Earth Angels (31 page)

The other officer hurried to the woman and snapped handcuffs on her wrists. "Payasoooooo!" she screeched hysterically. "My Payaso is deeeeeaaaaad!"

The officer pointed at Gloria. "What about her?"

"She's a witness. I'll take her to the station myself."

The sound of footsteps was followed by the arrival of more uniformed officers. Stepanovich briefed them quickly. Two uniformed city paramedics arrived. A younger man carrying a medical case knelt down next to Payaso and held a stethoscope to Payaso's chest.

"No vital signs," he said brusquely. "Looks like we're not needed."

His partner, a balding man, glanced at his wristwatch, then reached to his back pocket and took out a blue printed pad the size of a traffic citation book. He filled out the top page quickly, tore out the carbon copy, and handed it to Stepanovich.

Stepanovich looked up suddenly and found Gloria staring at him.

As officers began stretching yellow evidence tape across the doorway, Stepanovich took her by the arm and led her outside to his car. He opened the door for her and she climbed in.

"Do you feel OK?"

Gloria stared straight ahead.

"Try not to think about what happened."

****

TWENTY-THREE

Stepanovich drove Gloria around the corner to the two-story house where her sister lived.

He helped her out of the car. "I'm going to the station. When the shooting team investigators arrive, I'll send them over here to interview you," he said, leading her up the short walkway. He could hear a vacuum cleaner going inside.

Without looking at him, she knocked on the door.

"Are you OK?" he said, realizing his hands were still shaking.

The vacuum stopped. The door opened and Gloria's sister, Armida, a handsome woman resembling her, frowned in concern. "Gloria. What's wrong?"

Gloria broke into tears and Armida threw her arms around her.

Stepanovich returned to Hollenbeck Station to brief the shooting team investigators. He spent the next seven hours answering questions and writing reports about the two shootings. With these duties finally taken care of, he hurried back to Armida's house. Armida came to the door and told him Gloria was lying down and would be with her for the night. He told her he would be back in the morning.

At his apartment, Stepanovich fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He had a horrible, nauseating headache.

In the kitchen he opened a drawer and fished among kitchen utensils, supermarket coupons, and some plastic corncob holders Nancy had left behind until he found the bottle of aspirin. He spun the cap and tipped three of the white pills into his cupped hand. Filling a glass from the dish drainer, he tossed the pills back and washed them down.

In the living room the red light on his answering machine was blinking. He touched the PLAY button: a message from the landlord reminding him to pay the rent. He turned the machine off. In the bathroom he stripped and took a long shower, soaping up and rinsing himself three times.

In bed, though the aspirin had made the headache disappear, every time he closed his eyes he pictured Gloria and heard gunshots.

Unable to sleep, he turned on the radio and flipped through channels for a while, finally stopping on a talk show featuring a panel of motorcycle gang members. Then he turned off the radio and lay there in the dark, intermittently reliving the shootings and seeing Gloria and Payaso holding the gun to her head. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, he concentrated on the persistent hum of the freeway floating through the open window and managed to drop into fitful sleep.

In the morning, a loud knocking woke Stepanovich from a frightening dream in which he was naked, precariously riding a motorcycle on a wire extended between skyscrapers.

He opened his eyes. It was light. Still half asleep, he staggered to his feet and pulled on his trousers. The pounding on the door continued as he shuffled through the living room to the front door. Stepanovich used the peephole. It was Houlihan and two other grim internal affairs detectives.

Stepanovich rushed to the telephone and picked up the receiver. He began to dial Arredondo's number, then stopped when he realized the phone might be bugged.

"Internal affairs!" Houlihan shouted. "Open up!"

Stepanovich set the receiver down on the cradle, took a deep breath, and walked back to the door. He unfastened the chain lock and pulled the door open quickly.

Houlihan stepped back as if startled. "Internal affairs investigation," he said nervously. The other detectives, athletic looking men with closely cropped hair, Stepanovich recognized by face but not name. They were dressed in neat but obviously cheap suits and ties and were carrying briefcases. Both avoided looking him in the eye.

Stepanovich, carefully avoiding making any expression whatsoever, just nodded at Houlihan.

"I guess you know why we're here," Houlihan said nervously.

Stepanovich forced a smile. "Looking for your wife?"

Houlihan's face turned a purplish red. "You are the subject of a personnel investigation. Captain Ratliff, Commander of Internal Affairs Division, has ordered us to search your apartment."

"I hope you have that in writing."

Houlihan reached inside his coat, proudly displayed a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to Stepanovich. Because he figured Houlihan wouldn't have the guts to do anything without official backing,, he handed the paper back without reading it.

Like a magician doing a silk scarf trick, Houlihan hid the paper inside his coat and came out with a small plastic laminated card. He read: "You have the right to refuse consent for this search, but if you do, the Department may choose to legally close and secure this dwelling and seek the issuance of a legal search warrant from a duly authorized judge "

"I know my rights. What's the allegation?"

"CUBO," Houlihan said. "Conduct unbecoming an officer."

"Go ahead," Stepanovich said, believing there was nothing in the apartment of evidentiary value, and stepped back from the door.

Houlihan moved past him into the living room and the others followed. As Houlihan pointed the detectives toward rooms, Stepanovich stepped into the kitchen, picked up a coffee mug, and filled it with water. He opened the cupboard and took out a small glass jar of instant coffee.

"I'd appreciate it if you would stay in one place and not move around while we search," Houlihan said.

