Critical Pursuit (6 page)

BRINNA SHUT OFF
the AC and rolled the window down as she and Hero neared the coast of Long Beach and home. Taking a deep breath of warm, salt-water-smelling air, she sighed and tried to erase the frown she knew had creased her brow all morning.

Uncomfortable memories of Milo’s strange demeanor the night before blunted the good coming-home feeling. Echoes of the conversation bouncing in her brain left her feeling uneasy, as if she’d put a shirt on backward and the tag were scratching her throat.

The image of her hero and mentor reading the Bible and believing it was as incongruous as snow falling on the Hawaiian coastline. Milo had always been so confident in himself and his own beliefs that he’d never needed the crutch of religion. Why did he need it now?

He wants to believe there is an all-powerful being in control of this world,
she thought, working hard to wrap her mind around the concept.
If there is such a being, I sure have a bone
to pick with him.
Shaking her head to banish the thought, she glanced in the rearview mirror at Hero.

“Well, baby, we’re back near the ocean and out of the hot desert.” Brinna tapped the steering wheel in rhythm to an upbeat country tune Kenny Chesney sang, trying to force Milo’s moroseness from her mind.

She’d been able to lift his mood only briefly. The subject of her shooting had stopped his introspection for a few minutes and he’d been the old Milo. He’d impressed upon her not to worry about it, to stick to the facts as they unfolded before her that night.
“Don’t let the fat Monday-morning quarterbacks sack you,”
he’d said.

Brinna was more comfortable with the caustic cop than the reflective retiree. She’d spent the night in his guest room, but he’d been gone when she got up. He’d left a note next to the coffeemaker saying only that he had an appointment.

Still concerned about his state of mind but having no good excuse to hang around and wait for him to return, Brinna loaded up Hero to head home. She found a store that carried batteries for her cell phone on the way out of Santa Clarita. As soon as she powered the phone up, it beeped with several messages. Most were from friends, calling about the shooting investigation and offering support and encouragement. But there was one official-sounding message from Janet Rodriguez. She wanted to see Brinna about the shooting and had a meeting scheduled for Sunday night.

Brinna yawned as she wondered about the meeting and if something about the investigation had gone sideways.
No, not possible,
she thought. It was a pretty clear-cut situation.
Smiling, she remembered Milo’s football analogy and vowed that she wouldn’t let anything about the shooting or investigation get to her.

Once home, she got out and stretched, while Hero did the same. She bent to pick up the newspapers piled in the driveway during her five-day absence. After tossing them in the recycle barrel, she surveyed the yard to see if anything else was amiss.

Her small two-bedroom house had been built in the thirties. The warm Craftsman style, with a welcoming front porch, was to Brinna what the house with the white picket fence was to dreamers in the fifties. Located on a quiet street in an area of Belmont Shore north of Second Street, the home had a nice-size yard and mature foliage that served to make it all the more comfy and inviting.

For Brinna, being close to the ocean was the best part of the house. Until the age of six, she’d lived in a desert portion of Los Angeles County, on the outskirts of Palmdale in a dust bowl called Lake Los Angeles. If there had been a lake there, it had dried up a hundred years before Brinna’s birth. She liked to tell people her soul was as dry as a desert dust storm until her parents wised up and moved to the coast. Stepping onto her small lawn, she never grew tired of inhaling air heavy with ocean moisture.

Brinna picked some weeds, tossed them in the trash, and turned the hose on. She’d sprayed about half the lawn when her cell phone buzzed. Dropping the running hose to water a flower bed, she checked the number before she flipped it open.

“Maggie, what’s up?”

“You home yet?” Maggie asked.

“Just pulled in the driveway. What’s going on?”

“A lot of nonsense, that’s what’s going on. Have you read any local papers yet?”

“No, like I said, I just got here. Just tossed a bunch of them, why?”

“Read them. You’ve been out of the loop. You need to know what’s happening.”

“Is this about the shooting?” Brinna turned the hose down to a trickle and sat on her front steps.

“You
have
heard, then.”

“All I know is that Janet called me and said she wanted to meet about the shooting. She didn’t elaborate.”

“I’ll elaborate. That moron reporter has had diarrhea of the mouth about the shooting.”

“Clark? What could he have to say about the shooting? He hid in the car the whole time, and when he got out, he puked all over the street.”

“That’s not what he’s saying. He’s teamed up with an attorney and the family of the dead kid. They’re saying you shot the kid for no reason.”

“What?” Brinna’s eyebrows scrunched together, and she reflexively scratched Hero between the ears as he came and sat next to her. “He shot at me first! And why are you saying
ki
d
? How old was he?”

“I forgot. They identified the dead boy after you left. He was only fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” Brinna nearly dropped the phone. “But I saw
him. He was a good six feet tall and at least two hundred pounds.”

“Yep, he was a Poly High wide receiver. They expected to start him on varsity next year.”

