned and walked away from the car to open the gate. I turned the Jeep around and pulled back down the drive. Then I made a right and headed up Vermont toward an unmarked fire road, which ran along a ridge above the dense growth of trees that surround the Greek. I stopped on the hill above the theater, parking on the shoulder, leaving the car pointing downhill. Then I made my way back down through the dense foliage toward the back of the concrete amphitheater. I didn't think Rafie and Tommy would try and hook me up, but if they did, I could make a break out the back of the stadium and climb the hill to the Jeep. If they followed me, they'd be a mile away from their cars. It took only five minutes to reach the back of the amphitheater. I found the E Stair gate, which Sgt. Loveboy had unlocked for me, swung it open, and entered the theater. The Greek is one of the most beautiful open-air concert venues in Los Angeles. It can seat thousands on wood benches attached to concrete risers. A row of pink-white security lights illuminated the place, casting a rosy glow on the thousands of empty wood seats. I placed Alexa's computer under one of the benches down front, memorized the seat number, then moved away from it and sat in the last row, as high up as I could go. From this vantage point, I could see the whole layout stretched below me under the stars. I waited for half an hour. Then I saw them coming into the amphitheater through the main entrance. Both wore jeans, tennis shoes, windbreakers, and frowns as they moved forward and stood looking around. They appeared to be alone. I was easy to spot sitting up in the last row, and Rafie pointed me out to Tommy. "This is fun," Tommy yelled. "You guys alone?" I yelled back. "Yeah," Rafie called out, adding sarcastically, "Request permission to approach, Oh Fucked One?" I waved them up and watched as they climbed almost a hundred steps and finally stopped at the eighty-fifth row, where I was seated. They were both winded when they arrived. "Okay," Rafie said, "where's the computer?" "Not so fast. I need you guys to help me first." "Yeah," Tommy said. "What kinda help? You can't need career advice 'cause you ain't got a career." I didn't need any more of that, so I launched right into it. "I talked to Sergeant Rosencamp, who's the new president of OJB. He told me that a while back David Slade made a nine-one-one call and got the Malibu sheriffs to send a car up to Stacy's mansion to bust an intruder that turned out to be him. Do you guys remember that?" "How could anybody forget? When it happened, it was all over the department," Rafie said. "Do you guys remember when that was?" "I don't know," Tommy said. "Mid to late nineties." "Which was it, mid or late?" "I don't know." "You know anybody you could call who was in IAD back then, somebody who could pin the date for us? I'd do it, but right now I don't have any friends down there." "Why you need the date?" Rafie said. "Sergeant Rosencamp told me one of our people at I. A. called the Sheriff's Department with the suggestion they make a voice print to find out if it was Slade who called in the original complaint. That voice print was what busted him. I want to know which one of our people in I. A. had the idea to do that, and when, exactly, it was." Rafie looked at Tommy, who shrugged. Then Figueroa contributed a name. "I think Fred Duma was an advocate at I. A. in the nineties." "Call him," I said. "I don't even know how to get Duma's number." "Lou Spinetta, maybe," Tommy said. "They were partners in South Bureau before Duma went to I. A." After a few minutes, Rafie had Fred Duma on the phone. "I got him," Rafie said. "He says he was a defense rep at I. A. off and on in the nineties." "Ask him," I said. So Rafie asked Duma my two questions and then paused and listened. "Are you sure about that?" he finally said. "Okay… okay. Sorry I woke you, man. Thanks." He disconnected, then turned to face us. "That's funny," he said. "It was ninety-eight, right?" I said. Rafie nodded. "Alexa was in I. A. back then. It was her idea to call the sheriffs and tip them, wasn't it?" "I don't get it," Tommy said. "If she was in a relationship with this guy and was friends with him since the Academy, why would she blow him in to the sheriff?" "Damn good question," I said softly.