KTLA News, Mr. Meteor, weatherman:
Look for temperatures to rise dramatically starting tomorrow and reaching their peak on the fifth of May. We're looking at triple digits then, so make plans to stay cool.
KTLA News, Shana Taylor, morning anchor:
Good advice, Mr. Meteor, but it's looking like the weather isn't the only thing that's going to heat up the Cinco de Mayo holiday. While restaurants are stocking up on Margarita mix, the LAPD is gearing up for demonstrations against the tightening of immigration laws. While permits have been issued in Los Angeles for three groups – CHIRLA, SIEU and Citizens for Lawful Immigration – we are told that outside agitators are expected in the mix. In an exclusive interview with Mexican television personality, Miguel Morenas, our very own Sheldon Turner asked how the more than ten million undocumented immigrants in the U.S. are feeling about the coming holiday.
Miguel Morenas: No one is illegal and yet these people are made to feel like criminals. They are afraid to show their faces. They are afraid for their lives. I think Los Angeles must prepare for the worst. It is time for open borders.
"So Julie says to me, 'I really, really want to go to Paris' and I say to her, 'well, honey, we'll try to swing that, but work's been crazy and I don't know when I can get off', and she says to me, 'no, I mean alone'. I'll tell you, I almost dropped my teeth, Finn. Not that I would stop her. She's a grown woman, and I must admit I'm not one for museums and such, and she loves that stuff so I say…Oh, wait, here you are."
Paul Craig, Chief Medical Examiner of Los Angeles County, found the paperwork he was looking for. He hadn't noticed the tapping of Finn's foot, or the fact that the detective had been squirming in his chair as he listened to Paul's latest trials and tribulations with a wife he adored and who adored him back. Now the good doctor held up the paper, squinting at it while he patted his pockets for his glasses.
"On top." Finn pointed to the readers nestled in Paul's fine crop of hair.
Paul looked at him quizzically. Finn pointed a finger to the top of Paul's own head. Paul mirrored him and grinned.
"Of course. Always. You'd think I'd know by now." He chuckled and dropped his glasses to his nose. "Okay, it looks like we've only got two of them done. Terrible thing. Five people dead in that house. I'll tell you, I don't know how you do what you do, but I'm grateful that you do."
"The feeling is mutual, Paul. Sure, I wouldn't do well cutting open bodies all day."
"Then I suppose we're exactly where we should be. That being said, it has been hugely busy so if you don't mind I'll dispense with the chit chat."
Finn refrained from pointing out that Paul had been the one chatting a good ten minutes and waited for him to get on with it.
"We started with the woman in the hall. She had been bound a good long while. I'd say at least five hours. Lots of abrasions, horribly bruised, raw, rope-burned skin. She had tried to pull her hands out but your perp knew what he was doing when it came to hog tying someone."
"If those children were hers I imagine she would have eventually gnawed her hands off to get to them," Finn said.
"Possibly hers. She's had at least one birth. We'll do a DNA once we get swabs from the children. Anyway, death was instantaneous when it finally came. The bullet went right through her brain. Here—" Paul pointed to the center of his head. "Came out here—" he pointed to the back near the base of the skull.
"She saw it coming. The muzzle was literally right up against her forehead. But whoever shot her was standing above. Powder burns were bad. The shooter had to have blood on him. The man who was not bound—"
"The one in the doorway," Finn said.
"Yes. He was also covered with blood from different sources. All over his shoes, pants, cuffs, shirt. Since he had a clean shot through the back, it wouldn't account for the splatter. I'm thinking he was pretty close up to the hall victims. That doesn't mean he shot them. He could have been standing next to whoever did. I have his clothes; you can take them. Still, it could be that he killed the people in the hall and then your man killed him."
"Was there powder residue on his hands?"
"Yes," Paul answered.
"Marbles, too," Finn said.
