The La Jolla Police Department was housed in an old two-story, white brick building that had once been a library. Cops called it the Brick House. I hadn’t been inside in two years and I hadn’t missed it. Or the people in it.
I didn’t expect a warm cuddly feeling when I walked through the glass door entrance, but the cool trickle of sweat down my spine surprised me. I guess the compartment I’d pushed that piece of my past into had overflowed. No problem. I took a deep breath and opened up another chamber for the spillage.
The desk sergeant, mid-fifties, had a buzz cut and a military demeanor. He checked the stitches above my eye before he spoke. “May I help you?”
“I need to report a stolen handgun.”
“Name?”
“Rick Cahill.”
His chin went up and his eyelids pinched down. Exactly why I didn’t want to come down here. I didn’t know the desk sergeant and he didn’t know me. But he knew my reputation.
He frowned and shook his head. “Have a seat and I’ll call you when an officer can take your complaint.”
I went over to a wooden bench and eased myself down. My ribs cried out during the slow motion descent. A few minutes later, a woman in a navy blazer and gray slacks approached me.
“Mr. Cahill, I’m Detective Denton.” She was on the far side of forty, had dark hair and eyes with tiny gold flecks in the irises. Desk work looked to have filled out what was probably once an athletic body. She was pretty in a full-faced sort of way.
A detective? This wasn’t standard operating procedure. Normally, a uniform would handle something minor like a stolen weapon report.
She stuck out a hand and I stood up to shake it. A little too quickly, and a low groan involuntarily left my body.
“Do you think you can make it up the stairs so we can file a report?” She put a hand on my shoulder like I was a toddering old man.
“Stairs might be a little tough right now.” Chief Moretti’s office was upstairs. Today was hard enough. “I can just give the information to one of the uniforms down here and save you the trouble. Sorry you had to come downstairs.”
Detective Denton glanced at the staircase, then at a large vacant room to the right of the front desk.
“I guess we can go into the roll-call room.”
Not the answer I’d been hoping for. I just wanted to report the gun to a uniform and get the hell out of there.
She led me past the front desk and cop cubicles to the roll-call room. She held the door open for me, then ushered me to a chair connected to a half-moon desk. The kind kids sit in at school. There were about twenty of them in the room. The only other piece of furniture was a podium.
I’d spent a lot of late nights in a room like this back at the Santa Barbara Police Department, getting briefed on the bad guys roaming the streets as I prepared to go out on the graveyard shift. It had been ten years ago, but I still felt a surge of adrenaline as I sat down at the desk.
Detective Denton sat down at the desk next to me. She pulled out a pen and notepad from her blazer and got the basic information from me, then asked me to tell her what happened.
“Someone stole my gun.” I handed her my concealed weapon permit that had the make, caliber, and serial number of my .357 Magnum Ruger SP101.
She frowned and made a few notes, then handed me back the permit. “I need details, Mr. Cahill. When did this happen? Where was the weapon when it was stolen? Where were you when it was stolen? Do you have any idea who took it?”
Not only did I have to get a detective, I had to get one who didn’t have better things to do than get every detail about a stolen gun. I didn’t want to tell her about the Raptors or about the case. If I told Detective Denton, she’d probably follow up and ask people questions. The Raptors might reach out to Trey Fellows and hurt him or scare him enough that he would change a story they didn’t even know about yet. I might not yet be 100 percent convinced of Randall Eddington’s innocence, but I was close enough to go all in on the case.
I had to lie. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d lied to the police. Not even the second. But the other times things hadn’t turned out too well.
“I noticed this morning that it wasn’t in the trunk of my car. I’d left it there a few weeks ago and forgotten about it until today. I’m not sure when it was stolen.”
Detective Denton frowned. “So, the injury to your forehead and the pain in your movements have nothing to do with the theft of your gun?”
“No.” All in. Technically, I’d just committed a misdemeanor if my lie inhibited a police investigation. But I had my own investigation to worry about.
“How did you receive these injuries?”
“I fell down some stairs at home.”
She stared at me and drummed her pen on her notepad. I knew she didn’t believe me. I didn’t know what she’d do about it.
“Please wait here a minute.” She grabbed her notepad and left the room, closing the door behind her.
I could have left. No law obligated me to remain. Just my curiosity and good manners. I stayed seated.
When the door opened again, I wished I hadn’t.
Police Chief Tony Moretti walked into the room. My headache just got worse. Moretti hadn’t changed much in two years. Deep tan, slicked-back black hair, coal eyes, oxen musk cologne, and a ’70s porn mustache. Only his clothes budget had changed. He’d gone from tailored American suits to Italian ones.
“Rick.” He surprised me by sticking out a hand that didn’t have a gun or handcuffs in it. I struggled up from my grade school chair and shook it. “You okay? You look a little beat up.”
“Fine. Just a little accident at home. Thanks.”
“You always did have bad luck. Didn’t you?” He leaned against the podium. “Please, sit down.”
He knew that would cause me more discomfort than remaining standing. I sat anyway and ate the pain.
“Rick, I’m willing to start fresh.” He tried a sincere smile instead of his usual smirk. It was close, but not quite convincing. “You obstructed my investigation during that Windsor affair a couple years ago, but I’m willing to forget the past and move forward.”
“Me too.” What choice did I have?
“This is my town now. Crime is down, and everyone’s happy. Let’s keep it that way.”
“I’m all for keeping the peace.”
Moretti used to be as direct as a straight right to the nose. His newfound diplomacy must have come with the office and the title. I liked it better the old way. You could see where the punches were coming from.
“That’s what we do, Rick. Keep the peace. That’s our job. Your job is like that of a lawyer, sort of a necessary evil. You find dirt on people for other people who are dirty themselves.” He came around the podium and parked his ass on the corner of the desk next to me. “This department could be a help to you in your career. We know where all the dirt is buried in this town.”
I didn’t say anything and waited for the hammer to drop.
“But we try to help people who help us. Who know how to play ball. People who don’t try to make us look bad.” His coal eyes hardened on mine. “You know why crime is down, Rick?”
“No.”
“Because we arrest the bad guys and lock ’em up. And we want to keep them locked up. In fucking cages where they belong. So they can’t come back to civilization and murder someone else’s family.”
Bingo. He knew about my investigation of the Eddington murders. And there was only one person who could have told him. Bob Reitzmeyer.
“I’m all for keeping the bad guys behind bars, Chief.” My anger at Bob bled over to Moretti, who was doing fine on his own at pissing me off. “But your record isn’t exactly a hundred percent in separating the good from the bad.”
“Listen to me, you stupid prick.” His finger was in my face and he was all teeth like a snarling wolf. “You think you’re gonna play hero again. Swoop in with your toy PI license and save the day. But you are dead fucking wrong this time. Lightning won’t strike twice in your lifetime. That kid up in San Quentin is a stone killer. He’s evil. But you weren’t a cop long enough to know what true evil is.”
“What’s your worry, Chief? If you made a righteous collar, then the streets of La Jolla will stay crime free and everybody will be happy.” I stood up.
“You want to keep that paper badge, you better play by the rules.” Moretti now had to look up at me, but still showed his teeth. “If I find you even thinking about bending the law, you’re gonna see what the bars look like from the inside. Then your bullshit career playing fake cop will be a bad memory just like your career as a real cop was.”
He stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Moretti was worried. A confident man wouldn’t have threatened me for chasing a fool’s errand. Not even one who hated me as much as Moretti. That, along with everything else I’d already learned, hadn’t yet convinced me that Randall Eddington was an innocent man. But now I was certain that something was wrong with the case LJPD made against Randall in the first trial.
I just needed to find out what it was without getting arrested.