Part 12 : Eduardo Diaz

I've driven out North to Paleto Bay before, and been in a helicopter over the city once, but Las Venturas is the furthest I'd ever ventured from Los Santos, and my first time flying in an airplane. We were there on business rather than pleasure, but I already know I wanna go back there, I'm busy plannin' it in my head gettin' our cases off the baggage carousel at Los Santos X when two uniforms come in and start yellin' for us.

I look over my shoulder, back at her; she looks at me, then she goes on up to let the cops know where we are. A second later, the whole trio's comin' for me.

"Detective Diaz," one of the uniforms asks me. I nod up. "Don't worry about your cases, I'll get 'em," he says.

I straighten. "What's going on," I demand.

"My orders are to get you both on the chopper. You'll be briefed from there."

"What about my car," she starts to argue.

"Give me your keys, I'll take it to the Vinewood precinct," the uniform says.

She does. "Red Cheval Fugitive," she tells him, then reels off the license plate. Then we're ushered with some urgency through a corridor that takes us back airside, where a LSPD helicopter waits for us on a helipad. I let her get in first, then follow. Two more uniformed cops and a pilot wait for us and we're instructed to put the headsets on so we can hear over the helicopter's intercom system and our ears are protected from the engine noise.

"The Captain told us to call him as soon as we picked you up," a Moustachio'd cop whose badge says Moss tells us. "He's patched into the feed. Go ahead, Captain."

Now we hear the voice of our Captain, Kirby, from the Vinewood precinct we work out of.

"Welcome home guys," he tells us as the helicopter lifts off from the pad. "Sorry to grab you out before you've had a chance to acclimatise but while you've been out in the desert, everything's gone to sh*t. I don't know if they have news out there, but since you've been away there's been three major assassinations, a prison break and a biker war. God knows what else. The Feds have got most of our resources tied up helping with the escape of a traitor selling US secrets out of Bolingbroke so I need you two on this case that's just come up. It's already generating a lot of interest so don't screw it up."

"Okay Captain, what do we know," she asks.

"Not a damn thing. That's your job. Shooting at the Land Act Dam, that's all I know so far."

The helicopter brings us down but there's nowhere level enough for the pilot to land it so we're gonna have to drop out the few feet he's hovering above the ground. We're met by another uniformed officer that introduces himself as Walker and he escorts us up the dirt path to the Dam. There's an ambulance parked up, two EMT's working on our vic.

"What's the story here," I ask. Any time EMT's or Fire Department get involved, all our evidence gets trashed, but that's how it is, life saving efforts gotta take priority.

"Male victim, late thirties," Walker says. "Call came in just over a half hour ago, a Dam engineer was coming out for a cigarette break when she sees our vic take a hit in the chest. Gunshot noise follows a second later. She called 911 and reported a sniper, so we all scrambled out here pretty quick. Victim was alive so EMT's were called, but we couldn't get a N.O.O.S.E. unit after what happened yesterday at the prison, so we've secured the scene as best we can. Still are securing," he adds as the helicopter that bought us here circles around overhead. It's now shining its searchlight down on the hillsides that surround the dam.

"Witness is over there," he says, pointing to where a woman in overalls sits in the doorway of one of the Dam buildings. "I've already got her contact details, but I don't know how useful she'll be."

A few lab spooks in head-to-toe whites and breathing masks are weaving their way around the scene, trying not to interfere with the EMT's. They've got the vic on a gurney now and an IV set up and are carefully wheeling him over the rough floor towards the back of the waiting ambulance.

We both approach, identify ourselves to the EMT's, much to their chagrin.

The patient is, sorta, awake. His eyes widen when they lock on my partner. Her's do the same.

"Hey, you know this one," I ask, but she's ignoring me.

He's now struggling with his phone. Maybe some evidence that'll tell us who did this to him.

But no.

I don't know what he's shown her, but he lets go of the phone, leaves it in her hand, keeps his gaze on her as she stands frozen staring at the screen while the medics busy themselves loading the gurney into the ambulance.

"Where're they going," she demands from Walker.

"Mount Zonah," he says.

"I gotta go with him," she shouts to the EMT's, firmly.

"Well hurry up, cos we've gotta go," the lead EMT snaps.