"That will make it interesting for the D.A. I mean, who do you charge with which murder?" Paul said. "Anyway, not my problem. On to what is. The lady didn't have much in her stomach. She was dehydrated. Her clothing appears to be homemade except for the underwear. That had sizing labels consistent with a foreign country. I have everything ready to go. Fingerprints have been taken, hair samples, but I don't think you're going to find out who the hall-people are. They were fresh off the boat."
"And how would you know that?"
"Finn, please, how long have I been doing this job? I can tell just by looking how long they've been in this country. This one was only here hours. I promise."
"We'll see," Finn said even though he knew Paul was probably right. Still, there were procedures and he would follow them.
"Did you find any passports when you were putting things right in that house? Any paperwork of any kind?" Paul asked.
"A few passports, but none that matched these people," Finn said. "I doubt we'll find the people they do belong to. They could be forgeries. Still, we'll run them down."
"Did you find any phone numbers? Purses? Wallets?" Paul asked.
"I've got a diaper bag and two backpacks with clothes and water bottles in them, and I found a very, very bad guy," Finn answered.
"I'm sorry for that, but I am happy that you are not in the queue for my table given the fact that he seemed not to mind who he put a bullet into."
"That makes two of us," Finn said.
"Alright then. I'm off to search some real estate records and visit my friend Marbles. Cori is away talking to the children at social services."
"I didn't know she spoke Spanish," Paul said.
"She doesn't, but she's fluent in child speak. I fear I frighten them a bit when they see me in full light."
"You frighten me a bit in full light." Paul laughed and handed Finn copies of the reports and the evidence bags. "You have any questions, give me a call. I'll get to the rest of them as soon as possible."
The coroner started to stand up but Finn stopped him. "Actually, Paul, I would like to be bothering you with one more thing."
"Make it quick, my friend. I'll be here until midnight clearing up all the work you've brought me. If I have a wife wanting to go to Paris on her own, I should really spend more time with her."
"Moments, I promise. Two young men. Hispanic. One is seventeen, the other twenty-two. One has been missing three days, the other two months." Finn snapped the photos in front of Paul. "I know they look similar, but they aren't related. I'm wondering if they've found their way into your fine establishment. The names are Miguel Sanchez and Pacal Acosta. Can you do a quick run through and see what's in your inventory?"
"That's no way to talk about our clients," Paul muttered but turned to his computer and mused. "Three days and two months?"
"That's it," Finn said as Paul scrolled.
"Three days ago. Three days ago…" Paul ran a finger down his computer screen. "I've got three women, two are forty-plus and one of those was an O.D. There's a seventy-eight year old woman who was found dead in her home. No foul play suspected. I've got sixteen men backed up, various ages. ten black, two Asian, four Caucasian. Oh, wait. Here's one. Came in four weeks ago. Hispanic – a little out of your time frame – looks to be about the right age and height. Let's go take a look, shall we?"
In the next second Paul was out the door with Finn following. He checked in with one of the pathologists along the way and then they went on to the room where the bodies were kept. Gurneys were lined up, the bodies waiting for either autopsy or an associate to make a couple of calls to confirm that a death was the result of natural causes. Paul went to the back of the room and down an aisle checking tags.
"Got him!" Paul raised a hand and unzipped the body bag. One look told Finn this wasn't who he was looking for.
"No, mine have no tattoos. But this one appears to be the right age and physical build." Finn inclined his head. "It looks like a wrecking ball hit him in the head."
"The face is a mess but the rest of him looks pretty good. He was dirty when he came in, almost as if he'd been buried."
"Construction accident?" Finn speculated.
"Farming?" Paul countered. "Maybe. Or maybe someone killed him and tried to cover it up. Let's see who brought him in." Paul checked the toe tag. "Typical. They left off half the information." Paul zipped the bag back up. "I'll take a closer look at the records when I can. "
"Sure thing. I'd appreciate a picture of this one."
"Stop by the front, give Nancy the number and she'll pull it up for you. Give me a day or two on the other stuff, okay?"
"No, problem. I've a few things to keep me busy too."
