CHAPTER TWO
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Dutch Wagenbaugh was handling several investigations, like he usually did, wanting to keep busy, keep looking good in the 'ratings' of the department. He and Claudette Wyms were working a double homicide that Dutch believed was also related to the Strike Team's bust at the meth lab over the night. He wanted to question one of the suspects they'd arrested in the murder and that was his first priority of the morning. He'd of course heard about Shane Vendrell's shooting and following leave of absence. Although Dutch didn't agree with most of the Strike Team's tactics, he did however see the results.
Claudette Wyms had just come in, carrying her coffee and looking almost chipper, when Aceveda called them up to his office.
"You didn't set him on the war path already, did you?" Claudette asked Dutch, shooting him an accusatory look.
"Me?" he asked with a shrug.
Aceveda was pouring through a stack of files when the two detectives came into his office.
"Morning Captain," Wyms greeted.
"There was a shooting last night, I'm sure you heard, that Detective Vendrell was involved in," Aceveda said, getting right to the point, not bothering with pleasantries.
Dutch nodded. "A civilian minor."
Aceveda handed him the file.. "Jimmy Walsh," he read "Age 15, runaway. Picked up Oct of last for shoplifting. No known gang affiliation. Parents Noreen and Tom, last known address in Big Spring, Texas." Dutch frowned.. "Okay, well, officer involved shooting, IAD's handling the case."
"That's right," Aceveda agreed. "They're handling the shoot. I want you two to investigate the kid."
Claudette glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "For what?"
"Well, I want to know if he was involved with the methamphetamine lab, or if he was just maybe hanging out down by the docks."
Claudette saw through the Captain. "Is this your politically correct way of telling us to find out if a cop killed an innocent civilian or a street punk who probably didn't have a chance for a long life span anyway?" Wyms was beginning to get acid reflux, just thinking about the implications of what Aceveda was asking.
Aceveda just looked at her with his piercing eyes. "I just want the truth."
"And you just want justification for kicking Vendrell off the Strike team?" Claudette added.
"Claudette, I didn't think you and Mackey were buddies. I thought we were together in our feelings that the Strike Team needs to be taken down a notch."
"I don't play dirty politics. They go down straight or not at all."
Aceveda shrugged. "Well, I'm only after the truth. How it boils down isn't up to me. I'm asking you and Dutch to look into this."
"Asking or ordering?" Wyms asked, the acid in her throat bubbling now.
Another shrug. "However you want to perceive it. Have something on my desk by tomorrow."
He went back to his files, dropping his eyes from the detectives, effectively dismissing them.
Dutch and Claudette left the office. Dutch felt as if he'd just stepped between two rival bullies and had been hit in the crossfire several times.
"That was ugly," he commented, as they headed down the stairs.
"More and more every day," Wyms agreed, although she was talking about something else entirely.
**************************************************************************** ***
Tavon Garris was in the break room when Dutch came in to get coffee.
"Morning," Wagenbaugh greeted the younger detective.
Tavon returned the greeting.
"Good bust last night," Dutch told him, pouring sugar into his cup.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"One of the suspects might be involved in another case I'm working. Maybe we can kill two birds, you know?"
Tavon, who'd finished his breakfast burrito, nodded.
Wagenbaugh continued. "Captain wants me and Claudette to look into that other suspect, the kid who got shot. See what his involvment was."
Garris just nodded, getting up to throw away his trash. He had no idea why Dutch was chatting him up.
Dutch finished preparing his coffee. "Well," he gave Tavon an awkward 'thumbs up'. "Keep up the good work."
"Yeah," Garris answered, heading back toward the Strike Team office.
Vic came in shortly.
"Wagenbaugh's working the Walsh kid," Tavon told him casually.
Vic frowned. What was Dutchboy doing with that case? He wondered. He glanced at Tavon. "Yeah?"
Garris nodded.
"Well, he can investigate all he wants. The shoot was clean. IAD's working that."
Tavon handed Vic a file. He'd taken it from Dutch's desk after leaving the break room. It was the kid's file.
Vic gave Tavon a look. He wasn't sure why Garris would have gotten the file, but he was grateful. He needed some info to go on.
Vic read it over. There wasn't a damn thing tying the dead Jimmy Walsh to the meth guys. He'd only been picked up once since he'd been here, assumable since he ran away last year. Parents had been contacted then, but apparently hadn't managed to get to their son in time. He'd been released to the JPO and skipped out again. No, there was nothing in this file that would make Shane feel any better about the shoot. If anything, it would be worse. Kid was from Texas. A small town, Southern kid, just like Shane.
Vic wasn't actually out to prove the Walsh kid was dirty, but he was out to find out why he was back behind that meth lab at night with a screwdriver.
"Find what you were looking for?" Tavon asked, closing his folder.
Vic shook his head. "Nah. Listen, Aceveda's out campaigning, I want you and Ronnie to go over those two in the cage with a fine tooth comb. I want the third cook."
Tavon nodded. "You hittin' the street?"
Vic nodded. "I've got some CI's I want to talk to, see if they've got anything about our boys." It was partially true. He was also going to find out where Jimmy Walsh had been living and hanging with. He took the picture from the file. When he walked out, it was obvious that Dutch was looking for a file. The file Vic held in his hand.