Stepanovich glanced into the living room to make sure they were alone and there were no witnesses. "Fuck you," he said in a tone low enough so that if Houlihan wrote him up and accused him of refusing to cooperate with an internal affairs investigation the others wouldn't be unable to corroborate the allegation.

Houlihan knew what Jose was doing. He just stood there glaring, red faced. Stepanovich twisted the cap from the coffee jar, picked up a spoon, and measured a heaping teaspoon into a cup. As Houlihan watched, he opened the microwave door, set the cup inside, and fixed the digital timer for two minutes. He closed the door and touched the ON switch. The microwave hummed.

Cautiously, keeping his eyes on Stepanovich, Houlihan began to casually sort through the stack of mail on the kitchen table.

With the coffee heated, Stepanovich carried it to the table and sat down. He slurped the coffee loudly and looked Houlihan directly in the eye.

"I'm just doing a job," Houlihan said.

Stepanovich stared at the mail in Houlihan's hand. Guiltily Houlihan set the mail down and left the table to explore the living room, checking thoroughly under sofa cushions and thumbing through some Serb World and American Legion magazines piled in the corner.

When the detectives returned to the living room, the taller one, standing with his back to Stepanovich, handed something to Houlihan. "This was on the dresser."

Stepanovich picked up his coffee cup and sauntered across the room.

Houlihan, staring at the carbon of the weapons receipt Black got for the shoulder weapons, was smiling broadly. He looked up. "Looks like you were planning a heavy operation without the knowledge of your superiors."

Though Stepanovich felt like grabbing the receipt out of Houlihan's hand, he just sipped his coffee.

Houlihan shoved the receipt in his suit jacket pocket. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes."

"It's your name and your handwriting, isn't it?"

"Probably," Stepanovich said, knowing that he would be violating a Department regulation by not answering. Besides, a police handwriting expert would be able to identify his handwriting.

"You might as well tell us the truth and save yourself a lot of trouble."

"Is your search completed?" Stepanovich said.

"You could say that."

"Do you have any further questions?"

"Not right now."

"Then get the hell out of my apartment."

"Do you want a receipt for the evidence?"

"No," Stepanovich said, opening the door. "I want to go back to sleep."

Houlihan and the others had barely stepped across the threshold when Stepanovich slammed the door. He walked to the window and pulled the curtain back a few inches. The detectives walked down the stairs and stopped by the car to converse animatedly. Houlihan looked pleased. Finally they climbed into their police sedan and drove out the driveway and around the corner.

Stepanovich ran into the bedroom and threw on a T-shirt and shoes. He shoved some change into his pocket, and jogged back through the living room and out the door.

At the pay telephone across the street from the apartment, Stepanovich dialed Arredondo's number. The phone was answered on the first ring. Stepanovich, articulating clearly, read off the phone number of the pay telephone.

"Got it," Arredondo said in a tone indicating he recognized Stepanovich's voice.

Stepanovich hung the receiver back on the switch hook.

Less than five minutes later, the phone rang.

"Are you at a pay phone?" Stepanovich said.

"If you're going to warn me about IA, they've already been to my place and gone. Black just called. They hit him too."

"Did they get anything?"

"They didn't get anything at Black's, but they took my address book."

"Is Brenda's number in there?"

"I think so."

"Shit."

"They're going to try to hang us," Arredondo said.

"We're OK as long as we keep our mouths shut."

"When they were leaving I heard 'em talking about the grand jury. It sounded like they're taking it to the district attorney. They want to get us indicted."

"Harger won't let that happen."

"You'd better talk to him," Arredondo said. "Things are moving fast."

"Meet me tonight at the Rumor Control."

At Hollenbeck Station, a group of Hispanic men, women, and children were parading in front of the entrance carrying picket signs saying: "COPS GET AWAY WITH MURDER" and "PROSECUTE POLICE MURDERERS." Stepanovich drove around the corner and pulled into the parking lot in the rear. He made his way down the stairs to the CRASH office. The squad room was empty.

The door to Harger's office was cracked a few inches, and Stepanovich peeked inside. Harger, his necktie askew, was seated at his desk busily writing on a thick legal pad. Stepanovich rapped on the door to gain his attention. Harger looked startled as he said, "Joe." He quickly turned over the tablet. "I thought you had the day off "

"Internal affairs searched my apartment."

"I only have a few minutes before I have to be at the Chief's office," Harger said apologetically.

"They searched Arredondo's and Black's places too. They're trying to put a case together on us."

Harger picked up a pencil and drummed on the tablet. "This thing is taking on a life of its own. The DA, the politicians are getting involved."

"Why hasn't the Chief held a press conference?"

Harger stopped drumming. "A press conference?"

"If the chief expresses support for us, it'll take off some of the heat. Internal affairs will back off."

"Sure. I'll bring that up with him."

"Captain, I'm as solid as anyone on this department, but you and I both know that once the ball starts rolling on something like this, every bureaucrat, every political hack, every reporter in this town will get in on the act. They'll make punching bags out of US."

"That's not going to happen," Harger said. "Things just look like they're getting out of control at this point. I want you and the others to just hang in until we see what we're up against. The chief doesn't want to play his cards too soon."

"I've been around long enough to know that's not how it works. Somebody has to take a stand on our behalf or we'll never make it."

"Hey, you guys blew up seven people. I can't just wave a magic wand and make it go away. There's going to be a lot of televised funerals and coroners’ inquests and rehashing in the press before this incident is washed. You have to be patient."