Walker steps away to say something into his radio. A car pulls up while he's doing that. His partner steps up to it but the guys getting out flash Detective badges.

"Hey, yo," I say, alerting her, stopping her halfway to the ambulance. EMT's are still getting him in so we have a second or two.

"Who's in charge here," shouts the Detective getting out of the passenger door. His right hand's in a pot.

My partner steps toward him. "I am," she says.

"Detectives Fletcher and Lewis, Mission Row" he says. "We're taking over here."

"You're out of your jurisdiction, Lewis. This is Vinewood," she tells him.

Lewis and Fletcher look at each other. "Look, Princess, this crime scene relates to a high-profile investigation we've already got ongoing..."

"Then I'm sure your Captain will have no problem getting on the phone to ours," I say. They look at me, and I see the judgements in their eyes.

She does too, for her own reasons. "But until our Captain tells us to stand down, the scene's ours," she adds.

"So you two don't touch nothing," I finish.

Lewis rolls his eyes and turns back towards their car. Fletcher takes a step forward. "Fair enough," he agrees. "But at least let us observe. We wanna know what evidence there is."

I'm about to concede, but she holds up a finger, takes hold of my arm and asks if she can talk to me.

"Just a minute," I tell Fletcher. He nods and turns away, back to his petulant buddy.

She shows me Harvey's phone now. It's open to his emails, one in particular is open. I read it.

Hello Shaun,

You may not remember me, I know you've had your own problems and I'm sorry but I don't know who else to trust.

The Lt has sent me under. I'm in deep and I'm over my head. Could really use a friend right now.

- Flowers.

"Okay," I start, uncertainly, but what she says next throws me a real curveball.

Being a cop when your family are prominent OG's is a tough gig. You know, OG; Original Gangsta. Big players in the Varrios Los Aztecas, ese, what's up?

My pops is Hazer Diaz. He's like Aztecas royalty. Rumor is he took the katana I have on the mantelpiece in my apartment and he f***ing represented, y'know what I'm sayin'?

After that, I could have got in the Life. I coulda' been set. Growin' up in my hood, there's an expectation, y'know? Earning your colors is like puberty, it's what makes you a man.

I love my uncles and my cousins. I'm proud of what my pops represents. I'm proud of my heritage. But the Life?

Nah, man, there's gotta be a better way.

Uncle Gal, he don't get it but he tries. Because of his support, remindin' the new blood there'd be no them without my pops, I still get invited to the barbecues. Ortega, one of the current OG's, the one who holds sway on our block, he talks to me, but we don't really talk, y'know?

I got friends I was tight with since first grade. Cousins, brothers, all had my back. And I've had theirs, plenty, but the day I became a cop? All that went away. They cross the street when they see me. Stand at the other side of the yard at family barbecues and parties. They won't say it to my face, prolly cos Uncles Gal an' Sunny are still Royalty - they won't touch me because they know Gal an' Sunny would come down on 'em if they did - but I know. They say that I'm disgracin' my father.

I ask my moms. I been askin' my moms since the day I got accepted at the Academy, since my first day there, since the day I graduated and the day I started my first Assignment. I ask her, am I doing the right thing?

She smiles at me, that strange smile. She kisses me. But she don't answer.

Then Monday comes, an' I put on my suit an' I go to work where half the white cops see a banger with a badge, an' the black cops see a cholo gettin' up in their bidness bullsh*t.

I wanted to be a cop so I could build a bridge between where I came from and where my people oughta be, but instead I find myself stood on that bridge, stuck between both worlds while both ends burn.

Like, I don't belong in either, or some sh*t. It's lonely sometimes and it gets on my nerves, but because of my partner, I ain't on that bridge on my own.

She's pure San Andreas girl, blonde, slender, sun-kissed, she'd be right at home skateboarding Del Perro beach in a bikini or working in some salon. Never mind she's got an IQ that'd make your average banker stop embezzling customer's savings pots to be ashamed for a second. People look at her, those same people that look at me and see a gangsta, they look at her and see a pretty little rich girl playing cop that's gonna one day break down in tears and run away.

Both of us have to work twice as hard to get half as far as these judgemental a$$holes and everyone is just waiting until the day we fail when they can point their fingers and say "tol' you so."

It's why they partnered us. It's why we kick a$$.

