Michael Connelly - Blood Work

He didn’t know exactly why he was shading the truth to the point of lying. Other than that he had immediately taken a disliking to Arrango, he didn’t feel he wanted to reveal his true connection to Gloria Torres and Graciela Rivers.

“Well, look,” Arrango said, “I don’t know what she told you about this, but this is a convenience store robbery, FBI man. This isn’t Charlie Manson or Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Fucking Dahmer. It’s not rocket science. This is some mope with a mask and a gun and the right ratio of balls to brains to use it all to make a couple dollars. This isn’t what you’re used to seein’, is what I’m saying.”

“I know that,” McCaleb said. “But I told her I’d check into it. It’s been what, going on two months now? I thought maybe you guys wouldn’t mind a fresh set of eyes on something you can’t be spending much time on anymore.”

Walters took the bait.

“Our team’s pulled four cases since then and Eddie’s been in trial the last two weeks in Van Nuys,” he said. “As far as Rivers goes, it’s-”

“Still active,” Arrango said, cutting his partner off.

McCaleb looked from Walters to Arrango.

“Right… Sure.”

“And we’ve got a rule that we don’t invite amateurs in on active cases.”

“Amateurs?”

“You got no badge, no private ticket, that says amateur to me.”

McCaleb let the insult go by. He guessed Arrango was just taking his measure anyway. He pushed on.

“That’s one of those rules you bring up when it’s convenient,” he said. “But we all know here that I might be able to help you. What you need to know is that I’m not here to show you guys up. Not at all. Anything I come up with, you’ll be the first to know. Suspects, leads, anything. It all goes to you. I’d just like a little cooperation, that’s all.”

“Cooperation in exactly what form?” Arrango asked. “Like my partner who talks too much says, we’re kind of busy here.”

“Copy me the murder book. Also any video you have. I’m good on crime scenes. That was sort of my specialty. I might be able to help you there. Just copy me what you’ve got and I’ll get out of your way.”

“What you’re saying is you think we fucked up. That the answer’s sitting there in the book ready to jump out at you ’cause you’re a fed and the feds are so much smarter than us.”

McCaleb laughed and shook his head. He was beginning to think he should have counted his losses and left as soon as he saw the macho-man holster. He tried once more.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t know if you missed anything or not. I’ve worked with LAPD many times. If I was betting, I’d bet you missed nothing. All I’m saying is that I told Graciela Rivers I’d check into things. Let me ask you something, does she call you much?”

“The sister? Too much. Week in and week out and I tell her the same thing every time. No suspects, no leads.”

“You’re waiting on something to happen, right? Give it new life.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, this could at least be your way of getting her off your back. If I see what you’ve got and go back to her and say you boys did what you could, she might back off. She’ll believe it from me because she knows me.”

Neither of them said anything.

“What have you got to lose?” McCaleb prodded.

“We’d have to clear any kind of cooperation with the lieutenant,” Arrango said. “We can’t just give out copies of investigative records without his say-so, rules or no rules. In fact, you fucked up there, bro. You should’ve gone to him before you came to us. You know how the game’s played. You didn’t follow protocol.”

“I understand that. I asked for him when I got here but they said he was at Valley bureau.”

“Yeah, well, he should be back soon,” Arrango said, checking his watch. “Tell you what, you say you’re good with crime scenes?”

“Yeah. If you got a tape, I’d like to take a look at it.”

Arrango looked at Walters and winked, then he looked back at McCaleb.

“We got better than a crime scene tape. We got the crime.”

He kicked back his chair and stood up.

“Come on,” he said. “Bring those doughnuts with you.”

ARRANGO OPENED a drawer in one of the desks crammed into the squad room and took out a videotape. He then led the way out of the homicide squad office, down the hall and then through the half door of the main detective bureau counter. McCaleb could see they were headed for Buskirk’s office, which was still empty. McCaleb left the doughnuts on the front counter and followed the others in.

Pushed into one corner of the room was a tall steel cabinet on wheels. It was the kind of setup used in classrooms and roll-call rooms. Arrango opened the two doors and there was a television and a videocassette player inside. He turned the equipment on and shoved in the tape.

“So look at this and tell us something we don’t know yet,” he said to McCaleb without looking at him. “Then maybe we go to bat for you with the lieutenant.”

McCaleb moved until he stood directly in front of the television. Arrango hit the play button and soon the black-and-white image came up on the television screen. McCaleb was looking at the view held by an overhead surveillance camera in a small convenience store. The frame was drawn around the front counter area. It was glass-topped and full of cigars and disposable cameras and batteries and other high-end items. A printed date and timeline ran across the bottom of the screen.

The frame was empty for a few moments and then the top of the gray-haired counterman’s head came into view in the lower left corner as he leaned over the cash register.

“That’s Chan Ho Kang, the owner,” Arrango said, punching the screen with a finger and leaving a smudge of doughnut grease. “He’s spending his last few seconds on the planet here.”

Kang had the cash drawer open. He broke a roll of quarters against the corner of the counter case and then dumped them into the appropriate section of the drawer. Just as he shoved it closed, a woman entered the frame. A customer. McCaleb recognized her instantly from the photo Graciela Rivers had showed him on the boat.

Gloria Torres smiled as she approached the counter and placed two Hershey’s candy bars down on the glass. She then pulled her purse up, opened it and took out her wallet as Mr. Kang punched keys on the register.

Gloria looked up, money in hand, when suddenly another figure entered the frame. It was a man with a black ski mask covering his face and wearing what looked like a black jumpsuit. He moved up behind Gloria unnoticed. She was still smiling. McCaleb looked at the time counter, saw it said 22:41:39 and then looked back at what was happening in the store. It gave him a strange feeling to watch the action take place in this surreal black-and-white silence. From behind, the man in the ski mask put his right hand on Gloria’s right shoulder and in one continuous move of the left hand put the muzzle of a handgun against her left temple. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger.

“Badda-BING!” Arrango said.

McCaleb felt his chest clench like a fist as he watched the bullet tear into Gloria’s skull, a horrifying mist of blood jettisoning from the entry and exit wounds on either side of her head.

“Never knew what hit her,” Walters said quietly.

Gloria jerked forward onto the counter and then bounced backward, collapsing into the shooter as he brought his right arm up around her and across her chest. Stepping backward, Gloria in front of him as a shield, he raised his left hand again and fired a shot at Mr. Kang, striking him somewhere in the body. The store owner bounced off the wall behind him and then forward, his upper body crashing down over the counter and cracking the glass. His arms flung out across the counter and his hands grappled for a hold like a man going over a cliff. Finally, he let go, his body flopping to the floor behind the counter.