When I reached my desk Monday morning, I picked up a note from Duffy: “Hell of a job! Congrats on clearing the case. I knew I could count on you. I’m in meetings this morning. Let’s talk this afternoon.”
As Ortiz sauntered through the squad room door, he called out, in a mock newscaster tone, “Detective Levine, do you feel a sense of closure? Do you feel the unfortunate ghetto youth was compelled to commit murder because of his underprivileged childhood?”
He leaned over my desk, shook my hand, and said softly, “You did Pete Relovich right. He was a good cop. I’m glad you nailed that gangster. And I hope-”
Ortiz paused when he heard Graupmann’s booming voice.
“I softened Fuqua up,” Graupmann boasted to another detective. “I was like the guy at the bullfight who jabs at the snorting bull with one of those spears until he’s covered with blood. You know that guy.”
“The banderillero,” Ortiz called out.
“That’s it,” Graupmann said. “Then when Fuqua was just about ready to give up, the Manischewitz matador stepped up and finished him off.”
Ortiz chuckled and said, “Maybe you just got yourself a new partner.”
“God forbid.”
“I haven’t eaten. Let’s grab some breakfast.”
“I don’t think I-”
Ortiz wagged his finger at me. “You just cleared your case. Duffy’s not here. Face it, you got no excuse this morning. And to celebrate, I’m buying.”
“Okay, I’ll take you up on your offer. A cheap bastard like you will probably never make it again.”
Ortiz drove to his favorite restaurant, Astro’s, a twenty-four-hour coffee shop a few miles north of downtown. As we sipped coffee, waiting for our omelets and toast, he said, “So how’s that hottie that Papazian pimped for you?”
“She was all over me like a cheap suit. Then she dumped me.”
“It’s one thing if your wife walks out on you. That’s normal. Happened to you-happened to half the guys in Felony Special. Christ, that’s what my first and second ex-wives did.” Ortiz sipped his coffee. “When I was at Hollenbeck, the crusty old D-3 who recruited me to work homicide said, ‘Don’t get married. Just find a woman you hate and buy her a house, a car, and give her half your pension. Because after you work homicide for a few years, she’ll divorce your ass and take it all anyway.’”
The waitress brought our breakfast, and as I shook salt on my omelet, I said, “She mentioned something about an old boyfriend coming back on the scene.”
“Sounds like a load of shit. Anyway, if your wife leaves you, it’s nothing personal. That’s the way it goes. But if some broad you nail once dumps you, now that’s a real insult.” Ortiz patted me on the shoulder. “Let me give you some advice, mijo. Next time you want to get your rocks off, don’t go after some classy art gallery bitch. She’s out of your league. You gotta know your limits. You know what they say about boxers: when they move up in weight, they can’t take their punch with them. Well, you just moved up in weight, too, and you never had a chance. Come with me to an academy barbecue. I’ll find you a nice cop groupie who’ll rock your world and come back for seconds.”
When we finished our breakfast, Ortiz said, “So, one case down. What’s next?”
“It’s not exactly down. I’ve still got some follow-up to do.”
Ortiz laughed. “You say that about every case. They should put that on your tombstone.”
As I walked through the squad room, Duffy craned his head out of his office and motioned for me to step inside. “Again, great work, Ash,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Just got calls from the chief, Assistant Chief Grazzo, and Commander Wegland. They loved the press conference. Great for the department. They all send their congratulations. And their thanks.”
I sat down and said, “It isn’t over yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to two witnesses, Fuqua had a partner.”
“Witnesses?” Duffy lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow. “More like a crackhead and a dumb-shit broad.”
“I’d still like to find Fuqua’s partner.”
“The only way you’re going to find the partner, if there’s a partner, is after the prelim when Fuqua realizes death row’s got a cell with his name on it. Then he’ll give up his mother and his favorite pit bull to save his ass. His P.D. will talk to the D.A. and it’ll be let’s make a deal time. You had your chance with Fuqua and he didn’t give you shit.”
