When Shadowhawk and Thomas returned to HQ, he passed on the photo to one of the uniforms and instructed him to put out a BOLO on their perp. He also put him in charge of making sure the picture was circulated to all of the pawn shops within a forty-mile radius.
“We should take this picture back to the Schiffs’ street and ask the guys hanging out in that garage if they recognize the dude,” Shadowhawk said.
“Cooper already interviewed them. They said they didn’t see anything.”
“And you believe them? Seriously, they’re like the neighborhood watch. I’d bet they never leave that spot. Let me do the talking. With my coloring, everyone thinks I’m Latino. They might open up to me.”
Thomas thought about it before answering. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“We’ll take my truck. Your car can be a bit off putting to those who live in a lower income bracket.”
Shadowhawk cruised down the street, made a U-turn and came to a stop in front of the house kitty corner from the Schiffs. The garage door was open and four Latino males sat in folding lawn chairs facing the street. They each held brown bottles she could only assume was beer.
She glanced at Thomas. “Maybe you should stay here.”
His brows rose. “Why, because my suit could be off-putting to men who live in a lower income bracket?”
“That and it screams cop.”
“Fine, but I’m keeping my gun in my lap and the window open.”
“Thank you.” Shadowhawk jumped down from the truck and made her way up the driveway toward a mean looking son-of-a-bitch covered in tattoos. He was built like a refrigerator. The way he stood she figured the house must be his.
She straightened to her full height plus her black biker boots gave her easily another two inches, but the guy still towered over her. Her buck forty-five was no match to his three hundred pound frame, but she had speed on her side and knew how to fight dirty.
Shadowhawk put on her fiercest expression and stared him straight in the eye. In Spanish she said, “I noticed that you seem to watch over this street and wondered if you’ve ever seen this guy?”
She handed him the picture and waited while he seemed to be memorizing his face.
Finally he shook his head. “No.”
“He wasn’t here last Friday? Maybe with a woman?”
“No.”
“But you did see the couple that visited the house last Friday, right?”
“Maybe.”
She waited a beat. “If I guarantee you would not have to testify, would you have seen them then?”
He glared at her hard without answering.
“Look, we aren’t here for you and your posse. We don’t give a shit about any laws you may have broken. We’re just trying to solve a murder. Can you help me or not?”
His eyes turned to slits. She took a step back and mentally got ready to defend herself. A roundhouse kick to the gut and he would topple like a giant Redwood.
“There were a couple of people, couldn’t tell you if they were chicks or dudes. They wore hoodies, never saw their faces. One was short, the other tall. They pulled up in an SUV and just went into the house like they were expected,” he said in perfect English.
“Did you notice the color or make of the car?”
“White Honda.” He turned to one of the other guys sitting there. “Juan, get me my notebook.”
Juan set his beer on the cement and retrieved a pad off a nearby worktable. He handed it over. The Fridge opened it and began to read. “White, Honda Pilot, license plate number K98TFX1.
Shadowhawk pulled out her own pad and scribbled it down. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“They were in there a couple of hours, then the tall one came out with the old man and they got in the Cadillac and left.”
“And you’re certain the tall one wasn’t this guy here?” She waved the photo.
“Nope. That guy’s too skinny. The tall one was about six feet and had a medium build.”
“How tall would you say the short one was?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was a chica, all I know is the person looked like a midget next to the other guy.”
“Okay. Could you tell their race?”
“White bread.”
“What makes you say that?”
“First of all, the car they were driving. Second, the way they walked or carried themselves. Besides, I saw the dude’s hand when he reached for the car door.”
She chuckled. “Got it. Did you notice when the short one left?”
“Not long after.”
Shadowhawk made a note. “Did you hear any gun shots?”
“Naw, we were watching the game.” He pointed to the TV set up on the workbench. “Broncos and Cowboys, it was a close one. It gets pretty loud out here when a game’s on.”
“Okay. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” She started down the driveway, but turned back. “Why didn’t you tell the cop any of this when he interviewed you?”
“None of my business.” Then he added, “Besides, he wasn’t as pretty as you.”
She nodded and headed toward the truck. She passed Thomas her notebook and started the engine. He rolled his window up and she filled him in.
Thomas grabbed the radio’s microphone. “This is Detective Thomas, badge number 2598. I need the name of the registered owner of a White Honda Pilot, license plate number Kilo niner eight Tango Foxtrot X-ray and the number one. I’ll hold.” He turned to her. “I thought we were going to have a fight on our hands for a minute there. I was gripping the door handle, ready to bolt.”
“You and me both. Then the guy surprised the shit out of me by spewing information out like Old Faithful. I did not see that coming.”
“Well, you called it. Got him to talk when Cooper couldn’t. Did he say why?”
“I’m not sure if it’s because I told him we didn’t care what he and his friends had done, or if he was just bullshitting me with his macho act. Doesn’t matter either way. But the guy did not have an accent, so he was either born here or came to the States when he was young.”
The radio crackled, then a female voice came on. “Detective, that vehicle is registered to a Walter Theodore Wheeler of Costa Mesa. It was reported stolen from long term parking at John Wayne Airport.”
