Marx turned bright red.
“You arrogant prick.”
“Do the Repkos know you interfered with their daughter’s investigation to protect your handlers?”
Bastilla said, “Cole, get back in the car.”
I should have gotten back into the car, but I was angry and looking for a reason to knock Marx on his ass.
The driveway and the front of the house were crawling with police. Neighbors in the surrounding houses had come out to see what was going on, and a reporter from the Times had shown up. Marx took one step back, then looked around until he spotted Crimmens in the driveway.
“Detective, get over here.”
Crimmens trotted over.
“This man is a suspect in the murder of Angel Tomaso. Place him under arrest and take him to your station for questioning.”
I said, “Fuck you, Marx.”
Crimmens broke into a ragged smile, but Bastilla took Marx by the upper arm.
“Chief, a word, please.”
Marx pulled away and stalked over to Munson, and Bastilla went after him. Crimmens stepped into my face and stood with his nose less than two inches away, still with the ragged grin.
“Resist. I’m begging you. Resist.”
“I know what you told the Repkos, Crimmens. When this is over, we’re going to talk.”
Crimmens laughed as he spun me around. He whispered in my ear as he clipped on the cuffs.
“This is better than sex. I’m getting off right now, Cole.”
They put me back in the patrol car. Crimmens left to find his partner while Giardi and Silbermann logged my possessions into a plastic bag.
Silbermann said, “I knew you did it.”
Bastilla spoke with Marx and Munson privately by their command car, then Bastilla called over Giardi. They spoke for a few minutes, then Munson drove away. Marx got into his command car and Bastilla came back to me.
She said, “Just take it easy.”
“This is bullshit. You people don’t have a goddamned thing.”
She made a shushing gesture.
“I’m handling it, Cole. Take a breath.”
“Talk to Casik.”
When Crimmens and his partner came back, Bastilla changed their orders.
“Question him here. Don’t take him in.”
“The chief said take him in.”
“The chief changed his mind. Question him, then canvass this neighborhood and do your goddamned job. You have a murder to solve.”
She stalked back to the command car, got in beside Marx, then they drove away, too.
I grinned at Crimmens.
“Is it still good for you?”
They kept me in the backseat of Giardi’s car for almost two hours, first Crimmens and his partner, then one, then the other, then both together again. They questioned me about Tomaso, the phone calls I placed prior to arriving at his residence, and everything I saw, did, and witnessed once I reached the scene. I kept Pat Kyle out of it. I told them I had checked the exterior doors and windows for signs of forced entry because I knew they would find my fingerprints, but refused to admit I had entered the guesthouse. If I admitted entering, Marx would have an uncontested shot at me for unlawful entry, and I didn’t trust he wouldn’t book me. I told the truth about everything else. The questions were fair and appropriate, and would have been asked of anyone found at the scene. A criminalist appeared halfway through the questioning to take my fingerprints.
We were going over the same questions for the third time when Crimmens received a call on his cell. He listened a moment before responding.
“Sure, Chief. We’re still questioning him.”
He listened some more, then held out the phone.
“Chief Marx.”
I took the phone.
Marx said, “Listen to me, Cole, and make no mistake. Lieutenant Poitras told me you two were close. I understand you’re the godfather to one of his children.”
I felt irritated and confused, and suddenly scared.
“That isn’t your business, Marx.”
“I gave the lieutenant a lawful and direct order when I instructed him to seal Byrd’s house and deny all requests for information. Yet there you were, a civilian, present at a crime scene I had sealed, and you were accompanied by the lieutenant-in direct violation of my orders, and in front of multiple witnesses. Are you hearing me?”
I felt the sting of acid on the back of my tongue.
“I hear you.”
“I could have Lieutenant Poitras brought up before a review board for administrative punishment. This would effectively end his career.”
“What are you doing, Marx?”
“Stay away from the Repkos. Stay away from the good people at Leverage and away from my case. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.”
“Give the phone to Crimmens.”
I felt empty, as if I had not eaten in days and would never eat again. Crimmens listened for a moment, then closed his phone.
“Get outta here, Cole. He says you can go.”
24
TWILIGHT SETTLED like a murky shawl as I drove away from the crime scene. Marx had taken an enormous risk by threatening Lou Poitras. He would have anticipated I would tell Poitras, which meant Marx was confident he could control the situation however Poitras reacted-probably by doing exactly what he had threatened. But people don’t take enormous risks unless they’re desperate, which meant Marx was hiding something important. If he wanted to make me back off, then I wanted to get even closer.
I pulled into a gas station on Ventura Boulevard, called Joe Pike, then an attorney named Abbot Montoya. It was late in the day, but I knew Mr. Montoya would take my call.
“How are you, my son? It is good to hear you.”
The smile in his voice was warm.
Abbot Montoya was a cultured gentleman in his seventies, but he had not always been cultured and no one in those days would have described him as a gentleman. Mr. Montoya was once an East L.A. gangbanger along with his best friend from those days, another young thug named Frank Garcia. Together, they had risen from the barrio, Abbot Montoya working his way through UCLA Law and Frank Garcia building a food empire worth more than a billion dollars. Frank owned a city councilman named Henry Maldenado. He probably owned others, as well.
“It’s good to hear you, too, sir. I have a favor to ask.”
“What you call a favor, we call an expression of love. However we can help, it will never be enough.”
Frank Garcia had hired Pike and me to find the person who murdered his only child. We did, and they’ve been like this ever since.
“Do you know anything about a political management firm called Leverage Associates?”
“I know of them. They are a firm of long standing.”
“I need background information on them and their clients. One of their clients is an LAPD deputy chief named Thomas Marx. Another is Nobel Wilts.”
“Councilman Wilts?”
“Yes, sir. Is Councilman Maldenado a client of theirs?”
“He is not, but it would not matter if he were. Would you like to speak with him about these people?”
“Yes, sir. If he would.”
Mr. Montoya chuckled as if the thought of Maldenado refusing was laughable.
“He will be most happy to see you.”
“Sir, I can’t have Leverage learning of this. The people I ask about, they can’t know I’m asking.”
“ Para siempre. Trust me on this.”
I lowered the phone but remained in the gas station, thinking how easily I had found Angel Tomaso. Having Jack Eisley as a contact had helped, but a couple of phone calls and there he was. Almost as if Bastilla and Crimmens hadn’t been trying. Ivy Casik hadn’t been much more difficult, and now I wondered if Bastilla had bothered to follow up. She had ignored me when I asked.
I fought my way down through the Cahuenga Pass into Hollywood, then up again through the soft hills surrounding the Hollywood Bowl, where Ivy Casik lived. The low apartment building was just as quiet as when I met her, the neighboring apartments locked tight against the world. I rang her bell and knocked, the knocking loud in the silent courtyard.