Vic waited until Dutch got up and walked back to the break room, probably thinking he might have left the file there. Vic walked casually by Wagenbaugh's desk and dropped the file on top. He continued out the door.
Claudette, coming out of the restroom, saw Vic replace the file. She stared after him, her eyes like coals. She could see right through his smooth lines and tough machismo. He was dirty. She knew that. But it still burned her behind that Aceveda was trying to get her and Dutch to try and do his dirty work.
Claudette went and picked up the much-coveted file. Okay, focus. The issue here was real: was the dead street kid involved with the meth lab, or an innocent. That was what she and Dutch would have to find out. And that was for the kid, not for Aceveda, or Mackey or anyone else.
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Stevie was sitting in her kitchen drinking coffee and reading the morning paper when Shane finally got up. He splashed some water on his face before heading into the kitchen. He tripped over a packing box full of newspaper wrapped things in the bedroom. He noticed then that there was more boxes scattered about and Stevie's walls were all but bare.
He went into the kitchen.
"Hey sleeping beauty," Stevie said, without glancing up.
Shane helped himself to a cup of coffee. "What's with the packing?" he asked, never one to beat around the bush.
Stevie lowered the paper. She looked over to where Shane leaned against the counter, sipping the hot black coffee.
"I told you before. I'm going home," she said, shrugging.
Shane raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was.before." He meant to say 'when you were pregnant', but stopped. He didn't know how to talk about it.
"I've been wanting to for a long time. It's rough out here Shane. It's lonely."
If she was trying to make him feel like shit, it was working. He stared at the black barbed wire ribbon tattoo that wound around her left bicep.
"You've been telling me since I came here to go home. I'm finally taking your advice. Just stubborn I guess. It only took getting shot, twice, my car stolen, my partner busted for moving dope and me getting hooked on pills, and getting my heart shattered into a thousand pieces for me to see the light."
Shane stared at the tile floor.
"I never meant to hurt you," he finally said.
"I know that Shane. But I got hurt anyhow. And I keep getting hurt. And I'm tired of it. We've been friends too long to screw that up. So I don't want to. I want to leave knowing that I still have my best friend."
"Where'd it get so messed up?"
"When I dragged my heart into it. Shane, I've loved you for so many years, I don't know how to stop. But I have to stop. I have to move on. I know that you and me, we can't ever be no more than we were as kids. But at least I know that now. And if I hadn't ever tried, I wouldn't. And I'd go through life wondering."
"Jesus, Stevie, why didn't you ever tell me?"
She shook her head, stunned that he still was so oblivious. "When Shane? At the prom, when you looked at me for the first time like I was a woman, not a kid? At graduation when you kissed me like I had never been kissed? When I became a cop so we'd still have everything in common? When I moved out here, to be close to you? When I started taking pills to try and forget about you? When you finally made love to me and I tried to believe it meant something?" She shook her head. She felt like crying, but she couldn't. She'd cried all the tears over Shane Vendrell that she would ever cry. She shrugged. "I guess I just thought you knew," she finally said, quietly.
Shane stood there in silence. He realized a lot right then. How stupid he must be. It dawned on him then that the necklace Stevie wore, a Chinese emblem of her birth year, he'd given her for Christmas about two years ago. He knew she'd gotten him a gift. She always did, every birthday, every Christmas. The necklace was the last thing he remembered giving her. How one sided this whole thing had been. As far back as Stevie said? How could he not have seen it?
Stevie picked up her cup and stood, carrying it to the sink. "So, now we got all that out in the open, you wanna help me pack?"
Shane was still a little confused and stunned, nothing knew for him.
"I don't know what to say."
Stevie shrugged. "I'm not asking you to say anything. What's done is done. I already put in my notice. I'm burning leave up now. Next week, I'm in a U-haul to Georgia."
Shane knew there was no changing her mind. She'd always been like that. Stubborn. Like him.
"I'm sorry," he finally managed as she washed and dried her cup.
"Don't be. I'm not sorry for any of it. Just sorry about the way it turned out. But, life goes on. Now are you or aren't you going to help me pack."
Shane shrugged. He was on paid leave until the board heard his case and the investigation was done. He knew there was more to say, but he could also see that there was no pushing Stevie to talk when she didn't want to. "I guess I am."
***************************************************************************
Dutch and Claudette were about to leave The Barn, when a dispatcher came over to Wagenbaugh's desk.
"Got one for you. Captain said to make sure you two took it."
She handed Dutch a sheet of paper with an address.
"What is it?"
"Homicide," she told him before heading back to her post.
Dutch looked at Claudette and shrugged.
"For the love of Mike. Just how much does the Captain think we need on our plate? Does he or doesn't he want us on the Walsh kid?"
"It's good to have fans," Wyms said with a sigh.
The address was down by the docks. The two detectives saw the crime scene, blocked off with yellow tape, was near a pier. A crowd of onlookers were milling around the outside of the taped off line.
Dutch and Claudette made their way over. Two patrol cops stood just inside the lines and the Crime Scene Investigation Unit was taking evidence.
The body was seated in a lawn chair, fishing gear nearby, one line cast into the water over the pier. Dutch made his way over.
