‘WHAT?’ Difiore couldn’t control her shout.
She felt Quindica’s nails dig into her thigh and got hold of herself. She swallowed and put on her game face. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah.’ Matteo looked at her impassively. ‘His prints are in the system. The Glock had a clear set on it. There’s no doubt. On top of that, the 911 caller, we ran audio recognition software on it. That was Grogan. He disguised it; that’s why none of us could place it when we heard him.’
‘He shot Lasko and then called for help?’ Difiore asked in disbelief.
‘Looks like it. If I was a betting man, I would say that jacket on Lasko is his, too.’
‘Tell them about that, too,’ Cruz reminded the senior detective.
‘Tell us what?’ Dade questioned Matteo sharply.
‘Ma’am, that jacket had traces of C4 on its inside.’
A murmur of voices swept through the room and died away when Dade raised her hand.
The police chief’s voice was controlled when she addressed Matteo. ‘Find Grogan and arrest him.’ She dismissed the meeting with a shake of her head and indicated with her eyes for Difiore and Quindica to stay back.
‘Do you believe it?’ she asked when they were alone.
Her eyes were bottomless pools of unreadable emotion when Difiore looked at her. Did her voice tremble just then?
‘That the Glock fired into Lasko, yes, ma’am. That Cutter shot him …’ She laughed scornfully. ‘Cutter Grogan is a vigilante. He doesn’t play by the rules. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to send his ass to jail—’
‘Spoken like a friend.’ Dade’s smile had no humor in it.
‘Ma’am,’ Difiore said quietly, taking no offense at the chief’s interruption. I know how I come across, as if I hate Cutter. ‘There’s nothing Peyton or I wouldn’t do to help him if he was in trouble. Cutter shooting a cop? No. He didn’t do it. There has to be another explanation. Lasko—’
‘Isn’t in any condition to talk. He was operated on last night, but remains intubated. He’s living on machines,’ Dade said bitterly.
‘You believe it?’ Quindica asked her cautiously. ‘That Cutter shot him?’
‘No.’ The chief shook her head firmly. ‘But we can’t look past the evidence, and I can’t grant him any favors.’ She squared her shoulders and gave them a steely look. ‘Go, get him. Help Vance arrest him.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Difiore got to her feet and hesitated. ‘That C4, ma’am …’
‘I know.’ The chief rubbed her eyes wearily. ‘I don’t know what he’s gotten himself into. Cutter has a gift for getting out of tight spots. I don’t know how he can extricate himself this time.’
It was eleven am when Cutter woke up from his dreamless sleep. He lay on the bed for several moments as the events of the night returned to him.
His body still ached, still felt as if a champion boxer had used it as a punching bag.
That’s just what happened, he snorted grimly. He didn’t know how many bangers had hit him. I bet all of them in that room took a hand.
He got up gingerly and took a few steps. He didn’t black out. He washed his face and showered carefully, and after filling his empty belly with a cold breakfast, felt human.
It was time to address what had happened the previous night and work out his next moves.
He went to the TV and turned it on to find that Lasko was in the hospital—still alive, but barely. The host said Cutter Grogan, New York resident, was wanted in connection with the shooting of the cop.
They found the Glock!
The journalist went into his background, why he had been in the city, said that the cops were also hunting for Covarra and speculated that Cutter had some kind of showdown with the Street Front and had shot Lasko. He turned off the screen when a talking head came on the air and offered more theories.
There was nothing he could do about the arrest warrant. Only the Street Front bangers or Lasko could clear him; the former wouldn’t want to, and the latter couldn’t.
Deal with it, he told himself bleakly.
He dealt with it by pushing it to the back of his mind.
What about Covarra? He said he didn’t kill Arnedra and Vienna. Can I believe him?
Cutter closed his eyes and recollected the gang leader’s face. The hate in it as he stood in front of his captive.
He was angry. He was surprised when I asked him on Sadler Avenue, too. He meant it.
He swore loudly in the house as his frustration surfaced. I’ve been in LA just over two weeks and I’ve got nothing to show for it.
If Street Front didn’t kill them, who did? Can’t be the Armenians. Covarra said his men chased those gangsters away. And Arnedra and Vienna weren’t around during their shootout. He didn’t mention their presence.
I’ve been going after the wrong suspects all along.