The lawyer questioned and probed, finally opining that they could foreseeably prosecute various allegations, but not murder. Not yet. He cleared his throat and amended smoothly, "Of course should this matter go any further, we'd have to consult with the District Attorney directly."
Nelson nodded, boring coldy through Frank.
"The department has more than it's share of troubles right now, Lieutenant. I know you. I know your record. I'm still not convinced that the incident last winter wasn't an overreaction on your part."
Frank burned at the indictment but her exterior remained at zero centigrade. "Before we go any farther with this, there are a few things I need to know."
Nelson abruptly dismissed Foubarelle and his counsel, waving Frank into a wing chair. She sat in it, slightly repulsed by the leftover warmth. The chief took the other chair, pulling it close to her. Only inches from her face, he ordered sternly, but kindly, "Level with me, Franco. Tell me about this man."
An incredulous smile almost got away from Frank as she realized what the chief was up to. He was looking for something personal, a vendetta or agenda that would explain Frank's accusations, something he could twist to discredit her suspicions. She found herself in the paradoxical position of defending the bastard, wanting to laugh at the surrealism of the situation. Over the next half hour, Frank grudgingly admired the Chiefs interrogation skills and was relieved when he told her to call the others back in.
"I've decided to give the lieutenant twenty-four hours to come up with something more than this," he said tapping Placa's murder book. "That means," he said, casting Frank a piercing glare, "that what we have discussed today does not leave this room until further notice from me. Is that clear?"
It wasn't as good as Frank had hoped for, but not as bad as she'd feared.
"Yes, sir."
"These are serious charges against a fine officer and I won't have this department needlessly dragged through the mud. Is that clear, also?
"Yes, sir."
Nelson turned to the lawyer, asking if he wanted to add anything. He threw in a few standard caveats then Nelson adjourned their meeting.
"Sir?" Frank asked, reclaiming the chief's attention, sensing Fubar tensing next to her.
"What is it, Lieutenant?"
"Sir, should these charges be justified, this man poses an immediate threat to the surviving family members. I'd like to request their residence be under twenty-four hour guard surveillance by one of my teams and a radio car."
Nelson thought about it.
"One radio car."
"Yes, sir."
"See she gets it," he said with a nod to Foubarelle.
The red light on Frank's phone machine blinked maniacally. She stared at it, foggy-brained, wondering if she needed to know who'd called. She punched the rewind button, drowsing as she stood. Christ, she was tired.
Somebody wanting to know if she wished to renew her subscription to the L.A. Times. The second call was Bobby, telling her to call him ASAP That had been while she was having dinner with Gail. Another call from Nook, Romanowski, then Bobby again. Fubar in full panic was the fifth call. She fast-forwarded to the next call.
"Hi. It's Gail. It's not too often I get to call people this late, so I thought I'd take advantage of it."
It sounded like she was chewing as she continued, "I just wanted to thank you again for dinner. It was sweet of you to call me. And thanks for sharing your bad day with me and letting me share mine. It makes them more bearable, don't you think? At any rate, I hope the rest of your night went well. Hope you get some sleep. Call me if you want. I'll be up until about midnight. I have a ton of e-mail to catch up on. Bye. Oh! I almost forgot. Do you like opera? Don Giovanni's at the Pavilion. It could be fun. Let me know. Bye."
Frank checked her watch, knowing it was well beyond midnight, but hoping she was wrong. Stripping her clothes off, she rewound the last message and played it again, falling naked into bed, almost asleep before she could get the covers up under her chin.
Chapter Twenty-nine
She left home again as the sky was graying to the east. The young day retained a hint of coolness and Frank sped down the highway with the windows open, the wind slapping her hair dry. Before the sun had crossed the horizon, she was walking up three flights of stairs, smelling dirty diapers, urine, and old grease. She knocked at Ocho Ruiz's apartment and an old woman opened the door, eyes snapping to attention when Frank flashed her badge. She protested, trying to close the door, but Frank held it open.
"Calmate," she soothed. Her accent was awful but it seemed to help and the woman quieted. In broken Spanish Frank told her she only wanted to talk to Ruiz. She wasn't here to arrest him. Sweeping her hand behind her she indicated she was alone, "No hay mas policia. Solo quiero hablar." Just talk.
The woman backed up, still frightened, and Frank spoke in English, telling her to get Ruiz. She must have understood because she went into a room down a narrow hall. After some muttering, Ruiz appeared, equally fuzzy-eyed and disheveled.
Frank showed her ID again and told Ruiz she needed to talk to him. He asked what about and she told him Placa's murder. Exasperated, he pawed on a low coffee table for a pack of cigarettes.
"Why you people comin' aroun' with that shit again? I don't know nothin' about that bitch."
"I believe you," Frank said. Ruiz lit up, cocking a curious eye at the lieutenant. Frank didn't think he recognized her from the Dolly Parton interrogation, but she didn't give him time to dwell on it.
"Look. You are not a suspect in Placa's shooting. I have a suspect. But unless you can give me a really good alibi, you look like the better suspect and the district attorney isn't gonna believe it's this other person."
Frank explained she needed to know exactly where he was, and who with, so that she could clear him. If he was innocent, he had nothing to be afraid of.
"We know you were involved in that shooting at Eagle Rock. Personally, I don't give a shit. The guy's okay. All I care about right now is nailing this sonofabitch who killed Placa. If you talk to me, give me a good alibi so I can eliminate you as a suspect, I'll make sure nothing happens to you. I don't want you for any of that other shit. I want to be able to say to the DA, Octavio Ruiz didn't do it and here's why."
"Then I go to jail for shooting that punk."
"No. If you're being carnal, if you had nothing to do with Placa, I'll make sure they can't touch you for anything related to that evening."
"What about my posse?"
Frank needed Ruiz, so she said, "Them too," unsure how she could guarantee that. Ruiz fell onto the couch, considering the bargain. He was being cooperative for once so Frank maintained a persuasive rather than coercive tack.
"I don't want you, Ocho. I don't want your homes. I want the person that I know did this. Thing is, I don't have a lot of evidence, so the DA's gonna laugh me out of her office when I go to her and say oh it's this other person not Octavio Ruiz. But if I can prove it's not you, and none of your crew, she'll have to look at what I got. Then we can lay off you. I don't like wasting my time chasing after you any more than you like my detectives all over your ass. If you help, we both get what we want."