“I’d like a little more time on this one.”
“We picked up a triple in Mar Vista a few nights ago. I want you to help the primaries.”
“There’s something about this case that still bothers me.”
Duffy smacked his forehead and said, “Oh, no! Here we go again. Do you always have to pick, pick, pick?”
“You sound like the department shrink.”
“You need a shrink. Can’t you just be happy that you cleared the case and move on?”
“It’s just that there’s a few things-”
“Okay, okay,” With a look of weary forbearance, Duffy asked, “What is it?”
“I’m still bothered with the setup in the living room. I can’t see Relovich sitting on the sofa across from Fuqua. A veteran cop would never allow himself to be maneuvered into that kind of setup.”
“If Fuqua’s pointing a nine at him, he’ll sit wherever the hell he’s told to sit. What else?”
“A week before Relovich was killed he called Internal Affairs.”
“It’s not so unusual for a retired cop to call I.A.”
“But he’s killed before he ever gets to talk to them. I don’t like the timing.”
Duffy backhanded the air with a dismissive flick. “He could have been seeing I.A. about any thing.”
“Fuqua just spent a nickel in Folsom. The blacks and Mexicans are at war in there. A black wouldn’t partner up with a Mexican after hitting the streets.”
“But it looks like Fuqua did.”
“Maybe.”
What else?”
“A few other things that you’ll just blow off. Why don’t you cut me some slack. I think I’ve earned a second look at this case.”
“Every time we clear a case in here, there’re always a few things that don’t add up. Fuqua’s our guy. He had the motive. And you can’t argue with DNA. All this shit you’re laying on me, you knew about it from the get go, but you still chased Fuqua and jacked him up.”
“When that DNA matched Fuqua, the case came together so well, I just rode the momentum. But now-”
“Now that the momentum’s run out, you’re suffering from the paralysis of analysis.”
“I’m not saying Fuqua didn’t do it. I’m just saying I want to find the partner.”
“You think that pimp Abazeda who ran those escort girls was involved?”
“No. I don’t think he’s got the balls for it. He’s just an asshole with a big mouth.”
Duffy crossed and uncrossed his arms. “Damn it, you’re a pain in the ass. Sometimes you’re like the cow that gives the farmer a bucket of milk. Then kicks it over. Then pisses on it.”
“I resent-”
“Let me lay it out for you. Pete Relovich’s murder is cleared. Fuqua’s in custody. Fuqua had a motive. Fuqua was tied to the crime scene. So the chief is happy. The assistant chief is happy. Commander Wegland is happy. Captain Paganos is happy. And I’m happy.”
Duffy began pacing in his small office. “Remember what your old guru, Bud Carducci, used to say?” Duffy asked.
“Yeah. When you hear hoofbeats-don’t think zebra.”
“Well? Why ignore the obvious explanation and go looking for some far-fetched one?”
“Carducci’s saying doesn’t apply here.”
“I think it does. You should be proud that you got that gangster off the streets. If you start all over on this one, you know what that means for me? I’ll be pestered again with phone calls from the brass all fucking day. I’ll be badgered by reporters, asking why this case isn’t wrapped up. I’ll be hassled by the other detectives who want to know why they keep getting paged at three in the morning for new cases, while I refuse to put you back on the on-call board.”
“I think it would be worthwhile-”
Duffy held up both palms. “Ash, you know I respect your instincts. But frankly, you have a tendency to overthink a case. I think you’re doing it on this one. Still, I asked you to come back and solve the homicide. And you did. So I’ll give you one more week. I owe you that much.”
I shook my head. “I need a month to put this case together properly.”
“A week,” Duffy said. “You’re back on call next Monday.”
“Three weeks.”
“Ash, I’m not going to haggle with you. You get a week.”
“I need three weeks.”
Duffy narrowed his eyes. “One week. Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.”
“But after your week,” Duffy said, pointing to the on-call board posted on a wall, “you’re going back up there.”