"White male, late fifties," he pondered. "One head shot and. eeew," he interjected looking down at the bloody mess. "One to the genitals?" He looked at the Medical examiner on scene. Lucy Kei.
She nodded. "That's what you've got. The estimated time of death was about six thirty this morning."
"And ID?"
She handed him a plastic bag with a driver's license and one credit card inside. The name read William Henzler.
Claudette, who'd been interviewing the first officer on scene and the man who'd discovered the body, another fisherman, came over now. She looked at the body.
"That's ugly," she commented.
"Yeah," Dutch agreed. "Doesn't look like your standard homicide. Someone was really pissed at this guy."
"Can we wrap up here Detective?" the medical examiner asked.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Dutch told her.
"Tag 'em and bag 'em boys," she called to the other two from the coroner's office.
**************************************************
"William Henzler," Dutch read, back at the barn. "58. Owned a boat repair shop for twenty three years, divorced, no children. No criminal record. No outstanding debts." Dutch shrugged. "Basically, your boring guy next door."
"Well, somebody didn't think so," Claudette said. "Someone was angry enough to blow him away in a very.disturbing manner. No witnesses, no one heard shots. Could have been a silencer."
They walked back to their car. "well, we'll check out his business. Maybe he was in to something dirty, a loan shark or something." "But why?" Claudette mused. "He didn't own anything on his shop, or in his personal life. No car, no new boat, nothing fancy."
Their opinion of Henzler as a 'boring' guy didn't change much as they went though his shop, which was closed. They found nothing in his business records to indicate he owned money to anyone or was involved in any shady operations. No names stood out in his receipts that might indicate he had done any work for any high profile crime figures. Dutch left the shop shaking his head. "Well, I don't get it."
"Come on son, lets not give up just yet." They went to Henzler's house, not far from the shop. It too was very plain.
Inside, they found the same organization as at the shop.
"Hey, look at this," Dutch picked up a framed photo on Henzler's desk, about the only one they'd found in the house of a personal nature. Dutch handed it to Claudette with a gloved hand.
"Looks like from back in his prime."
The picture showed Henzler and four other men, all in their twenties, posed in front of a beach house. Dutch opened the back of the picture on a whim.
"Dave Petersen, Greg Kazlawski, Sam Holligan, Gene Schultz, Bill Henzler. 1975," he read off the back.
"Well, I guess that's something," Claudette said.
"If these are the only friends this guy had, maybe he kept in contact with them."
"If he did, it wasn't though the mail," Claudette mused. She'd gone through his correspondence and old letters in several shoe boxes in the office closet. Nothing of a personal nature caught her eye.
"Lets get back to the Barn and run these guys down."
***********************************************************************
Vic and Lem were on the street in the area around the meth lab. Not only were they trying to track down the cook who'd gotten away, they were also trying to locate anyone who'd known fifteen year old Jimmy Walsh.
They had split up, each taking a section of the run down apartment tenements that lined the dirty alleyway.
Lem had run into a group of teens two girls and a boy, all looked like runaways to him. They didn't want to answer his questions or identify the picture of Jimmy, but Lem promised them he wouldn't run them in and that there might be money in it if they talked.
"What kinda money we talkin'?" one of the boys asked.
"Enough. If you got somethin' to say," Lem prodded.
"Lets see it."
Lem pulled out a roll of twenties he and Vic had taken from their 'private account' to finance some information. He peeled off a few.
"Okay, okay. I knew Jimmy. We all did. He lived with us."
"What was he into? What was he doing down on the docks the night he was killed?" "You mean the night your cop buddy blew him away?" one of the girls asked hotly.
Lem knew that the story in the paper read that the youth had been killed during "an altercation" with police.
"You were there, weren't you?" Lem asked her.
She turned red. She didn't answer.
"Look, if we know why Jimmy was down there, maybe it'll look better for him."
"He don't care no more, does he?"
"No, but right now the cops are saying he's involved with the meth dudes. I'd like to make it right for Jimmy's parents. If he wasn't."
"No way was Jimmy in with those guys," the girl told Lem.
"Then what were you doing down there?"
**********************************************************************
"Now we've got something," Claudette told Dutch, walking to his desk. She had been running down the whereabouts of the four friends in the photograph. Dutch looked up. "Of the five friends, three of them are now dead. Gene Shrultz, Greg Kazlawski and now Bill Henzler."
"Well, it was a long time ago-" Dutch began.
"Shultz and Kazlawski were also murdered."
"That changes things a bit. Unsolved?"
"According the newspapers. Kazlawski was killed four years ago in his home in LongBeach. Two gunshot wounds."
"One in the head and one in the genitals?"
"Bingo. Not as much info on Schultz. He was murdered last year, but it was out in Nevada. I put a call in to the Reno PD. I'm waiting for a call from the investigator."
Dutch's eyes lit up. "If Schultz was killed the same way, we're looking for a serial killer."
"Maybe not a serial exactly. But someone who wanted revenge on these five guys." "Any leads on the remaining two?"
"Petersen lives in San Francisco and Holligan has a downtown LA address."