With six hundred beds, County USC Medical Center is the largest public hospital in the country. Like any other hospital it is a busy place. It offers clinics, imaging, labor and delivery, heart and neurology services – like any other hospital. The original building, damaged in the Northridge quake, had been rebuilt and expanded to include fitness trails, walking paths, and a courtyard.
The campus is bound by Zonal Avenue (East and West), Marengo Street, Chicago Street and Mission Road (north and south). It is east of downtown Los Angeles and squats just at the top of East L.A. South L.A. is within spitting distance. According to the hospital's website, the facility is associated with the Keck School of Medicine of the University of Southern California and the Los Angeles County College of Nursing and Allied Health. Even more impressive, it is one of the nation's leading teaching hospitals and boasts of a world-renowned burn center, level III neonatal intensive care unit and HIV/AIDS clinic. What is unusual for a hospital is County's violence intervention program that offers medical and mental health help as well as protective and social services to over twenty thousand victims of family violence and sexual assault each year. Even for a city of ten million people, that is a staggering statistic and speaks to the temperament of Los Angeles. There is also a special clinic for children at risk or already in foster care. And, on the thirteenth floor, County USC has a secure unit, a jail ward.
Finn knew of the facility but in all his years as a cop he had never stepped foot inside it. There was a first time for everything so he pushed the button for the thirteenth floor, and when the elevator doors opened he saw another large metal door, prison bars and a sheriff's deputy at the desk behind them.
"Detective O'Brien." Finn presented himself and his credentials. "Here to see Fidel Andre Hernandez."
"Print your name. Date. Time. Just fill it out so we can read it."
Finn did as he was told and was promptly buzzed in. The metal door open and then closed and locked behind him.
"Detective O'Brien?" Finn turned at the sound of his name. The young woman who hailed him introduced herself. "Deputy Jerome."
Her smile was bright as were her eyes and her attitude. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck but a few strands had escaped and floated around her temple and just behind her ears. She wore her uniform with pride, shoulders thrown back. Her handshake was firm.
"Good to meet you," he said. "I'm here to interview…"
"Marbles. Yep. I already found out he's not too thrilled with the name his mama gave him. Come on." They fell in step, Deputy Jerome simultaneously nodding to nurses and being polite to Finn as they went. "Is this your first time visiting?"
"Yes, 'tis an impressive place," Finn noted.
"This unit saw over seven hundred patients last month and had eighty-three inpatients. It's kind of tough when we only have twenty-five beds but we manage. Seems to be getting worse every year though. Sometimes I think the world's gone mad."
"You aren't far wrong," Finn agreed.
"That's why I love this assignment, the madness is localized and manageable. You're man's got a room all to himself." She guided him with a lift of her finger.
"A big grand room for the likes of him?" Finn asked as they turned the corner and started down another hallway.
"Nothing to do with special treatment, detective. We've got to isolate the juvies—"
"This is no juvenile," Finn assured her.
"He's three days shy of his eighteenth birthday. The law considers him a juvenile. Chronology shouldn't be the gold standard, but I don't make the rules," she answered. "Anyway, this ward takes men and women and juveniles but the kids have to be segregated – out of eye sight of the old folks. God knows what they're afraid of. If we got them in here, they are all in bad shape."
"Well then, let him have his comfort because he won't have much where he's going."
"We'll see," Deputy Jerome laughed.
"Don't be telling me you have no faith in the system."
"I'm of the I-believe-it-when-I-see-it school. As far as I'm concerned, we all would have been better off if Mr. Marbles in there—Oh, here we are."
Finn never heard exactly what Deputy Jerome thought should have happened to Marbles, but he had a feeling her heart was a little darker than the sunshine she presented.
"Deputy Swanson, this is Detective O'Brien. O'Brien's going in to see Marbles."
"Lucky you," the man said as he went for the door.
"No need for you to put yourself out," Finn raised his hand. "I know what shape he is in and I doubt I'll have any trouble."
