White sister

Chapter 35

I left the Greek Theatre by the back exit and headed back down the hill toward the 134 Freeway.

I liked my theory about David Slade being Alexa's undercover a lot better than I liked the idea of him being her lover, but there were still a few pieces that, no matter which way I tried to put them in the puzzle, wouldn't fit.

One was Tony Filosiani. If Alexa had placed Slade into deep cover, there was no way that she would have been able to hide it from the chief. If Tony knew about all this, why didn't he tell Mike Ramsey or me? Why had he let it turn into such a PR mess?

The second piece was the arrest warrant they'd put out on me. If this thing started in Internal Affairs in the late nineties, why were those guys running around with a charge sheet accusing me of murder? Somebody some commander at PSB had to know about it.

By the time I arrived at USC Medical, it was two o'clock in the morning. My head was throbbing from lack of sleep, so I went to the cafeteria first and got a cup of black coffee. I was just about to leave with my plastic cup, when I saw the young ER doc who had treated Jonathan Bodine, making her way toward me. She had a worried look on her face, and I knew instantly, that the Crown Prince of Bassaland was in trouble.

"Detective, I've been calling you on that number you left. It goes straight to voice mail. Why didn't you answer?"

"Problems?" I said.

"Mr. Bodine is insane."

"Oh, come on, not really insane. Deluded maybe, probably disillusioned on occasion, but surely not insane."

"He started a fire out of bedspreads in the men's room of the ward I transferred him to. He was doing an African fire dance or some damn thing. He set off the sprinklers. I'm transferring him to the mental ward first thing in the morning."

I really didn't want Bodine transferred to a psych ward. That was the last thing my shaky alibi needed.

"You're his admitting doctor," I said. "If you'll prepare release forms, I'll take him home with me when I leave and you'll be done with him."

"It's the middle of the night."

"I won't tell, if you won't."

She thought about it, but not for long. "Anything to get him out of here."

"Bring him back to ER and I'll grab him on my way out."

So much for that.

I took my coffee to the elevator and went up to the coronary care unit. The place was quiet. I knew the nurses on duty would stop me if I went by the main desk, so I waited until they were involved with patients who needed middle-of-the-night meds, then snuck past the vacant nurse's station and into Tony's room, closing the door.

Tony was sleeping. A drip trolley full of goodies was feeding solutions into him and a catheter tube was draining it all away. I moved to a chair beside his bed.

"Chief?" I said softly, as I touched his arm.

After a few seconds Tony opened his eyes.

"Huh?"

"Hi," I said and held his weak gaze.

"What time is it?" he whispered, his voice, still more or less a croak.

"I need to talk to you," I said.

"I did the TV interview. It's gonna be on the Today show. Supposed to air tomorrow," he said.

"Good." I decided I'd better get into this before I was discovered and thrown out. "I've been out doing what you said."

"What's that?" He sounded tired. His eyelids drooped.

"I've been out trying to prove that Alexa didn't shoot Slade."

"Good," he said weakly. "That's the ticket."

"Chief, you said you had an I. A. file on your desk about Slade." "Right."

"I think all that stuff in the file is made up. The road-rage stuff, the nine-one-one call. I think it was all done to make him look like a rogue cop so the department could set him up for a deep cover assignment."

"Where did you get that?" he asked. He looked trapped and tried to rise up.

"Doesn't matter where I got it." All of a sudden, I wasn't sure how much I could trust this guy. "If Slade was a deep cover, then all those light reprimands he got at I. A. were the direct doing of the Chief of Police. Back then, I. A. had a provision that let the chief review all sentences. He couldn't make a sentence heavier, but he could make it lighter. I think that's what Chief Brewer did. At first I thought it was because Brewer was corrupt and had something going with Slade, but now I think it was because he really wanted to plant Slade inside the Maluga organization. When you took command, I. A. would definitely have filled you in on that kind of deep cover op. So you had to know Slade was a UC when I talked to you yesterday."

Tony looked at me carefully before finally saying, "This is not something I will discuss with you."

"You're not gonna discuss it? You're the one who told me there are times when I should risk everything to find the truth. I thought you were one of the good guys."

"You don't have the whole truth."

"They're tattooing Alexa and me in the media. Don't you think the department owes us some truth?"

"Sometimes command is about priorities, Shane. Sometimes it's a balancing act where you pick the lesser of two problems. Alexa is in a coma. Word I'm getting is she's not going to get any better. They're operating Monday morning, but it's just window dressing. She's already slipped away from us."

"She's not dying," I said, my voice rising in anger.

"I think she is, and if she's gone, then what they're saying about her on TV can't hurt her. I'm betting in the end this won't stick to you."

"I thought you cared about her. You're just like the other guy."

"I do care about her," Tony said softly. "In fact, I love Alexa like a daughter. But there are things you don't know about, and they demand this course of action."

The door behind me opened and a nurse was standing there.

"What are you doing? His heart monitor on our station is going crazy. Get out of here this minute!"

I stood and moved to the door, but Tony stopped me. "There's department rationale guiding this, Shane."

"There may be department rationale," I said. "But the reasoning sucks."

"There's still people at risk. I'm supposed to be the chief of the entire department. That includes everyone, not just you and Alexa. I have to evaluate each situation, examine risks, and play no favorites."

I turned and walked out of the room without answering.

As I left the hospital I picked up John Bodine. He was still wearing Chooch's bloody sweatshirt and his head had tape all over it.

"Here we go again, John," I told him. "Don't try to be quite so original this time."

He looked at me and shook his head. Then he started right in. "In California, ain't no originals. Out here, everybody so busy bein' original, they all be 'zackly the same."

I grabbed his wheelchair and pushed him out of the ER. Once we were outside, I stood him up.

"Don't be yank-slammin' me around. Lookit this what you done." He pulled up the sweatshirt to reveal a pound of tape and gauze wrapped around his chest, stomach, and abdomen. "This here tape an' shit's all that's holding my dick on. So don't be pushin' and shovin'."

I got him out to Chooch's Jeep.

"Where you gonna dump me now?" he said.

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "If you shut up, you can sleep in the back. I'll sleep in the front."

"Thought you was gonna let me bunk in that sweet garage room you got. Now you sayin' I gotta sleep in this Detroit coffin."

"Shut up, John."

"Man, you ain't nothin' but some drives-too-fast, run-a-man-down, gutter scum."

A classification that seemed to fit.