"We better get over there before someone decides to make him the next crime report headline." **************************************************************************
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Dutch and Claudette waited for Sam Holligan in the lobby of the bank where he was a loan officer. When he came out to greet them, he looked very professional in a suit and tie, but his face gave away his apprehension.
"Detectives, why don't we go to my office?"
They followed him back to his private office.
"I suppose you're here because of Bill."
"Yes. You heard he was killed this morning?"
Sam nodded, rubbing a hand over his balding head. "What a shame. Bill was a good guy."
"You still kept in contact with him?" Claudette asked.
"Well, not much. I hadn't seen him in about five years."
"But you used to be good friends," Dutch interjected.
"Back in college."
"And there were four others?"
Sam nodded.
"You know that two of your other fiends are also dead? Greg Kaslawski and Gene Schultz were also murdered. Did you know that?"
Sam looked stunned. "No. I knew about Greg, but Gene? I didn't know he was dead. I hadn't seen him in over fifteen years."
"Mr Holligan, it looks like a very disturbing pattern is happening. We believe someone is killing your friends. Which either makes you a target or a suspect," Dutch told him
Holligan bristled.
"Do you know of any reason someone would want to murder your friends, or you for that matter, in a very unsavory way?" Claudette pressed.
Holligan immediately shook his head. "No. I can't imagine."
"Were you any your buddies involved in anything back then, drugs maybe? " Dutch asked. "No, never," Holligan denied. "We partied, everyone did. But not like that." "Well, someone wanted your friend dead in a very bad way. That person may be after you as well."
"This is insane," Holligan protested. "What are you people doing about this?"
"We're trying to find a reason why someone would want you, or your friends, dead. Then we can find that someone."
"Well, I don't know," he said disgustedly. "Now, I'm sorry I can't help you. I have appointments." He stood up.
Dutch and Claudette left.
"He knows," Claudette said as they left the bank, their shoes clicking on the marble floor.
"He sure does," Dutch agreed.
**************************************************************************** ***
Lem took the girl, whose name she told him, was Jinx, back to Vic, who was buying a hamburger. They were in front of a panel truck converted into the taco/hamburger stand. A Hispanic cook was frying burgers inside. A radio was blasting mostly Mexican music from inside. At that moment, an old Ricky Martin Spanglish tune, "Copa de la Vida", or the "Cup of Life" was pulsing from the speakers. The cook was flipping burgers in time with the music.
Vic, waiting for his food from the window of the small greasy spoon joint, looked at the girl with Lem. She looked maybe 15, in ragged clothes, but clean. She didn't look like she was turning tricks yet. She also didn't look cracked out or high on anything.
"Vic, this is Jinx. She was Jimmy's girlfriend. She was with him last night."
Vic didn't think that would be good.
"Yeah, what were you two doing out there?"
Jinx shrugged. "We sure weren't attacking cops with screw drivers," she said sarcastically.
"Cut the bullshit little girl. I can make your life hell, or I can buy you a burger and let you get on with your day. We can go for a ride to juvy, or you can go shopping. Your choice."
"Look, me and Jimmy were just trying to get our stuff back."
"What stuff? Drugs?"
Jinx shook her head. "We're not into that crap. Look, this guy who lives down by where we were staying, he broke into our place. We didn't have much, a little TV, some food, blankets. He took our stuff!" she was angry that someone could take from those who had so little.
"Who was the guy?"
"He was in that warehouse last night. He steals anything he can to buy meth from those two you busted. They give him little shit jobs around their labs as long as he keeps buying and bringing in customers."
"Who's he?"
"They call him Loco. I think his real last name is Fernandez. Jimmy just wanted to break in there and either get our stuff back, or you know, find something worth some cash so we could buy more."
Vic gave all this some thought. Shane had been right. The kid wasn't involved with the dealers, so to speak. This wasn't going to bode well. Not with Shane, not with Wagenbaugh and Wyms when they turned up the same evidence, and not with Aceveda when he got their report. Sure as hell not with IAD when Aceveda paid them a courtesy call.
The Hispanic handed Vic his food. Vic, who'd about lost his appetite anyway, handed the Styrofoam covered plate to the girl.
"How long have you been living on the street?"
"Six months," she told them, eyeing the food, but holding it as though she weren't hungry just then.
"And you don't use or turn tricks?"
She shook her head. "We got work sometimes, unloading on the docks. They know they can just pay us a little cash, not as much as they'd have to pay dock workers."
"Where're you from?" Lem asked. "Kansas. And I ain't going back there," Jinx said defiantly. "My old man beat up on me and my mom until he killed her. I won't go back."
Lem held up a hand. "No one said you were."
"Look, why don't you go eat before it gets cold," Vic said, pointing to one of the two concrete tables that were placed near the food vendors. "Then we'll chat a little more."
Jinx took her food to a table and sat down to eat, keeping a weary eye on the two cops.
"What're we gonna do?" Lem asked Vic then. He too knew this didn't look good. "I mean, it was an accident, but Shane killed that kid." "I know, I know," Vic said with a sigh. "Look, we've gotta make sure this girl doesn't talk to anyone else. If we found her this easy, Dutchboy and his ball buster partner will find her eventually."
"Well, you heard her. We can't send her home. Not if she's telling the truth about her father." "Let's stash her somewhere until I think of something."
