Restoration
Chapter 19
Samuelson knows better than to linger in Nolan's neighborhood. That's how that idiot Hernandez got himself caught. If he does decide to use an explosive device, he sure as hell won't have to be just down the block to detonate it. But Rosalind had other ideas anyway, things requiring more finesse than a bomb. Amusement lit her face as she drew a verbal portrait of Nolan as the indefatigable good guy. He'll do the right thing even when it turns his stomach. L.A. is full of stomach-turning things, especially for cops. Samuelson just needs one of them to attract Nolan's attention, and then he can strike. But first, he has a little shopping to do.
Lucy almost turns around at the door of Behavioral Sciences Services. The interim captain will never return her to duty without a sign-off from B.S.S., but she's not sure she'll pass muster. She's pretty much been able to hold the flashbacks at bay, and she slept almost all the way through last night, with the book Becka brought at her side. It's in her purse now. Just knowing it's there is calming, but it may not get her through her appointment.
Her mother clinically told her what to expect, and Tim was encouraging when he called. Her T.O. going out of his way to be nice might be the most disturbing thing of all. She takes a deep if shaky breath. She'll never know if she doesn't try.
Bradford slaps his palm against the dash of Armstrong's unit. "What the f**k is Samuelson doing at a hardware store?"
"Who knows?" Armstrong replies. "Maybe he's putting up shelves in his apartment or something."
"Or building a bomb, like Hernandez."
Armstrong shakes his head. "I doubt that Rosalind would have him repeat a method. If Samuelson does go after Nolan, she'd want him to do it in a way that wouldn't raise his suspicions."
"Maybe," Bradford agrees grudgingly, "but I don't like it."
"Think of it this way," Armstrong proposes, "whatever Samuelson is up to, we'll be right on his ass. And Nolan is on patrol with Harper. Samuelson is nowhere near him. If he does get close, we'll see it. And I don't think you're this jumpy about Nolan. What's going on, Bradford?"
"Chen's going to B.S.S. today."
"That's S.O.P. They've got to check her out."
"I know. But Rebecca is worried about it." Bradford insists.
"Rebecca," Armstrong repeats. "So it's your girlfriend who's worried, not a T.O. feeling guilty about his boot being caught off-guard."
"I told her to go out and get a drink. If I hadn't, Caleb never would have gotten to her."
"Damn, Bradford! You know better than that. If Rosalind wanted Caleb to grab Chen, he would have done it, whether she went to that bar or not. And if Chen needs more help or time, it's B.S.S.'s job to see that she gets it."
"Maybe. In my experience, they miss what's right in front of their faces. They couldn't… They didn't…" Tim scrubs a hand over his eyes to banish visions of Isabel ravaged by addiction. "Never mind."
"I have a feeling that what's really bothering you isn't just about Chen," Armstrong returns. "But if you don't want Rosalind's errand boys doing any more damage, keep your head in the game. Samuelson's coming out, and he has a load of stuff, including some lumber. Maybe he is putting up shelves."
Bradford grunts. "I wouldn't put money on it."
"Boot, are you with me?" Harper demands.
"What? Oh, yeah, sorry. I was thinking about my meeting with Abbot."
"Rosalind Dyer may have sent a killer after you, and you're thinking about your meeting with your Councilman?"
"At least that was something over which I had some control. If I screwed it up, it was my fault. I had nothing to do with creating a psychopath or the men she lures into her service. And Armstrong is keeping me away from the case."
"You're not responsible for politics, either, Nolan. If Abbot goes along with you, it will be because he gets something out of it."
"That's cynical, Harper."
"It's experience. I spent years fighting a war we can never win. I nearly lost everything because that crusade gave the politicos something to run on. The only way you'll get to be Captain Do-Good, is if your goals benefit Abbot's ambitions."
"Well, if they do, I'll accept it. At least we'll be getting the right thing done."
Harper rolls her eyes. "Just concentrate on getting the right thing done now. If you're distracted, it's both our asses."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"This isn't the way to his apartment. Where the hell is Samuelson going with all that crap he bought?" Bradford exclaims.
"We'll find out," Armstrong declares. "Looks like he's heading into Mid-Wilshire's jurisdiction."
"Which covers a lot of territory," Bradford remarks. "Just stay on his tail."
"Bradford, if you don't think I can do what I've been doing for the last ten years, we can switch drivers when Samuelson stops," Armstrong offers, his voice taking on an edge usually reserved for A.D.A. Del Monte.
"Sorry," Bradford apologizes. "I'm just…"
"Yeah, I know," Armstrong acknowledges. "Look, we've both had more than our share of loss. I understand that you don't want another one. But that means letting me do my job, OK?"
"Yeah. Sorry man. Oh! He's pulling up around the side of that restaurant."
"We'll make sure he goes in, and then we can pick up his trail when he's finished eating," Armstrong decides.
Samuelson remembers the Easy Spoon, which, when he bussed tables there as a student, was unaffectionately known as the Queasy Spoon. One thing he knows a lot about is how much garbage it creates in a day. The dumpster will be half full before the end of the lunch rush. He can grab some steak and eggs. The kitchen never made too much of a mess of those. After he's finished eating, he can slip out the back, gather what he needs and take it back to his car. Anyone in the restaurant or out front, won't even see him do it.
Tim drums his fingers on the passenger side door of Armstrong's unit. "He's been in there too long. A place like this draws customers who don't have much time for lunch, mostly retail workers. Tables turn over fast. We should check if he's still in there."
"If either of us walks in and starts looking around, it will spook him. I'll drive onto the side street and check for his car," Armstrong decides.
Bradford punches his fist against the windshield. "Damn! No sign of it. He got away from us."
"Put out a BOLO," Armstrong instructs. "We'll cruise around and try to spot him again. He can't have gone far. And he might be heading back to his apartment. Ask Nell to send someone that way to check for his car. We'll pick him up again, Bradford."
Tim picks up the radio muttering, "But what the f**k will he be doing until we do?"
Samuelson unloads the contents of his trunk into a corner of an unkempt lot. There are four cars on the other side of the stretch of scraggly grass, but no one is around to bother him. He's free to set his trap.
"Can we swing by that lot where those four homeless families park their cars?" Nolan requests. "I want to make sure no one's trying to rip them off. They said they send their kids to school, and the parents will be working or looking for work. Someone could break into those vehicles."
"You never stop, do you, Nolan? All right. We'll have a look. Half the time, pushers are trying to do business on that corner anyway."