"I doubt you will either, but you're going to have my company whether you like it or not. Thanks, Jerome, I've got it." Deputy Jerome went on her way without a backward look. Now it was just the two men and Swanson laid it out. "Sorry, but this is as much for your protection as ours. We don't want a he said/she said and we don't want one of these knuckleheads going at you. We've got booth deputies, desk deputies, booking officers, escort deputies. You're never going to have a problem here."
"But it's still a hospital, correct?" Finn said.
"The best," Swanson said. "So it's you and me if you're ready."
"I'll be happy for the company," Finn said.
"You're the one who shot him, right?" Swanson asked.
"I am."
"If you ever feel like it, I'll meet up with you at the range. I think your aim is off. The heart is right about here."
Deputy Swanson tapped his own chest just above his heart and then opened the door to the room where Marbles lay.
At first glance everything appeared normal: blinking monitors, blips dancing around horizontal lines, a small bedside table on which there was a cup and a pink plastic pitcher and a small box of Kleenex. Finn also noticed what was missing. There were no pictures on the walls, no chair next to the bed, no balloons or flowers wishing the sick person well. There were no blinds on the windows so the cords couldn't be used as a weapon or to the advantage of an inmate intent on suicide or escape. The bed was standard and in it lay Fidel Andre Hernandez, aka Marbles, cruel but not crazy in Finn's opinion.
He appeared smaller than he had two nights before when he stood in that dark house, backlit by a bright light, keeping company with dead people and tortured children. Then again, anyone with a sawed off shotgun in their hands looks bigger than life, in the same way any person who has proven life means nothing to them grows in stature when he sets his sights on you. Ask any cop. They won't speak of it, but it is the truth.
Now here he was, lying in bed, sleeping like a baby and Finn saw him for what he really was: a very young man. His upper body was muscled but lean. His skin was obliterated by some very good and some very bad tattooing. His head, resting on the pristinely white pillowcase, looked a bit like a bullet and it carried his calling card. The letters HTL, declaring him a member of the Hard Time Locos, were tattooed on the top of his head, near his ear and, Finn imagined, on the back of his skull or his neck. Coming or going, Marbles would be identified for what he was. There was a tatted spider web covering Marbles' crown. Circling his neck, the words Hard Time Locos had been spelled out in block lettering. Finn winced at the thought of the pain the intricate neck ink had wrought.
Marbles was dressed in one of those hospital gowns that made a grown man cringe. Sleeping as he was, the little dress made him appear strangely vulnerable despite the tats, the muscles and the shaved head. Perhaps it was the sea foam green color that created that illusion. Maybe it was the little pattern of polka dots or the fact that it had slid off one shoulder and didn't cover his arms. The little gown even made all the tats seem silly. It was as if Marbles, bored in his hospital bed, had decorated himself with crayons like a child.
Finn walked over to the bed but Swanson motioned him to the other side.
"Never put yourself between them and the wall."
Finn changed course. As he was doing so, the door opened and a nurse dressed in purple scrubs appeared. She looked at Finn and smiled, unconcerned by his presence. She went to the bed and put a new drip bag in place on the I.V. stand and left the room. Finn stepped up again.
Marbles' exposed shoulder was bandaged and his arm was immobilized. The hand Finn had accidentally 'stepped on' in the commotion was not as badly damaged as he had assumed. Only two fingers were splinted and taped. Up close he could see not only the tatted crosses on Marbles' closed eyelids, he could see the man was not sleeping at all. His eyelids were shivering just a little, a sure sign he was playing possum and not deep asleep, dreaming about puppies. Finn put his hands on the bed railing.
"Time to open your eyes and talk to me, Fidel, my boy."
Swanson watched. Finn waited. The man in the bed weighed his options and then he opened his eyes. Every muscle in Finn's body tightened at the sight of those blackened eyes. He thought he had been ready to look into them again, but the terror, the fury and the anger he had felt the night before came flooding back. Finn wanted Marbles to see none of this, so he forced himself to look deeper into those eyes and get past it all. Though there was not a speck of white to be seen, Finn was close enough to make out that Marble's irises were dark brown and that some of the blackness was fading to a deep grey. In the dark, though, those people he killed would not have had the chance to see that he was just a cruel, sadistic piece of shit. To them Marbles would have looked like Satan and that was a sad thing to take with you on the way out of this life. Marbles' smile spread slowly as he said:
"Yo, you be the 5-0 who shot me."