"I'm Flowers," my partner Candy, Detective Candace Butler, hisses.

"Damn, girl, what the f***," I whisper back.

"But I didn't send him that email. The vic is Shaun Harvey. He used to work Homicide out of Mission Row," she says.

"The Shaun Harvey?" I was still walkin' my beat in a uniform the day the news broke he'd ripped off some truck for about a bazillion bucks.

"I don't trust those guys," she continues. "I don't want them getting a hold of this," meaning Harvey's phone. It's an old model iFruit, like the very first one they bought out.

"We gotta go, now," the head EMT shouts at us.

"Alright," I sigh, thinking on my feet. "Leave it with me, I'll babysit 'em, pick you up when I get done here" I tell her. She gives me that little smile and runs for the ambulance.

Meanwhile I turn back to Fletcher and Lewis. "Alright fellas," I holla. "Walker, let's go talk to the witness. You two, remember, this is our scene till our Cap'n tells us otherwise, so I'm doin' the talkin."

The four of us approach the Engineer. She stands up as we get near. "Is this gonna take long? I really gotta go check Genny number 3, she's been twitchy all week."

"Hi ma'am," I say. "Thanks for your patience. I'm Detective Eduardo Diaz, Vinewood Division, these are Fletcher and Lewis from Mission Row. Are you okay?"

She smiles at that one. "Yeah, I'm fine, cowboy," she says with a sardonic edge to her voice.

I nod, okay. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She shrugs. "Exactly like I told 911 and Officer Walker over there. I come out for my break around eight. I'm not allowed to smoke inside, so I gotta come out here. Push open the door just as the guy's dropping onto the floor. He hits the ground, then I hear a gunshot and called 911."

"And you didn't see anyone else," I ask.

"Nope."

"Thanks-," I start.

"You're telling me he was just standing out here, on his own, waiting to get shot," Lewis snaps.

"Detective," I argue.

The Engineer shoots us an angry glare. "I told you, I opened the door, he's already headed toward the deck."

"I'm gonna need your CCTV and the name of your supervisor," Lewis demands.

"Detective," I snap. "Need I remind you, this ain't your jurisdiction? Now you can shut your mouth like I told you or Walker can show you back to your car. Your call."

Lewis steps up to me, so I close the distance. Walker breaks it up. "Alright, come on guys, let the Detective work," he says to Lewis. Fletcher takes his partner's arm. Lewis shakes it off and tries to stare me down.

That ain't workin' cos I'm from the barrio, ese. Know how many people have tried to stare me down, bigger, more important fools than this a$$hole?

"Where's the ambulance going," Fletcher asks.

"Central," I say. I see Walker pick up on the misinformation but he says nothing. Lewis stares at me a moment more, and then, finally, heeds his smarter partner and backs off. He turns back after a few steps. "Where's Harvey's phone," he asks.

"Who," I ask, playing innocent, but in my head I'm already screaming how does this f***er already know the vic is Shaun Harvey?

"The victim. Shaun Harvey. Where's his phone," Lewis demands.

"I dunno, holmes," I shrug. "Probably still in the vic's pocket or somethin'."

I have to endure a second or two more scowling and Lewis barely manages to hold off contaminating my crime scene by spitting on it but eventually Walker escorts them back to their vehicle.

"Sorry about that," I tell the Engineer.

"You're good. But I already told you everything I know, which is nothing. Can I go now?"

"Yeah."

I walk over to where a couple of crime scene techs in white suits are looking at the main pool of Harvey's blood. "Hey guys, how you doing?"

"Welcome home Mister Las Venturas playa," a female voice I recognise replies.

"Sh*t, is that Abi? How you living, girl?"

"Yeah, can't complain," she says. "Back to slumming it with us Los Santos lowlifes?"

I laugh. "Yo, you know it ain't like that. It was purely business," I say. "I still owe you dinner."

She stands. "You do, but neither of us are gonna have the time for a while. Heard what's been goin' down since you went away?"

I nod. "The Cap'n tol' us a little on our way over here."

"Yeah, I saw your grand entrance. A helicopter no less," she teases.

"Yeah, regular VIP," I say. "What you got for me?"

She walks me through it. "Based on the blood pattern, victim was right around here when he was shot. You can see over there the spatter pattern. We've not found the bullet yet, but he's definitely got an exit wound as you can tell from all this," she says, waving a hand at the main pool. "We expect what's left of it to be somewhere that direction."