“Has it turned up yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Then please put out a BOLO stating that the vehicle might be involved in a homicide. Make sure to have it impounded and gone over with a fine tooth comb. All findings come to me directly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks.” He hung up the mic. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“No slam dunk there.”
Thomas got a call. After he hung up he said, “Time to get back. They picked up the tweaker.”
She pressed her foot down on the accelerator and began weaving in and out of traffic.
Thomas grabbed the dashboard. “I do want to arrive in one piece.”
“Whatever.”
When they returned to the station, they were informed that he was waiting for them in room two and Thomas was handed a folder. He flipped it open and she read the guy’s rap sheet over his shoulder: One DD-drunk and disorderly, two B&E’s-breaking and entering, and a couple for shoplifting.
Shadowhawk pointed to the B&E’s. “The idiot left his fingerprints all over the place. His brain’s fried. His entire life consists of trying to score that next hit. No way he could pull this off.”
“No. He’s just a patsy. I’m hoping he can give us something to go on,” Thomas agreed.
“It says here that he lives at the homeless shelter off Third Street here in Santa Ana.”
They observed him through the one-way glass for a few minutes. The guy was in a bad way. He was drenched in sweat and so jumpy he could barely stay in his seat. His face was covered in acne, just one of the lovely side effects of being an addict. His shoulder length hair was greasy and clumped together.
Thomas asked one of the uniforms to get him a Coke and a candy bar. Junkies crave sugar. When they can’t get their drug of choice, they eat as much sugar as possible to raise the dopamine in their bodies.
The detectives waited until he’d consumed everything before entering. It didn’t take long, he inhaled them both in a minute tops. They hoped it would calm him down enough to be able to string a full sentence together.
The moment the door opened, he began to talk. “What am I doing here? I didn’t steal that jewelry, I found it.” He was missing several teeth.
“Okay, Steve, let’s say we believe you. Where did you find the jewelry?” Thomas asked.
“Behind the Dollar Store. There was this purse, see. It was just laying there next to a dumpster. I didn’t know it belonged to anyone. Weren’t no one around. I just took a peek.” Spittle flew with his agitation.
“Was the purse yours, Steve?” Shadowhawk asked.
His brows creased as he stared at her. “I ain’t no fag.”
“So, it’s safe to say the purse belonged to a woman?” she said.
“Uh, yeah, I was going to return it, but there weren’t no driver’s license in it,” Steve answered.
“Now that is a conundrum,” Thomas added sarcastically.
“Yeah. I only picked it up to return it to the lady. Maybe there was a reward or something, you know?”
“But since there was no identification, you decided to keep it,” she added.
“Well, yeah. What else was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe turn it into the police?” she said.
He stared at her with his mouth open.
Thomas jumped in. “I guess that thought never crossed your mind, huh?”
“If the lady wanted it back she would have had her wallet and driver’s license in there.”
Shadowhawk had to fight to keep a straight face. “Let me get this straight, you think some woman put all her nice jewelry into a purse and left it by a dumpster because she didn’t want it anymore?”
“Yeah. Like maybe her husband bought that stuff for her and she was mad at him, so she was giving it away. People do some crazy shit when they’re pissed.”
“Or when they’re jonesing, huh?” Shadowhawk asked.
He pinned her with his beady eyes. “I ain’t lying. This here’s the truth.”
Thomas pulled out the picture of the Schiffs. “Do you know these people?”
Steve squinted as he stared at the photo. “No. Why?”
“You’re sure? You’ve never seen them?” Thomas asked.
“I don’t know no old people that look like that.”
“Do you ever go to Garden Grove?” Thomas said.
“Why the hell would I go there? It’s too far to walk.”
“Anyone you know been bragging about robbing a house there?” Shadowhawk asked.
“I didn’t rob no house. If the lady wants her purse back, she can have it. I don’t want it no more. Can I go now?”
“Excuse us.” Thomas stood and she followed his lead out of the room. Once the door was closed, Thomas looked at her. “What do you think?”
“We’ve got everything we’re going to get from the guy. He doesn’t know shit.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Thomas stopped a uniform walking by. “Cut him loose.”
“Yes, sir.”
By the time they got back to the office, it was after seven in the evening. Thomas was going through his emails.
“Do you still want to hit up that bar and see if I can find the bitch that’s been stalking me?” Shadowhawk asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Do you want to see if Meagan wants to come along?”
“She’s having dinner with her friend, Katy. Besides, if we do have trouble, I don’t want her anywhere around.”
She nodded. “Good thinking.”
“Holy shit.”
She jumped up and came around the desk behind him. “What?”
“Forensics got a partial print off the Cadillac. There’s no match in AFIS, but they found a connection to an open case on NCIC.”
“Okay.” She plopped back in her chair. Without an ID, she didn’t get what he was getting all excited about.
“It’s Billings’s case, your case.”
“What are you blathering on about? I’ve never worked with Bil – you’ve got to be shitting me, you mean my house?”
He stared at her with wide eyes. “Yes. It’s the same perp.”
He pulled out his phone and checked the messages. They’d both put their phones on vibrate mode while in the interrogation room. She took hers out as well.
They both had received a voicemail from Detective Billings.