“Then what was he doing shooting people and speeding through town with a gun?”

“It’s gotten so convoluted. The family retained Hester Shockley
 
—you know, that civil liberties lawyer? They’re saying their innocent kid tried to give up, and you shot him in cold blood.”

Brinna groaned. Every cop in the city knew the name Hester Shockley. A high-profile attorney who did anything and everything to get in front of television cameras. Suing cops always worked liked a charm. Her last excessive-force case against the LBPD netted her a couple million dollars.

“Ben searched for the slug the kid fired at me that night but couldn’t find it.” Brinna rubbed her forehead. “What about the kid’s victims, the ones you talked to that night? Did they ever say why he shot them?”

“They still won’t cooperate. Both of them had minor injuries and long police records. The kid you shot, Lee Warren, had no record. Shockley’s MO is to make a saint out of the crook and a sinner out of the cop.”

“Wow. I’ve seen these situations go sideways for other cops, but I shot that kid because he shot at me first. It’s so black-and-white.”

“Shockley excels at clouding the issue. Rumor is you’re going to be reassigned until it all blows over.”

“That’s why Janet wants to talk to me.” Brinna slapped
her thigh. “She wants me in her office tomorrow night.” She stifled a curse. “Just where do they think they’re going to put me?”

“Haven’t heard that. What time do you meet her?”

“Five. This is so bogus. I can’t believe it. Every time Hester Shockley says jump, the PD asks how high.” Fatigue fled, kicked in the butt by anger.

“Call me after you talk to your sergeant. We’ll meet for coffee.” Sympathy tinged Maggie’s voice.

“Will do. Thanks for the heads-up.” Brinna snapped the phone shut and groaned.

Are they going to move me inside? Or just to another shift? What about Hero? And what about my Innocent Wall? Will I still be able to search?
With each question she couldn’t answer, anger swelled.

After a while, Milo’s pep talk of the night before echoed in her ears and Brinna calmed somewhat. Milo’s advice was like armor. She couldn’t believe that he could ever think anything he’d taught her was wrong.

I know what I did was right,
she thought.
I won’t let them sack me.

Taking a deep breath, Brinna walked back to the recycle barrel and pulled out three of the bundles. When she opened one, the headline made her gag: “Kid Crusader Turned Kid Killer!”

BRINNA LOADED
the kayak on the roof of her personal truck and secured the straps, her movements jerky with anger. From her small house in Belmont Shore, the trip to Alamitos Bay took five minutes. She parked at a meter and fed it enough quarters for an hour and a half.

As she dragged the kayak across the sand to the water, the traditional accoutrements of summer swirled around her and she felt the anger mute. Putting the shooting out of her mind, she let the exhilaration of being back in her crowded, sea-breeze-tickled universe replace it. The shoreline teemed with kids splashing in the gently rolling surf; the smell of salt water mingled with the aroma of sunscreen. It was another scorcher. Heat seemed to roll up off the sand in waves. After Maggie’s call, Brinna knew she needed a paddle or she’d go crazy wondering about what was going to happen to her and Hero. A paddle always helped her head to clear.

To her left, the Second Street Kayak Rental Outfit stood open, doing a brisk business. Brinna scanned the beach for
Tony DiSanto, the owner of the rental business. Tony, the quintessential New York Italian, even resembled a smallish Tony Soprano. While Milo was what Brinna always wished her father were like, if her father weren’t a drunk, Tony DiSanto was the big brother or favorite uncle she’d never had.

She’d met him on the beach. He was the first person Brinna ever rented a kayak from, and he eventually helped her find one to buy. Not generally inclined to open up to people right away, Brinna liked Tony from the first. He and his family were
normal
, unlike Brinna’s own and unlike the many dysfunctional families she dealt with at work. She loved the way he talked with his hands and how his expression was always open and friendly.

His devotion to his twin six-year-old granddaughters, Carla and Bella, touched something deep inside. She saw him as he started to walk her way.

“Hey, Brinna.” Tony waved. “My good friend, how have you been?” He walked toward her across wet sand.

“I’ve been good. Where have you been?”

“Back east. My mother is sick.”

“Sorry to hear that. Is it serious?”

“Getting old is serious . . . and terminal.” He shrugged and jutted his chin toward Brinna. “Look at you
 
—how dark you are for a good Italian girl.”

“I was out in the desert for a couple of days. I tan easily.”

Tony shook a finger at her. “Be careful you don’t get that skin cancer. I’d hate to see them cutting things off that beautiful face.” He smiled. “By the way, what’s going on with the newspapers these days? A few days ago they were patting you
on the back for finding a kid; now I read they’re throwing the book at you for a shooting?”

Brinna groaned. “I don’t know what to think.” Briefly she filled him in on the shooting and then taking off to Utah. “I just got back; I don’t know what the problem is with the shooting.”