'That direction' is in miles of wild hillside. Talk about needle in a haystack.

I turn to look the opposite side. "So the shooter would've been up there somewhere?"

"Yeah. Dickinson and Bailey are up there to see what they can find.

The helicopter that had been circling is now hovering over the area and I can just about make out the figures of Dickinson and Bailey setting up their perimeter. The chopper pulls up as I watch, and then turns, shuts off its light and heads back towards the city. Walker approaches us and calls "no signs of the shooter. They're declaring the area secure."

"Thanks Officer," I say. A lot of Detectives don't bother being polite, to uniforms or techs. Me, I know what it's like to always bear the brunt of guys who think they're more important, so I try my hardest to remember names and to mind my P's and Q's.

And, you know what? Sometimes it pays dividends.

"You're welcome Detective," Walker says. "Do you need a ride someplace?"

"Yep. Regular high roller," Abi says.

I rope in Walker to help me look for the bullet. He's done good doing the whole First Responder thing and he spots the area on the bridge that indicates that it's fallen into the drink. The CSI techs join us and confirm his findings. Make him feel good about himself. He radios in that we're gonna need some divers. Then he takes me home. There's still a couple uniforms at the scene keeping the road closed for the crime scene techs, so it's all good.

I ask Walker to excuse me a moment and call Candy from the car. "What's the news," I ask.

"He's in surgery," she says. "Probably not going to hear anything for a while."

"Want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm going to see if the Captain can assign some uniforms to keep an eye on him. If he says yes then I could use a ride."

"No problemo chica. I'm jus' on my way home to pick up the Voodoo, so tell me when you ready and I'll pick you up out front. Did they take you in at Mount Zonah okay?"

She's quiet for a second. "I had 'em transfer us," she starts.

I groan. "Not the Eclipse," I ask.

"You can pick me up at the Bean Machine outside. I'll bring you some breakfast," she adds quickly.

"Candy, you know you're a cop, not a Samaritan," I ask.

"I know. Just... trust me on this one, okay?"

"Okay," I sigh. "But don't make it a habit. For your own sake."

Walker drops me off and is keen to get out of the neighborhood cos, this is the barrio, know what I'm sayin'?

There's my baby. I'll see to her in a little while, but first things first, I'm gonna go up into my apartment and clean up. I'm jus' gettin' the shower running when I hear a noise so I unholster my piece and go investigate, an' there's Uncle Gal.

I'm not sure whether Gal is everybody's uncle or just mine. He and my pops go way back.

"E-D? I didn't know you were back holmes. I saw your light on..."

"Yeah, we just landed about a couple hours ago," I explain.

"You been to see your Moms?"

"No, I'd not even got outta the airport 'fore the Captain called us to a new one."

He nods. "It's been crazy times this week, ese. It's prolly a little late now, but you should see her in the morning."

"I will," I agree. I'd been lookin' forward to goin' over tonight, Candy was gonna drop me off but that's how it goes.

"We missed you at the barbecue today," says Gal.

Every Sunday Gal gets the family together and barbecues, right after church.

I smile. "You missed me, and maybe Sunny, if I'm still in his good books," I say.

He does that awkward chuckle, looks at the ground. "Yeah," he says.

"I missed you too," I add. "Uncle Galeaso...?"

"Yeah, E?"

I have to swallow because this question's gonna be difficult. I've been tryin' and puttin' it off for a long time. "Do you think... I mean, what with what my Pops means to the Aztecas..."

"I know what you want to ask me," Gal interrupts. He puts his hand on my shoulder now. "You want to know if I agree with what the others are sayin'? But I can't answer that for you."

"Alright... look, you know I really appreciate all you done for me," I say, but he waves a hand.

"Ah. Did you get your serial killer," he asks me, changing the subject.

"No," I say. "The whole thing was a wild goose chase."

He shrugs. "You'll get him. Go see your Moms," he tells me. We embrace for a second and then he heads out.

After I've showered I call Abi. She's still at the scene. Divers have just gone into the water, but they're not holding out much hope. They've got some heavy tire treads though, not in the actual area where they think the shot came from, but not too far away, and not where they'd expect an SUV, nor pretty much anything, to have driven so there's something. I call Candy to see if she's ready to go see the Captain. She says she is; Harvey's still in surgery and uniforms have arrived, so I get in the Voodoo and go pick her up.