This boy's voice was manly and deep, his body was strong, his evil was old and ingrained. There was a slight pop where his Spanish met his English. He was no more a juvenile than Finn.
"And you murdered a police officer, killed five innocents and beat children. I would say you win," Finn said.
"Dat be no 187." Marbles sniggered like a kid and shook his head back and forth on the pillow, disavowing the murders. He held up his good hand and he wiped his palm over his brow. "We just be in the mix. Gotta protect the turf, you know, 'cause Florenzia 13 be slippin', and it ain't right."
Finn straightened up to his full height hoping the prone man would feel what those people in the hall had felt: threatened, terrified, terrorized. Sadly, Marbles was a pro and he knew there wasn't much that should worry him at this stage of the game.
"It was murder, Marbles, so don't give me any of your bull," Finn said. "What are you going to plead, self-defense? Those people were bound and gagged. Kind of tough for them to go at you."
"No, man. No. I won' lie to 5-0. I swear on God," Marbles said. "I be holdin' the pump, but I weren't the one who killed them. It was Smiley. He done it and I killed him for doing it. He be the hater, man, not me. Fuck, I was goin' down when you come at me all vigilante. I swear, that's the way it went down."
"Yeah, I'm a vigilante and you're a choir boy."
"I tell you, it was my homie done it." He shrugged as if he didn't care if Finn believed him. "I be in the mix. You know, scare 'em off. That be it for me and I want my lawyer. I want my lawyer so you don' be puttin' the wrong words down. You hear me? I want my lawyer. You," he turned those black-hole eyes on Swanson. "You hear me?"
Deputy Swanson looked back, stone-faced. Marbles pushed his head further back into the pillow and rolled his black eyes. Finn kept on him, even toned, unconcerned.
"Well, then, doesn't that just make things better. It was Smiley who did the killing and you were the white hat. Is that it?"
"Damn straight." Marbles head went up and down. "He said we was just goin' to scare 'em off and I'm good with that. F13 be tryin' to put the move on us. Quiet like. They get that house and they be movin' busloads of wetbacks, bro. I swear. That's it. We just want to get F13 out 'cause they set up house on our territory. That way something bad goes down we get the blame but none of the cash. Just get 'em out of our turf and we be all good. That's all, man." Marbles narrowed his eyes and looked at Finn. "Where you from? You look like a bad dude but you don't sound none."
"I could say the same about you," Finn said. "But let's not get off topic. What are you talking about? What is it you're telling me F13 is moving in on?"
"Coyote packs, 5-0. Coyotes shippin' 'em across the border, puttin' 'em in the house tellin' them they be safe. But they don' let 'em move out 'till they get their change on this end," Marbles explained.
Finn's eyes flickered to Swanson. The deputy raised an eyebrow as if to ask, 'why are you surprised.' Finn would answer that he was always surprised by criminal creativity. Instead he said:
"So you're telling me that people are paying coyotes to smuggle them across the border and when they get here they're held prisoner until they can pay their way out of the house? Payment before and after the journey, is that it?"
"You got it, man," Marbles said.
"And you were just there to help the people in the house because you and your homies were outraged by this? Is that correct?" Finn asked.
"Fuckin' A."
Marbles grinned, pleased with the narrative he was weaving. Suddenly, he pulled down his gown and showed Finn his ink. The centerpiece of his chest armor tat was a picture of a naked woman being straddled by a gangbanger holding a gun to her head. Finn would have liked to look away for certainly it was an awful image, the kind that revisited a man in his nightmares. Instead, he said:
"Lacks a bit of style, Marbles."
"They prick all that with a staple in juvie." He chuckled, amused but disappointed in Finn's reaction. He tried again. "A staple man. Took right out of the warden's office. I didn't cry, man. I didn't say nothin'. A staple's hard stuff, you hear me. I can take it."
