Mike took another sip of his beer as Cathy placed the plate with an Hiraro burger and fries in front of him on the bar. Their eyes met again and her smile got a little wider as she said, "Here you go, sir. Enjoy!" She glanced in Lonsdale's direction as she took a step back to greet an older couple just coming in the door.
As Mike picked up the burger, his eyes slid down the bar. He was getting a little anxious; Lonsdale hadn't even made a trip to the men's room. It was a moot point, he knew. He and Steve had no law enforcement jurisdiction here and he knew he couldn't do anything with the incriminating Guinness glass. It had to remain in Cathy's possession till she could turn it over to Evans and Garabaldi to maintain the chain of custody. So even if they were given a brief window of opportunity should Lonsdale make a trip to the men's room, Mike couldn't take the glass. He didn't have the authority.
They had to wait till Lonsdale left before Cathy could turn the glass over to her colleagues.
# # # # #
Steve jumped slightly when the passenger door opened suddenly and Bob Evans slid into the front seat. Phil Garabaldi did the same in the back.
"Sorry to startle you," Evans said with a chuckle. "And sorry we're a little late. There was a pile-up on the Santa Monica."
"What else is new?" Garabaldi muttered under his breath with a mirthless snort.
"Mike already in there?" Evans gestured through the windshield with his chin.
"Yeah. Lonsdale got here early, just after 4."
Both LAPD lieutenants nodded reflexively. "That's good, that means he might leave early," Evans postulated. "And that's good news for us. Chris, our fingerprint guy, is going to join us in about an hour. You got the print card?"
"It's in here." Steve patted the large manila envelope on the seat between them.
"Good."
# # # # #
Mike had long since finished his burger and was nursing his second beer. Lonsdale was working on his third Guinness, had finished the paper and was now reading a Time magazine. He showed no sign of leaving.
Hiraro's was starting to get crowded. Members of the small band had begun to arrive and it looked like they were getting ready to do sound checks, something Mike was not looking forward to in the slightest. A second bartender had joined Cathy, and all the stools between Mike and Lonsdale were now occupied.
Suppressing a frustrated sigh, Mike stood up and slipped his wallet out of his jeans pocket. Cathy crossed towards him with the bill, setting it on the bar with a wink before moving away. Mike turned the bill over, took some cash out of his wallet and put it on top then headed for the door, catching Cathy's eye and making sure she noticed the money on the bar. As he opened the door, he looked back into the room once more; Lonsdale was paying as well.
His heart starting to pound, Mike stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up the street towards his car; he knew Steve would see him, even through the throngs that were now milling about. He was waiting to cross the busy avenue when he heard the door behind him open again and Lonsdale appeared, holding the door for a bunch of young revelers before he turned to his right and headed away.
Finally finding an opening in the traffic, Mike jogged across the street and strode quickly towards the sedan. Ahead of him he could the doors open and Steve, Evans and Garabaldi emerged, all three crossing towards him.
"We've got it," Mike said quickly when he was within earshot and didn't have to raise his voice. "Cathy has it. I'm sure she'll be out in a second."
"Great," Evans sighed. "Chris has a Forensic van around the corner up there," he nodded over his shoulder, then quickly raised both hands to head off the concern he knew would be forthcoming. "Don't worry, Mike, like I told Steve, it doesn't say 'Crime Lab' or 'LAPD' or anything like that on it. It's blank, it doesn't have any markings on it at all."
Mike chuckled with an exaggerated sigh.
"Here she comes," Garabaldi announced, looking over Mike's shoulder towards Hiraro's.
They all turned; Cathy was striding quickly towards them, a large plastic evidence bag in her right hand and a big smile on her face. She beamed at Mike like a proud co-conspirator when she got closer, holding out the evidence bag for Evans to take. With a quick thanks, he turned on his heel, crossed back to the blue sedan and leaned into the driver's side window. When he straightened back up he had the manila envelope in his hand. He nodded at the others then headed briskly further up the street and around the corner.
When he disappeared, they all looked at Cathy, who was pointing in Evans' direction with a frown. "Chris?" she asked Garabaldi and he smiled and nodded. "Okay then, good work." She turned to Mike and grinned, holding out her hand for him to shake. "Great working with you, Lieutenant –"
"Mike," he interrupted with a laugh, squeezing her hand, and she chuckled.
"Right… Mike. I'm glad I could be of help. But I better get back in there and finish my shift!" she cackled infectiously and, glancing at Steve with an appreciative nod, turned to Garabaldi. "You'll let me know?"
"Of course," the LA lieutenant smiled. "Thanks again."
"Anytime!" she called over her shoulder as she started off. "My report'll be on your desk first thing in the morning. Good luck!"
Wreathed in smiles, they watched her go. Mike glanced at Garabaldi. "She really knows her game, doesn't she?"
Chuckling, the tall thin lieutenant started to lead them up the street to the forensic van. "She's one of the department's most valuable assets. We've used her undercover in a million places, believe me. She fits in anywhere."
They turned the corner to see Evans standing beside the open side door of a large dark brown van; he was watching something inside very intently. He glanced their way as they approached. "He's almost done," he said quietly, nodding with his chin towards the inside of the van.