Dutch Wagenbaugh was handling several investigations, like he usually did, wanting to keep busy, keep looking good in the 'ratings' of the department. He and Claudette Wyms were working a double homicide that Dutch believed was also related to the Strike Team's bust at the meth lab over the night. He wanted to question one of the suspects they'd arrested in the murder and that was his first priority of the morning. He'd of course heard about Shane Vendrell's shooting and following leave of absence. Although Dutch didn't agree with most of the Strike Team's tactics, he did however see the results.
Claudette Wyms had just come in, carrying her coffee and looking almost chipper, when Aceveda called them up to his office.
"You didn't set him on the war path already, did you?" Claudette asked Dutch, shooting him an accusatory look.
"Me?" he asked with a shrug.
Aceveda was pouring through a stack of files when the two detectives came into his office.
"Morning Captain," Wyms greeted.
"There was a shooting last night, I'm sure you heard, that Detective Vendrell was involved in," Aceveda said, getting right to the point, not bothering with pleasantries.
Dutch nodded. "A civilian minor."
Aceveda handed him the file.. "Jimmy Walsh," he read "Age 15, runaway. Picked up Oct of last for shoplifting. No known gang affiliation. Parents Noreen and Tom, last known address in Big Spring, Texas." Dutch frowned.. "Okay, well, officer involved shooting, IAD's handling the case."
"That's right," Aceveda agreed. "They're handling the shoot. I want you two to investigate the kid."
Claudette glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "For what?"
"Well, I want to know if he was involved with the methamphetamine lab, or if he was just maybe hanging out down by the docks."
Claudette saw through the Captain. "Is this your politically correct way of telling us to find out if a cop killed an innocent civilian or a street punk who probably didn't have a chance for a long life span anyway?" Wyms was beginning to get acid reflux, just thinking about the implications of what Aceveda was asking.
Aceveda just looked at her with his piercing eyes. "I just want the truth."
"And you just want justification for kicking Vendrell off the Strike team?" Claudette added.
"Claudette, I didn't think you and Mackey were buddies. I thought we were together in our feelings that the Strike Team needs to be taken down a notch."
"I don't play dirty politics. They go down straight or not at all."
Aceveda shrugged. "Well, I'm only after the truth. How it boils down isn't up to me. I'm asking you and Dutch to look into this."
"Asking or ordering?" Wyms asked, the acid in her throat bubbling now.
Another shrug. "However you want to perceive it. Have something on my desk by tomorrow."
He went back to his files, dropping his eyes from the detectives, effectively dismissing them.
Dutch and Claudette left the office. Dutch felt as if he'd just stepped between two rival bullies and had been hit in the crossfire several times.
"That was ugly," he commented, as they headed down the stairs.
"More and more every day," Wyms agreed, although she was talking about something else entirely.
**************************************************************************** ***
Tavon Garris was in the break room when Dutch came in to get coffee.
"Morning," Wagenbaugh greeted the younger detective.
Tavon returned the greeting.
"Good bust last night," Dutch told him, pouring sugar into his cup.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"One of the suspects might be involved in another case I'm working. Maybe we can kill two birds, you know?"
Tavon, who'd finished his breakfast burrito, nodded.
Wagenbaugh continued. "Captain wants me and Claudette to look into that other suspect, the kid who got shot. See what his involvment was."
Garris just nodded, getting up to throw away his trash. He had no idea why Dutch was chatting him up.
Dutch finished preparing his coffee. "Well," he gave Tavon an awkward 'thumbs up'. "Keep up the good work."
"Yeah," Garris answered, heading back toward the Strike Team office.
Vic came in shortly.
"Wagenbaugh's working the Walsh kid," Tavon told him casually.
Vic frowned. What was Dutchboy doing with that case? He wondered. He glanced at Tavon. "Yeah?"
Garris nodded.
"Well, he can investigate all he wants. The shoot was clean. IAD's working that."
Tavon handed Vic a file. He'd taken it from Dutch's desk after leaving the break room. It was the kid's file.
Vic gave Tavon a look. He wasn't sure why Garris would have gotten the file, but he was grateful. He needed some info to go on.
Vic read it over. There wasn't a damn thing tying the dead Jimmy Walsh to the meth guys. He'd only been picked up once since he'd been here, assumable since he ran away last year. Parents had been contacted then, but apparently hadn't managed to get to their son in time. He'd been released to the JPO and skipped out again. No, there was nothing in this file that would make Shane feel any better about the shoot. If anything, it would be worse. Kid was from Texas. A small town, Southern kid, just like Shane.
Vic wasn't actually out to prove the Walsh kid was dirty, but he was out to find out why he was back behind that meth lab at night with a screwdriver.
"Find what you were looking for?" Tavon asked, closing his folder.
Vic shook his head. "Nah. Listen, Aceveda's out campaigning, I want you and Ronnie to go over those two in the cage with a fine tooth comb. I want the third cook."
Tavon nodded. "You hittin' the street?"
Vic nodded. "I've got some CI's I want to talk to, see if they've got anything about our boys." It was partially true. He was also going to find out where Jimmy Walsh had been living and hanging with. He took the picture from the file. When he walked out, it was obvious that Dutch was looking for a file. The file Vic held in his hand.