"And after you got done with art class, did you learn how to add two and two?"
"What you sayin'?" Marbles narrowed his eyes.
"Math," Finn said. "Your story doesn't add up. You've got quite a reputation. You like tying people up before you kill them. Maybe it's because you're not that good a shot. Could that be it, my man?"
"I be the best, I tell you. With that pump."
"Any fool can hit a mark with a shot gun." Finn put his big hands on the bed rail once again and then got into the man's face. "The next part of that equation is your friend, Smiley. He was shot in the back going into the room."
"So?" Marble narrowed his eyes, the only sign he was wary.
"So, I'm thinking that you weren't supposed to kill anyone in that house. Just scare them a little, just let F13 know that was your territory. But you couldn't help yourself. You and Smiley tied up those people and they were scared, but you didn't think it was enough to warn off F13. So, you little horror, you shot them…"
Finn put his finger on Marble's forehead. The man tried to jerk away only to cry out when his shoulder wound pulled.
"Hey, hey, you be threatin' me. He seen it. He seen it." Marbles cut his eyes to Swanson. The deputy didn't twitch.
"I'm only trying to soothe your misery, Marbles. This will help you focus." Finn drilled his finger deeper into the kid's skin. "You shot those unfortunates and it was Smiley who freaked. That wasn't the plan, but you were trying to be a big man. Or maybe you lost it because you're a crazy son of a bitch. So crazy they won't put you in jail, they'll put you in a psyche ward all wrapped up in a straight jacket for the rest of your life."
"Smiley did it. Smiley." He looked over at Deputy Swanson. "You get me my goddamn lawyer and don' let this 5-0 touch me. I got my rights."
"And I know something you don't." Finn leaned ever closer, his finger gun sliding across Marble's forehead until it rested between his eyes. Finn leaned over the railing. He whispered hard. "I know Smiley's prints aren't on the pump. It's only your prints, Marbles. Yours alone."
"You ain't the only one knows somethin'," Marbles said through clenched teeth. "I know somethin' and it's gonna bite you big, 5-0."
"I'm shaking in my boots, boyo," Finn laughed and Marble's eyes hardened in his anger.
"You got no idea, bro. You be goin' down. My lawyer is good, man. He be real good, know what I mean? He's a goddamn magician, my lawyer."
He lifted his bandaged hand and pulled Finn's finger away from his head and threw it aside. In the next second, he did something Finn had not expected. Marbles spit on him but the poor man in his weakened state didn't have much of a range. The glob of vile fluid fell on the sleeve of his jacket. Finn pulled a Kleenex from the box on the bedside table and wiped it away.
"Deputy Swanson, I believe we're done here. I wouldn't want to wear this gentleman out."
Swanson moved away from the window. Finn had one more question.
"When did F13 start smuggling people?"
"What do you give me?" Marbles shot back.
"I'll talk to the prosecutor, but he's the one to make the deals."
Marbles thought about it and then decided he would take a chance. "It's a new biz, bro. A year maybe."
"Same house?"
"That one and two more somewheres," Marbles said.
"Business must be good," Finn said.
Marbles chuckled.
"It ain't the only one that does good. They been shakin' down the wetbacks bad. The ones hawkin' on the corners too."
"Are they doing anything else? Maybe killing a few of those men for good measure?"
Marbles shook his head. "Naw. Shakedown is all. Been doin' it all over L.A. F13 are greedy bastards."
"'Tis the way of the world, Marbles. The strong prey on the weak," Finn said. "And then they meet up with someone stronger still."
"Florenzia 13 ain't stronger than me," Marble snorted.
"I meant me," Finn answered. "I'm stronger than all of you. Count on it."
Finn took leave of deputies and County USC. He checked his texts. Cori had interviewed the children from the house. She would fill him in later as she was rushing to her court appearance to testify to the chain of evidence in the assault with intent investigation she had handled at Westside. It had taken a year and a half to come to trial and, once it had, the judge had no patience for any witness unable to clear their calendars to appear before him.