A stocky grey-haired man with black-rimmed glasses was leaning over a small desk against the far wall of the van, peering through the magnifier he had placed over the San Francisco print card. Feeling four pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of his head, he straightened up and fixed them with a penetrating scowl. "It won't go any faster with all of you staring at me," he said with quiet authority, glaring at Evans as the others shuffled away, looking in different directions and clearing their throats.
"Got ya," Evans nodded, taking a giant step back and crossing to the others, who had reassembled several feet away, looking suitably chagrinned.
Mike looked at his partner. "Reminds me of Charlie." The younger man chuckled,
Evans smiled knowingly, glancing at his watch, trying to see the face in the dim streetlight. "Well, we've got plenty of time to get to Judge Crawley before midnight, which is a good thing." He looked at Mike. "So I want to talk to you about the arrest… if, ah, of course, Chris can confirm Lonsdale's identity."
Mike nodded. "Sure."
"Well, the way we do something like this is, we do it before dawn and we do it with our S.W.A.T. unit. We've done it a lot, and it works perfectly. We haven't had a problem yet and, from what I can tell about this guy, I think it's the way to go. Now you and Steve can come with us, of course, but you guys have to stay in your car and you can't participate in any way. We don't want to jeopardize your case with some jurisdictional bullshit. Agreed?" He looked from Mike to Steve and back again.
Both San Francisco detectives nodded. "You'll get no argument from me. I want this by the book," the older man assured.
"Good, then as soon as we've heard –"
"Bob!" came a sharp command from the van and all four turned as one. The forensic tech was waving them closer, his face unreadable. As they approached, he held up both print cards. "It's a match," he said evenly. "All five fingers of the right hand, more than 20 points for each print. Slam dunk."
Mike threw his head back and exhaled loudly, then raised his hands and ran them over his face as he lowered his head. Steve grinned in relief, reaching up to pat his partner on the back. Evans and Garabaldi were both smiling as they watched the interaction.
Mike's gaze was far away as he stood stock still, his hands steepled in front of his mouth; his chest was heaving. Steve was looking down, continuing to gently pat the older man's back.
Eventually Garabaldi softly cleared his throat. "Listen, ah, I'm gonna find a phone and call the judge, tell him we're on our way."
Evans nodded, still staring at Mike and the impact the news was having on the obviously overwhelmed lieutenant. With a gentle smile, he reached out and patted his arm. "Yeah, ah, tell him we'll be there shortly." As Garabaldi headed away, Evans said to Steve, "Look, ah, why don't you guys call it a night, go back to the motel and get some rest. Phil and I'll get the warrant and set everything up with S.W.A.T. for tomorrow morning and we'll give you a call later and bring you up to speed. That sound good?"
Steve glanced at Mike, who still hadn't moved, then back at Evans. "That sounds great. And, ah, I haven't had anything to eat yet so we'll probably stop somewhere first," he chuckled.
Mike shook his head quickly, as if trying to break a spell, and smile self-consciously at the others. "Uh, yeah, Bob, geez, what can I say? You guys have been…"
"You don't have to say anything, Mike," the LA lieutenant laughed, slapping the other man's arm again. "It's been our pleasure, believe me…" He raised a forefinger. "And don't forget, it's not over yet. The trickiest part is yet to come, right?"
Mike raised his eyebrows with a knowing shrug.
"But don't worry, we have a car on his house right now and will have all night. And if we play our cards right, and we usually do, then tomorrow morning will be routine and you two might even be on the road with our Mr. Lonsdale before noon." He beamed at both of them. "What do you say?"
Mike snorted, almost embarrassed, looking down and shaking his head. "I'd say the SFPD owes the LAPD a big one."
# # # # #
It was a moonless night, the only light the spill from the tiny houses lining the narrow street. They were sitting in the front seat of the blue sedan, Steve behind the wheel, a block and a half from Lonsdale's house on Palms Blvd. They had checked out of the motel, put their bags in the trunk and rendezvoused with Evans, Garabaldi and the S.W.A.T. team at Parker Center at 4 am.
In a small convoy of six vehicles, including another unmarked and three black-and-whites, they had sped silently down the almost empty Santa Monica Freeway then slipped quietly along the deserted Venice streets to Palms Blvd.
And now, at ten minutes to five on a Sunday morning, they watched as the black-clad S.W.A.T. officers climbed out of their large black truck and congregated around their commander. After a brief huddle, they spread out, silently surrounding the house, their AR-15s at the ready. Four officers approached the front door and, even from a block and a half away, Mike and Steve could hear the muffled order for the occupants to come out, the lack of response, and then the use of a small battering ram to break open the locked door.
Three officers, shouting at the top of their lungs, charged into the house and for several long beats, nothing seemed to be happening. Then suddenly, Lonsdale, barefoot, wearing a grey t-shirt and boxer shorts, his hands laced behind his head, was propelled out of the house onto the small front lawn. Surrounded by several SWAT officers with their rifles trained at his head, he dropped to his knees.
Evans and Garabaldi climbed out of a nearby car and, as two very relieved San Francisco detectives watched, Evans pulled Lonsdale's hands away from his head and began to snap the handcuffs around his wrists.