Vic waited until Dutch got up and walked back to the break room, probably thinking he might have left the file there. Vic walked casually by Wagenbaugh's desk and dropped the file on top. He continued out the door.
Claudette, coming out of the restroom, saw Vic replace the file. She stared after him, her eyes like coals. She could see right through his smooth lines and tough machismo. He was dirty. She knew that. But it still burned her behind that Aceveda was trying to get her and Dutch to try and do his dirty work.
Claudette went and picked up the much-coveted file. Okay, focus. The issue here was real: was the dead street kid involved with the meth lab, or an innocent. That was what she and Dutch would have to find out. And that was for the kid, not for Aceveda, or Mackey or anyone else.
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Stevie was sitting in her kitchen drinking coffee and reading the morning paper when Shane finally got up. He splashed some water on his face before heading into the kitchen. He tripped over a packing box full of newspaper wrapped things in the bedroom. He noticed then that there was more boxes scattered about and Stevie's walls were all but bare.
He went into the kitchen.
"Hey sleeping beauty," Stevie said, without glancing up.
Shane helped himself to a cup of coffee. "What's with the packing?" he asked, never one to beat around the bush.
Stevie lowered the paper. She looked over to where Shane leaned against the counter, sipping the hot black coffee.
"I told you before. I'm going home," she said, shrugging.
Shane raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was.before." He meant to say 'when you were pregnant', but stopped. He didn't know how to talk about it.
"I've been wanting to for a long time. It's rough out here Shane. It's lonely."
If she was trying to make him feel like shit, it was working. He stared at the black barbed wire ribbon tattoo that wound around her left bicep.
"You've been telling me since I came here to go home. I'm finally taking your advice. Just stubborn I guess. It only took getting shot, twice, my car stolen, my partner busted for moving dope and me getting hooked on pills, and getting my heart shattered into a thousand pieces for me to see the light."
Shane stared at the tile floor.
"I never meant to hurt you," he finally said.
"I know that Shane. But I got hurt anyhow. And I keep getting hurt. And I'm tired of it. We've been friends too long to screw that up. So I don't want to. I want to leave knowing that I still have my best friend."
"Where'd it get so messed up?"
"When I dragged my heart into it. Shane, I've loved you for so many years, I don't know how to stop. But I have to stop. I have to move on. I know that you and me, we can't ever be no more than we were as kids. But at least I know that now. And if I hadn't ever tried, I wouldn't. And I'd go through life wondering."
"Jesus, Stevie, why didn't you ever tell me?"
She shook her head, stunned that he still was so oblivious. "When Shane? At the prom, when you looked at me for the first time like I was a woman, not a kid? At graduation when you kissed me like I had never been kissed? When I became a cop so we'd still have everything in common? When I moved out here, to be close to you? When I started taking pills to try and forget about you? When you finally made love to me and I tried to believe it meant something?" She shook her head. She felt like crying, but she couldn't. She'd cried all the tears over Shane Vendrell that she would ever cry. She shrugged. "I guess I just thought you knew," she finally said, quietly.
Shane stood there in silence. He realized a lot right then. How stupid he must be. It dawned on him then that the necklace Stevie wore, a Chinese emblem of her birth year, he'd given her for Christmas about two years ago. He knew she'd gotten him a gift. She always did, every birthday, every Christmas. The necklace was the last thing he remembered giving her. How one sided this whole thing had been. As far back as Stevie said? How could he not have seen it?
Stevie picked up her cup and stood, carrying it to the sink. "So, now we got all that out in the open, you wanna help me pack?"
Shane was still a little confused and stunned, nothing knew for him.
"I don't know what to say."
Stevie shrugged. "I'm not asking you to say anything. What's done is done. I already put in my notice. I'm burning leave up now. Next week, I'm in a U-haul to Georgia."
Shane knew there was no changing her mind. She'd always been like that. Stubborn. Like him.
"I'm sorry," he finally managed as she washed and dried her cup.
"Don't be. I'm not sorry for any of it. Just sorry about the way it turned out. But, life goes on. Now are you or aren't you going to help me pack."
Shane shrugged. He was on paid leave until the board heard his case and the investigation was done. He knew there was more to say, but he could also see that there was no pushing Stevie to talk when she didn't want to. "I guess I am."
***************************************************************************
Dutch and Claudette were about to leave The Barn, when a dispatcher came over to Wagenbaugh's desk.
"Got one for you. Captain said to make sure you two took it."
She handed Dutch a sheet of paper with an address.
"What is it?"
"Homicide," she told him before heading back to her post.
Dutch looked at Claudette and shrugged.
"For the love of Mike. Just how much does the Captain think we need on our plate? Does he or doesn't he want us on the Walsh kid?"
"It's good to have fans," Wyms said with a sigh.
The address was down by the docks. The two detectives saw the crime scene, blocked off with yellow tape, was near a pier. A crowd of onlookers were milling around the outside of the taped off line.
Dutch and Claudette made their way over. Two patrol cops stood just inside the lines and the Crime Scene Investigation Unit was taking evidence.
The body was seated in a lawn chair, fishing gear nearby, one line cast into the water over the pier. Dutch made his way over.
