Robert Crais - Suspect

Wallace and Isbecki were still on the sidewalk when two radio cars screeched to a stop behind Cowly’s sedan and two more stopped behind the sedan at the far end of the street. Four uniformed officers deployed from each car to seal the street.

Ishi’s house was quiet and still, but Scott knew all hell was breaking loose inside. Maggie fidgeted from his anxiety.

Five seconds later, two of the male Fugitive detectives emerged with an Anglo male handcuffed between them. Cowly visibly relaxed.

“That’s it, baby. Done deal.”

Cowly drove forward, parked alongside the van, and shoved open her door.

“C’mon. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Scott let Maggie out the rear, clipped her lead, and hurried to catch up as Sims and another Fugitive dick brought out Estelle Rolley. Rolley looked like a walking skeleton. Street officers called this “the meth diet.”

Cowly motioned Scott to join her in the yard.

The remaining Fugitive Section detective brought out Marshall Ishi last. Ishi’s hands were cuffed behind his back. He was maybe five eleven, and had the same hollow eyes and cheeks as in his booking photo. He stared at the ground, and wore baggy cargo shorts, sneakers without socks, and a discolored T-shirt that draped him like a parachute.

Scott studied the man. Nothing about him was familiar, but Scott couldn’t turn away. He felt as if he was falling into the man.

Cowly nudged close.

“What do you think?”

She sounded lost in a tunnel.

The arresting detective steered Ishi off the porch down two short steps to the sidewalk.

Scott saw the Kenworth slam into the Bentley. He saw the Bentley roll, and the flare of the AK-47. He saw Marshall Ishi on the roof, peering down at the carnage, and running away. Scott saw these things as if they were happening in front of him, but he knew this was only a fantasy. He saw Stephanie die, and heard her beg him to come back.

Ishi glanced up, met Scott’s eyes, and Maggie growled deep in her chest.

Scott turned away, hating Cowly for dragging him here.

“This was stupid.”

“Man, you should’ve seen your face. Are you okay?”

“I was thinking about that night, is all. Like a flashback. I’m fine.”

“Did seeing him help?”

“Does it look like it helped?”

Scott’s voice was sharp, and he immediately regretted it.

Cowly showed her palms and took a step back.

“Okay. Just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. He could be our guy. We just have to roll with it.”

Scott thought , Fuck you and your roll with it.

Scott followed her into a small, dirty house permeated with a burnt-plastic and chemical odor so strong it made his eyes water. Cowly fanned the air, making a face.

“That’s the crystal. Soaks into the paint, the floors, everything.”

The living room contained a futon piled with rumpled sheets, a threadbare couch, and an elaborate blue glass bong almost three feet tall. Rock pipes dotted the futon and couch, and a square mirror smeared with powder sat on the floor. Maggie strained against her lead. Her nostrils flickered independently as she tested the air, then the floor, then the air again, and her anxiety flowed up the leash. She glanced at Scott as if checking his reaction, and barked.

“Take it easy. We’re not here for that.”

Scott tightened her lead to keep her close. Maggie had been trained to detect explosives, and explosives-detection dogs were never trained to alert to drugs. Scott decided the combined chemical smells of crystal and rock were confusing her. He tightened her lead even more, and stroked her flanks.

“Settle, baby. Settle. We don’t want it.”

The male Rampart detective appeared in the hall, and grinned at Cowly.

“We own this dude, boss. Come see.”

Cowly introduced Scott to Bill Wallace, who worked Rampart Robbery. Claudia Isbecki was in the first of two tiny bedrooms, photographing dime bags of rock cocaine, a large pill bottle filled with crystal meth, a glass jar filled with weed, and assorted plastic bags containing Adderall, Vyvanse, Dexedrine, and other amphetamines. Wallace then led them to a second bedroom, where he pointed out a tattered black gym bag, and grinned like a man who won the lottery.

“Found this under the bed. Check it out.”

The bag contained a pry bar, two screwdrivers, a bolt cutter, a hacksaw, a lock pick set with tension wrenches, a bottle of graphite, and a battery-powered lock pick gun.

Wallace stepped back, beaming.

“We call this a do-it-yourself burglary kit as defined under Penal Code four-forty-six. Also known as a one-way ticket to conviction.”

Cowly nodded.

“Pictures. Log everything, and email the pix to me asap. They’ll save time with his lawyer.”

Cowly glanced at Scott, then turned away.

“Let’s go. We’re finished here.”

“What happens now?”

“I’ll bring you to your car. Then I’m going back to the Boat, and you should probably go wherever you dog guys go.”

“I meant with Ishi.”

“We’ll question him. We’ll use the charges we have to press him about Shin. If he didn’t rob Shin, maybe he knows who did. We work the case.”

Her phone rang when they reached the living room. She glanced at the Caller ID.

“That’s Orso. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She moved away to take the call. Scott wondered if he should wait, then decided to get Maggie out of the stink, and took her outside.

A small crowd of neighborhood residents was gathered across the street and in the surrounding yards to watch the action. Scott was watching them when two senior officers came up the walk with a thin young male in his early twenties. He sported a mop of curly black hair, gaunt cheeks, and nervous eyes. Then Scott saw the resemblance, and realized this was Marshall Ishi’s younger brother, Daryl. He was not handcuffed, which meant he was not under arrest.

Scott was stepping off the sidewalk to let them pass when Maggie alerted, and lunged toward Daryl. She caught Scott by surprise, and almost pulled him off his feet. She pulled so hard, she raised up onto her hind legs.

Daryl and the closest officer both lurched sideways, and the officer shouted.

“Jesus Christ!”

Scott reacted immediately.

“Out, Maggie. Out!”

Maggie retreated, but kept barking.

The officer who shouted was bright red with anger.

“Christ, man, control your dog. That thing almost bit me!”

“Maggie, out! Out! Come!”

Maggie followed Scott away. She didn’t seem frightened or angry. Her tail wagged, and she glanced from Daryl Ishi to the pocket with the hidden baloney to Daryl Ishi again.

Daryl said, “That dog bites me, I’ll sue your ass.”

Cowly stepped from the house and came down the steps. The flushed uniform introduced Daryl as Marshall’s brother.

“Says he lives here and wants to know what’s going on.”

Cowly nodded, and seemed to consider Daryl with a remote detachment.

“Your brother has been arrested on suspicion of burglary, theft, possession of stolen goods, possession of narcotics, and possession of narcotics with the intent to distribute.”

Daryl waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he leaned sideways, trying to see inside through the open front door.

“Where’s Ganj?”

“Everyone within the house has been arrested. Your brother is being processed at the Rampart Community Police Station, and will then be transferred to the Police Administration Building.”

“Uh-huh. Okay. I got things in there. Can I go inside?”

“Not at this time. When the officers are finished, you’ll be allowed to enter.”

“I can leave?”

“Yes.”