Lagrone shrugged his shoulders. “The problem with the murder of John’s family is the sheer number of possible suspects. You talk about people with motive. John and his unit have tossed a ton of assholes in prison. We’ve always wondered if the murder of the Double D brothers were related—though John didn’t have much contact with the two. But any one of those people he threw in prison could have enlisted those two to do their dirty work for them.”
“What about TPD? Who on the department doesn’t like Thorpe?” Hull asked.
Lagrone didn’t hesitate. “Charlie Peterson made an Internal Affairs complaint claiming Thorpe had planted drugs on his son. And it’s no secret Price was good friends with those two shitheads.”
“And we’ve always suspected Price plays on both sides of the fence,” Hull added.
“So Price might have killed Thorpe’s family as some sort of pay back?” Lagrone asked. “That’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Maybe it was more than payback. Like I said, Price was probably dirty. Plus we’re just thinking out loud here—remember?”
Lagrone tried to vocalize what he thought his boss was theorizing. “All right, so Price thinks Thorpe is some crazy racist or something who is planting dope on his buddies. So he talks Deandre and Damarius into killing Thorpe, but things get fucked up and they kill his family instead. Price then decides to tie up loose ends and kills the Double D brothers before they start running their mouths like they all eventually do. But somehow, Newman is involved in this, or at least knows more than he should. Thorpe finds out Newman has this knowledge, kidnaps him, and gets the information out of him through torture. Then Thorpe grabs his trusty bow and takes out Price.”
“It all fits, except the part about Price wanting to kill Thorpe over some bullshit drug-planting conspiracy. Price had to know those two assholes were dealers. The only reason he’d pretend to buy into that conspiracy shit would be in order to protect them.”
“Maybe he tried to protect them in order to protect himself. Maybe he was in business with them. The older son was looking at some serious time. Maybe Price was afraid Leon and Lyndale would snitch on him to avoid prison,” Lagrone offered.
“Fuck, this is making my head hurt. Does this shit really fit, or are we forcing it?”
“We’re definitely forcing it, but don’t stop me now. I’m on a roll.” Lagrone continued, “We said Price’s killer would have to be ice-cold. Remember the shooting John was involved in during that meth warrant? Put a fucking bullet right between the eyes of a man who’d just fired a shotgun at him, then he put two more into his head before it hit the floor. Later, when we interviewed his squad, they said after John fired the shots, he ordered the unit to keep their focus on the uncleared room. He’s definitely cool under fire.”
“Chuck, you know what we know so far? Shit. That’s what. But some of it fits, and I just got this…feeling. But really, I’m not sure how my mind got here with the miniscule amount of information we have. The question is…what are we going to do about it?”
“My vote, Boss? Not a damn thing. If it did go down that way, then Price got exactly what he had coming. Plus, like you said, we don’t have shit. Even if John weren’t a cop, we wouldn’t take this to the District Attorney’s Office. This is one thin-assed theory.”
“Yeah, Chuck, but under normal circumstances, we’d at least look into it.”
“Boss, I say we keep our mouths shut about the whole damned thing. Like you said, we’re just making wild guesses anyway. We don’t know shit.”
“Right now, I’m in agreement, but I have a couple concerns. First, in your theory you assumed Price was the only one—other than the brothers—involved in the murder of John’s family. What if he wasn’t? What if there were others involved? What if there were other police officers involved?”
“If that’s the case, it’s going to get real fucking ugly ‘round here.”
“If that’s the case…damn right it is. I have a feeling if there are others involved besides Price, we’re going to find out real soon.”
“What’s your other worry?” Lagrone asked.
“This is a big fucking mess, Chuck. The brass and politicians are going to demand progress, and we’ve got nothing. The only trail I can even start to sniff is a path I don’t want to go down.”
“Boss, we really don’t have shit. Marcel Newman’s case leads directly back to L.A. The case couldn’t be any tighter.”
“That’s another thing bothering me. I mean a lot of cases are easy, but that damn thing was served-up on a silver platter. Our victim writes our killer’s name in the dirt? Our killer stomps all over the crime scene in a pair of boots…those boots are recovered from his closet?”
“We don’t catch the smart ones.”
“Sometimes we do. Did you know John’s unit served a search warrant on L.A.’s house a few weeks ago?” Hull added.
“Doesn’t mean a thing. He’s served warrants on three-quarters of the gang bangers out there—that’s his job.”
“I realize that, Chuck. I don’t know if the kid’s done a damn thing. Honestly, I hope if he did, he gets away with it.”
“I know what you mean. John is different, though. He always seems to be…evaluating. It’s real subtle but he’s just constantly scanning his surroundings. I think he tries to throw people off with his humor. Guy rarely seems to be troubled, but you gotta figure, he’s a little fucked up after all he’s been through.”
“Yeah, interesting kid. Let’s leave it be for now. Don’t discuss this with anyone—not even your blow-up doll.”
“As a matter of fact, boss, the kid kind of reminds me of you. Except he can see his own dick when he pisses.”
“Skull, you’re as funny as you are boney. We’ve gone way down Fantasy Avenue. Hopefully, this is nothing more than some bow hunter with a grudge against the police, who’ll turn himself in this afternoon,” Hull said.
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I don’t know what to believe. Right now, we work the case business as usual. Compile a list of potential TPD suspects, but keep it under wraps. We’ll see what physical evidence pops up and if the ME is able to give us anything useful.”
Lagrone rose to get back to work, and Hull asked him to close the door on his way out. Alone in his office, Hull flipped over a sheet of paper that’d been lying face down on his cluttered desk. It was a Field Interview Report (FIR.) The FIR had been completed by an officer conducting a canvass of the area near Marcel Newman’s murder. The officer had been approached by a citizen who lived inside the Greystone Condominiums. The citizen wanted to report a suspicious vehicle that had parked inside the gated condos the night before Marcel’s body was found. The vehicle was a Ford pickup, and the citizen had written down the license plate number. The officer taking the report noted that the plates weren’t on file and surmised the citizen probably recorded the tag incorrectly.
Always thorough, Hull had called the equipment manager for SID and requested the tag numbers for all the undercover vehicles assigned to the division. The tag on the FIR matched the tag of Thorpe’s SID-assigned Ford. Hull remembered Thorpe telling him that the Gangs Unit had been conducting surveillance on Marcel, but he’d also said they’d wrapped up the operation over a week ago. Hull’s leap to Thorpe as a potential suspect wasn’t as great as he’d led Lagrone to believe. Not wanting to compromise his friend, Hull withheld the information in case the report became “misplaced.”
Hull picked up the Field Interview Report and stared at it for a full minute before tearing it into very small pieces.