"White male, late fifties," he pondered. "One head shot and. eeew," he interjected looking down at the bloody mess. "One to the genitals?" He looked at the Medical examiner on scene. Lucy Kei.
She nodded. "That's what you've got. The estimated time of death was about six thirty this morning."
"And ID?"
She handed him a plastic bag with a driver's license and one credit card inside. The name read William Henzler.
Claudette, who'd been interviewing the first officer on scene and the man who'd discovered the body, another fisherman, came over now. She looked at the body.
"That's ugly," she commented.
"Yeah," Dutch agreed. "Doesn't look like your standard homicide. Someone was really pissed at this guy."
"Can we wrap up here Detective?" the medical examiner asked.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Dutch told her.
"Tag 'em and bag 'em boys," she called to the other two from the coroner's office.
**************************************************
"William Henzler," Dutch read, back at the barn. "58. Owned a boat repair shop for twenty three years, divorced, no children. No criminal record. No outstanding debts." Dutch shrugged. "Basically, your boring guy next door."
"Well, somebody didn't think so," Claudette said. "Someone was angry enough to blow him away in a very.disturbing manner. No witnesses, no one heard shots. Could have been a silencer."
They walked back to their car. "well, we'll check out his business. Maybe he was in to something dirty, a loan shark or something." "But why?" Claudette mused. "He didn't own anything on his shop, or in his personal life. No car, no new boat, nothing fancy."
Their opinion of Henzler as a 'boring' guy didn't change much as they went though his shop, which was closed. They found nothing in his business records to indicate he owned money to anyone or was involved in any shady operations. No names stood out in his receipts that might indicate he had done any work for any high profile crime figures. Dutch left the shop shaking his head. "Well, I don't get it."
"Come on son, lets not give up just yet." They went to Henzler's house, not far from the shop. It too was very plain.
Inside, they found the same organization as at the shop.
"Hey, look at this," Dutch picked up a framed photo on Henzler's desk, about the only one they'd found in the house of a personal nature. Dutch handed it to Claudette with a gloved hand.
"Looks like from back in his prime."
The picture showed Henzler and four other men, all in their twenties, posed in front of a beach house. Dutch opened the back of the picture on a whim.
"Dave Petersen, Greg Kazlawski, Sam Holligan, Gene Schultz, Bill Henzler. 1975," he read off the back.
"Well, I guess that's something," Claudette said.
"If these are the only friends this guy had, maybe he kept in contact with them."
"If he did, it wasn't though the mail," Claudette mused. She'd gone through his correspondence and old letters in several shoe boxes in the office closet. Nothing of a personal nature caught her eye.
"Lets get back to the Barn and run these guys down."
***********************************************************************
Vic and Lem were on the street in the area around the meth lab. Not only were they trying to track down the cook who'd gotten away, they were also trying to locate anyone who'd known fifteen year old Jimmy Walsh.
They had split up, each taking a section of the run down apartment tenements that lined the dirty alleyway.
Lem had run into a group of teens two girls and a boy, all looked like runaways to him. They didn't want to answer his questions or identify the picture of Jimmy, but Lem promised them he wouldn't run them in and that there might be money in it if they talked.
"What kinda money we talkin'?" one of the boys asked.
"Enough. If you got somethin' to say," Lem prodded.
"Lets see it."
Lem pulled out a roll of twenties he and Vic had taken from their 'private account' to finance some information. He peeled off a few.
"Okay, okay. I knew Jimmy. We all did. He lived with us."
"What was he into? What was he doing down on the docks the night he was killed?" "You mean the night your cop buddy blew him away?" one of the girls asked hotly.
Lem knew that the story in the paper read that the youth had been killed during "an altercation" with police.
"You were there, weren't you?" Lem asked her.
She turned red. She didn't answer.
"Look, if we know why Jimmy was down there, maybe it'll look better for him."
"He don't care no more, does he?"
"No, but right now the cops are saying he's involved with the meth dudes. I'd like to make it right for Jimmy's parents. If he wasn't."
"No way was Jimmy in with those guys," the girl told Lem.
"Then what were you doing down there?"
**********************************************************************
"Now we've got something," Claudette told Dutch, walking to his desk. She had been running down the whereabouts of the four friends in the photograph. Dutch looked up. "Of the five friends, three of them are now dead. Gene Shrultz, Greg Kazlawski and now Bill Henzler."
"Well, it was a long time ago-" Dutch began.
"Shultz and Kazlawski were also murdered."
"That changes things a bit. Unsolved?"
"According the newspapers. Kazlawski was killed four years ago in his home in LongBeach. Two gunshot wounds."
"One in the head and one in the genitals?"
"Bingo. Not as much info on Schultz. He was murdered last year, but it was out in Nevada. I put a call in to the Reno PD. I'm waiting for a call from the investigator."
Dutch's eyes lit up. "If Schultz was killed the same way, we're looking for a serial killer."
"Maybe not a serial exactly. But someone who wanted revenge on these five guys." "Any leads on the remaining two?"
"Petersen lives in San Francisco and Holligan has a downtown LA address."