"You've got new blankets," she notices as she slides into the passenger seat.

"Yeah. I had her valeted and my Pops' bandana cleaned too."

"I can tell. The turquoise really shines now."

Some people call my car a beater, but it's a genuine OG DeClasse Voodoo, lines like they not allowed to make no more. Crash regulations and sh*t. Sure, she's a li'l rusty, but she drives straight, starts first time, usually, sometimes with some smoke, and more'n any of that, she's mine. The upholstery's not too good so I trimmed the seats with Mexican blankets and I've got my Pops' Aztecas bandana flying from the rearview mirror. One day I'll get the bodywork done. Fit the wire spokes I got boxed in my apartment. Install hydraulics.

You know what they say, you can take the cholo out of the barrio...

She turns on my radio. It's set to East Los FM. Not my favorite station, but it's the local flavor, it's what you listen to in the hood. They're playing El Tatuado, the Don Cheto record.

The chorus is 'por que te tatuates (pos nomas), por que te pintates (pos nomas), por que te rayates (pos nomas), ya te desgraciates you stupid fat a$$'.

It's about getting yourself all tattoed up with stupid sh*t you're gonna regret, but she's singing "I can't find my car keys, oh man... Have you seen my car keys? Oh man...".

Dancing to it in the passenger seat too, she's got her arms up and she's bouncing like the hottie in some rap video.

I know some homies that'd get all screwed up at that, tell her she's bein' all disrespectful and sh*t, and maybe I should be offended too but, damn it, it's funny.

Maybe it's that she speaks more Spanish than any other cop at the precinct, or maybe it's cos she's endlessly sweet.

She could easy be a bimbo or a self-absorbed, entitled, rich b*tch (she has the trust fund for it), but she's not. She's got this whole charisma, she's genuinely interested in people, and she's deadly serious about her work as a cop. And she's fed up of a$$holes keep telling her she can't cut it.

Whatever the reason, it's funny so I'm singing that I can't find my car keys, too. Oh man...

After the song finishes we wanna change the station cos we both get wound up with the way we naturally try to translate it all into English. It hurts our brains. She wants Non Stop Pop and I want an oldies station, so we compromise at Vinewood Boulevard Radio and pretend to be hipster kids.

We get to the precinct and we're greeted by Keaton, a lanky white boy Detective with an unusually brown nose who declares loudly "hey, look, the honeymooner's are back," when we get into the office.

"Hey Keaton," Candy sighs. "Never a pleaure," she starts.

"Always a bore," I finish and we push past him, one either side, to our desks where our cases have been opened and our belongings strewn over our desks. Nice. I swear sometimes it's like we work in kindergarten.

"I should've put cheap lingerie and a d*ldo in my case," Candy complains.

"You should've," I ask. She raises her eyebrows at me and we both grin.

"You two, in here," Kirby calls to us from his office, although he's still got his phone pressed to his ear.

We sit for several minutes while he finishes his conversation and then hangs up. "That was the Commissioner," he says. "He's got some concerns that I put you on the case, Butler, apparently you and Harvey have some history."

"Not really. Just that he was one of the few Detectives that didn't sexually harass me when I was working on despatch."

"Did I say I cared," Kirby snaps. "I told him you two are professional enough to handle it and neither he nor I want Mission Row taking this off us. For your benefit, Diaz, your victim Shaun Harvey used to be a Homicide detective at Mission Row and was the centre of what could have been an embarrassing scandal for Captain Jones when he allegedly killed a crew of thieves that had stolen an armored truck, and then stole the thing for himself on the day that Los Santos experienced a large-scale terrorist incident."

"I don't think he did it," Candy starts.

"Did I say I cared," Kirby repeats, firmly. When Candy sinks back in her seat, he continues. "Jones has been on the phone to me already alleging that the shooting is tied to an investigation he's got going on. In and amongst all the chaos that's been kicking off while you two have been enjoying Las Venturas, apparently one of his Lieutenants went missing. As well as that, Jones has been poking his nose in matters that don't concern him, namely the Maxim Rashkovski prison break. He wanted the Feds to go to him if they needed assistance, so guess which is the only precinct in the city not helping with the investigation."