Finn scrolled through and saw there was no follow-up message so he could only assume that Cori was still waiting to give her testimony. He texted to say he would see her the next day. He was eager to hear what those children had told her given what he now knew about Florenzia 13 and the Hard Time Locos. If what Marbles said was true, there was an ugly new side to human trafficking going down. Once it got a foothold there would be no stamping it out. Kidnapping, blackmail, extortion of people who were already bewildered and afraid was not a thing the PD would be wanting to deal with. It would make the fine line they walked between the Feds and the local politicians worse. More troubling still was the insinuation that F13 was preying on the day workers.
Finn drove back to the office to see who might be looking for him and checked on lab reports he was expecting. He called the gang unit downtown and left a message for Sergeant Faulk saying he had information on Florenzia 13 that might interest him. Finn put his head into Captain Fowler's office wanting to give his boss the basics on what was going down in that house.
"Does he have a minute, Tina?" Finn asked.
"Not here," she answered, without looking away from her computer screen or turning to face him. "Is it urgent?"
Finn said, "Better sooner than later."
"I'll let him know, O'Brien," Tina said.
"Sure you must have eyes in the back of your head to know 'twas me," he teased.
"Yeah. That's it," Tina drawled. "Everybody around here sounds like an Irish Spring commercial."
"Don't be working too late."
He took his leave and then went on his way to his small office at the end of the long hall only to detour to the missing person unit. The officer behind the desk was a short redhead who Finn had seen around but had never been formally introduced to. He rectified that.
"Finn O'Brien."
She pointed to the nameplate on the desk. "That says it all."
"Officer Barnes," Finn said.
"Sheila is fine. It says that there, too."
She clasped her hands on her very messy desk and looked at him. The good news was that she smiled. Not welcoming, not flirty, just the kind of smile he saw Cori give a body now and again. That look said 'I'm all business and I'm not going to chew your head off unless you give me good reason'. Finn pulled a chair over and sat down.
"What can I do you for?" she asked.
"I've got two missing men."
"What's the case number?"
"No case number, they haven't been reported. I'm just looking into it for a friend of one of them. In doing that one, I came across the other."
He pulled out his pictures and put down Miguel's first.
"I just found out about this one. His name is Miguel Sanchez. Last seen two months ago on the corner of Chestnut and La Brea. Last contact with his father was around five in the afternoon. He said he was headed out for a job. And this one…"
Finn put down the second picture.
"His name is Pacal Acosta. He's been out of touch three days, so I'm thinking he just may not be checking in is all. Again, last heard from leaving his work at a local restaurant and on his way to pick up additional work."
Sheila Barnes picked that one up and gave it a look-see and Finn was delighted to see her taking the interest. Sheila put the picture back on the desk.
"Who were they working for?"
"I have no idea." Finn said.
"Day labor, right?" Sheila countered.
"'Fraid so. And before you say it, I know. They could be anywhere. But reports are they're both good men. Neither has done this before. I know the family hasn't made reports, but maybe you've received information on someone who matches the general description. I'm thinking it's odd that two young men, both approximately the same age and looking quite similar have up and disappeared. I didn't think it could hurt to see what you've got."
"That's what I get paid for." Sheila fired up her computer and tapped away at her keyboard. She paused. She ran the mouse, twitched her lips one-way and her nose the other. Finally, she swiveled back to him. "Nope. Nada. Closest I've got on a young Hispanic male is a twelve year-old in the last month or so but that was a family dispute. They still haven't found him, but they think he's with his father in Mexico. If they're undocumented we're not the first place they go to for help."
"Then that, as they say, is that." Finn stood up. She gave him back the photos after taking one last long look.
"Sorry I couldn't help."
"As I am," Finn said. "Thank you."
Officer Sheila Barnes got up from her desk, went to the door and watched until Finn O'Brien was well down the hall. When she was sure he was gone, she went for her telephone and dialed. When the call went to message, she left one without hesitation:
"I need to talk to you ASAP."