"We better get over there before someone decides to make him the next crime report headline." **************************************************************************
***************************************************************************
Dutch and Claudette waited for Sam Holligan in the lobby of the bank where he was a loan officer. When he came out to greet them, he looked very professional in a suit and tie, but his face gave away his apprehension.
"Detectives, why don't we go to my office?"
They followed him back to his private office.
"I suppose you're here because of Bill."
"Yes. You heard he was killed this morning?"
Sam nodded, rubbing a hand over his balding head. "What a shame. Bill was a good guy."
"You still kept in contact with him?" Claudette asked.
"Well, not much. I hadn't seen him in about five years."
"But you used to be good friends," Dutch interjected.
"Back in college."
"And there were four others?"
Sam nodded.
"You know that two of your other fiends are also dead? Greg Kaslawski and Gene Schultz were also murdered. Did you know that?"
Sam looked stunned. "No. I knew about Greg, but Gene? I didn't know he was dead. I hadn't seen him in over fifteen years."
"Mr Holligan, it looks like a very disturbing pattern is happening. We believe someone is killing your friends. Which either makes you a target or a suspect," Dutch told him
Holligan bristled.
"Do you know of any reason someone would want to murder your friends, or you for that matter, in a very unsavory way?" Claudette pressed.
Holligan immediately shook his head. "No. I can't imagine."
"Were you any your buddies involved in anything back then, drugs maybe? " Dutch asked. "No, never," Holligan denied. "We partied, everyone did. But not like that." "Well, someone wanted your friend dead in a very bad way. That person may be after you as well."
"This is insane," Holligan protested. "What are you people doing about this?"
"We're trying to find a reason why someone would want you, or your friends, dead. Then we can find that someone."
"Well, I don't know," he said disgustedly. "Now, I'm sorry I can't help you. I have appointments." He stood up.
Dutch and Claudette left.
"He knows," Claudette said as they left the bank, their shoes clicking on the marble floor.
"He sure does," Dutch agreed.
**************************************************************************** ***
Lem took the girl, whose name she told him, was Jinx, back to Vic, who was buying a hamburger. They were in front of a panel truck converted into the taco/hamburger stand. A Hispanic cook was frying burgers inside. A radio was blasting mostly Mexican music from inside. At that moment, an old Ricky Martin Spanglish tune, "Copa de la Vida", or the "Cup of Life" was pulsing from the speakers. The cook was flipping burgers in time with the music.
Vic, waiting for his food from the window of the small greasy spoon joint, looked at the girl with Lem. She looked maybe 15, in ragged clothes, but clean. She didn't look like she was turning tricks yet. She also didn't look cracked out or high on anything.
"Vic, this is Jinx. She was Jimmy's girlfriend. She was with him last night."
Vic didn't think that would be good.
"Yeah, what were you two doing out there?"
Jinx shrugged. "We sure weren't attacking cops with screw drivers," she said sarcastically.
"Cut the bullshit little girl. I can make your life hell, or I can buy you a burger and let you get on with your day. We can go for a ride to juvy, or you can go shopping. Your choice."
"Look, me and Jimmy were just trying to get our stuff back."
"What stuff? Drugs?"
Jinx shook her head. "We're not into that crap. Look, this guy who lives down by where we were staying, he broke into our place. We didn't have much, a little TV, some food, blankets. He took our stuff!" she was angry that someone could take from those who had so little.
"Who was the guy?"
"He was in that warehouse last night. He steals anything he can to buy meth from those two you busted. They give him little shit jobs around their labs as long as he keeps buying and bringing in customers."
"Who's he?"
"They call him Loco. I think his real last name is Fernandez. Jimmy just wanted to break in there and either get our stuff back, or you know, find something worth some cash so we could buy more."
Vic gave all this some thought. Shane had been right. The kid wasn't involved with the dealers, so to speak. This wasn't going to bode well. Not with Shane, not with Wagenbaugh and Wyms when they turned up the same evidence, and not with Aceveda when he got their report. Sure as hell not with IAD when Aceveda paid them a courtesy call.
The Hispanic handed Vic his food. Vic, who'd about lost his appetite anyway, handed the Styrofoam covered plate to the girl.
"How long have you been living on the street?"
"Six months," she told them, eyeing the food, but holding it as though she weren't hungry just then.
"And you don't use or turn tricks?"
She shook her head. "We got work sometimes, unloading on the docks. They know they can just pay us a little cash, not as much as they'd have to pay dock workers."
"Where're you from?" Lem asked. "Kansas. And I ain't going back there," Jinx said defiantly. "My old man beat up on me and my mom until he killed her. I won't go back."
Lem held up a hand. "No one said you were."
"Look, why don't you go eat before it gets cold," Vic said, pointing to one of the two concrete tables that were placed near the food vendors. "Then we'll chat a little more."
Jinx took her food to a table and sat down to eat, keeping a weary eye on the two cops.
"What're we gonna do?" Lem asked Vic then. He too knew this didn't look good. "I mean, it was an accident, but Shane killed that kid." "I know, I know," Vic said with a sigh. "Look, we've gotta make sure this girl doesn't talk to anyone else. If we found her this easy, Dutchboy and his ball buster partner will find her eventually."
"Well, you heard her. We can't send her home. Not if she's telling the truth about her father." "Let's stash her somewhere until I think of something."