"Is it Davis," I ask.

"La Mesa," Candy tries.

"Rockford-" I start.

"Will you two knock it off," he yells. "I've just told the Commissioner how professional you two are, although why I didn't just let him take the case off us I don't know, because now I'm counting on you to be professional."

"Aww. I was gonna say Vespucci," Candy complains.

He's trying to hide it, but we can see Kirby's smirking. See? Candy just has this effect. "Can you please tell me something vaguely intelligent that pertains to the case," he says.

"Well, the bullet's currently missing, but after coming out of the victim's back it took a big chunk out of the stonework in the dam before it went into the drink, so we know we're definitely dealing with a high velocity round, consistent with the sniper report," I say.

"Strange that there was no follow up shot though, because Harvey's still alive," Candy adds.

"Oh yes, about that," Kirby says. "Would you care to explain to me why he's been taken to the Eclipse Medical Centre? We don't have the budget for that, he's lucky he was on his way to Mount Zonah."

"I've got his medical bills," Candy says.

"No you haven't, Detective," Kirby spits. "You're supposed to be impartial. Objective. Paying for private medical care for a GSW victim doesn't look very impartial."

"Well, I had concerns for his safety," Candy argues.

"Mission Row came in pretty hot and started throwing their weight around. They were hard on the witness who we already knew couldn't tell us anything and it's like they knew who the vic was before we did."

"Something definitely doesn't add up," Candy says, but then she goes very quiet.

"I hate it when you do that, Butler," Kirby says. "Come on, out with it."

Candy brings an evidence zip-lock out of the pocket of her suit jacket. Kirby's face falls. "Je-sus," he curses. "Tell me that's not Harvey's phone?"

"There's an email on it," Candy says. "It's addressed to Shaun, signed from 'Flowers'."

"So?"

"So, 'Flowers' was his nickname for me. Cos of my tattoo."

Kirby looks at her hard. "Have you been in email correspondence with a known fugitive, Detective Butler?"

"No sir."

"Then who's pretending to be you," he asks.

"I don't know, but I'm betting that's what bought him back to Los Santos," she says. "He was surprised to me, and it seemed important to him to show it to me."

"That's right," I agree. Probably pretty dumb, and she might wish I'd stayed silent, but she's my partner, I've got her back. "Find who sent the email and we might find the shooter," I finish.

"Give me that," Kirby demands and snatches the zip-lock. "Chain of Evidence, Butler. You never had this, understand?"

"Yes Sir. But there's another email on it."

"Okay. Pertinent?"

"I think so. Harvey had reached out to a guy called Pawel Verzynski. Verzynski apparently emailed him back asking for the meet at the Dam."

"Have you put out the APB?"

"No," Candy says.

"Don't. Find out who and where he is and grab him quietly. Qui-et-ly! Get on it."

Candy and I head back out to our desks, haphazardly throw our stuff into our cases to sort out later, clear some space so we can work. I'm just running Verzynski through Eyefind when Candy's cell starts ringing.

"That's the hospital," she tells me when she comes back. "Harvey's out of surgery. I'm gonna go see what he can give us. You okay bringing Verzynski in by yourself?"

"You kiddin'? I could bring Jack Howitzer in by myself," I say. Several of our esteemed colleagues laugh. "You guys don't got any work of your own," I complain at them.

Verzynski seems to have run a private investigations outfit but his licenses all expired a couple months back. It's registered to an address on South Rockford so I head on out there to check it out. Walker gave me his number so I call him and ask if he's busy, he says no and I pick him up nearby on my way.

There's no answer when we buzz Verzynski's number at the front door, but Walker spots there's a garage around the side of the building that's open. There's a bike in there, some sort of custom chop, and the door into the apartment looks to have been forced open. Walker and I draw our pieces. I let him take point, but I've got my ID to hand. He calls "LSPD, anybody inside?"

No answer.

He looks to me for confirmation and then the two of us head into the apartment building. Hallway full of doors, all locked except for one. Care to guess who's?

Walker pounds on the door. "LSPD, open up," he shouts. We wait, but again, nobody responds, so Walker pushes the door open with the barrel of his gun and the two of us swing inside.

It's a mess in there. But it's clear.