Tony waved both hands dismissively. “Hey, first you were heroic; you’ll be heroic again. You care about kids. Kids need people like you on their side.”

A bit embarrassed, Brinna sighed and fumbled for something to say. “I hate anyone who takes advantage of the innocent.”

Tony stood next to her and they both gazed at the bay. “Hear, hear. If something like what happened to you happened to one of my precious granddaughters
 
—” he clenched his teeth, raised his hands, and sputtered an Italian curse
 
—“I’d be in jail for killing the guy.” He turned to face Brinna. “Still, call me old-fashioned, but I worry about you out there. There are too many sick, crazy people in this world. People shooting at you.”

“Don’t worry about me; I can take care of myself. My worry is always for those who can’t. I need to protect kids from those maniacs. That’s why I do what I do, my friend. I want to feel useful, like I can help, you know?”
And I want to balance the scales. Someone found me. I owe it to victimized kids to do my best to find them.

“Just be careful. And on the water today, there are a lot of novices out there.” He motioned to her kayak. “Don’t run anyone over.”

Brinna laughed and it felt good. “I won’t. When it’s like this, I pretend I’m alone. I shut them out and do my own thing. Want to give me a push off?”

“Sure thing. Enjoy.”

Brinna slid the kayak partway into the gentle surf and climbed in, setting a bottle of water in front of her. Once she was set and her paddle ready, Tony shoved until the boat was all the way off the beach and into the water.

Paddle in hand, she used short, strong strokes to move away from the shore. A line of floats roped together separated the beach and swimming area from the channel. Brinna navigated through an opening and dodged a beginner piloting a sailboat poorly.

Out in the bay channel, she steered left to paddle away from Second Street and toward Spinnaker Bay. Brinna would cut across Marine Stadium and around Spinnaker Bay, through the marina and back to Second Street.

The hot sun beat down as she paddled through Marine Stadium, but it was blunted somewhat by a pleasant breeze. Brinna sighed and felt tension drain from her shoulders with each stroke.

As she dug into the water with the paddle, she sought to quiet her mind, drown out the images of the shooting and of the storm that now hung over the shooting.

Reporters like to sensationalize. Maybe that’s all this was and it will blow over.

“ISN’T THERE AN OLD-TIMER
I can work with?” Jack stood, shoving his chair back so hard it tipped over. For some reason, when Jack’s supervisor had said he’d be partnered with Brinna Caruso, Jack immediately felt going back to patrol was a mistake. He’d heard about her. She was a hard charger, and he doubted he’d be able to hide if partnered with her.

“Sorry, no. Caruso happens to need a partner just like you do,” Lieutenant Hoffman answered.

“I’ve just never worked with a woman,” Jack said, knowing how lame a statement it was but continuing on. “And ten hours a shift in a car with one . . . I don’t know.” He bit his bottom lip and frowned, struggling to think of something that made more sense.

“O’Reilly, you don’t have a choice. What happened to not wanting to rock the boat?” the lieutenant countered. “And you can’t back out now. The chief has already signed off on this.”

Jack sighed, clenching his fists. “I know; this is what
I wanted. I just never banked on a woman for a training partner.”

“She’s been on five years and is a good solid cop. She’s being reassigned because the press is all over her case.”

“Why?” Jack saw amusement in Hoffman’s eyes.

“You really don’t read the paper or watch the news, do you?”

“My life is depressing enough. Why do I need to know about the depression in other people’s lives?” Realization dawned. “She’s the cop who was in the 998?”

Hoffman nodded. “It’s become a controversial incident. Kind of like nine years ago when you shot that doctor’s kid out east.”

A light went on as Jack remembered the incident. “You mean that sixteen-year-old who tried to scalp his mother with a kitchen knife and beat his dad half to death with a golf club? He came at me with both. After I shot him and his parents healed, they insisted he was just misunderstood. Same type of deal for Caruso?”

“Exactly. You’ll probably be able to empathize with Caruso.”

Jack rubbed his chin. “Well, I came out clean back then; maybe this officer will do the same.” And maybe she’d be gun-shy enough to relax and do nothing for ten hours a night.

“In any event, it’s only for two weeks. You can handle anything for two weeks, can’t you?”

Running a hand over his flattop, Jack blew out a breath. “Whatever you say, Gary. Whatever you say.” Resigned but
still angry, Jack could think of no valid excuses. And the important fact was that it was only for two weeks.

“Report to the patrol squad room Monday afternoon for watch three.”

Jack nodded and turned to leave but Hoffman stopped him.

“I want you to know I’m holding your slot in homicide open for as long as I can. I hope the old Jack O’Reilly will want his job back before long.”

Jack grunted and left the office, letting the door slam behind him.

* * *

Sergeant Janet Rodriguez poked her head into Lieutenant Hoffman’s office.

“I just saw O’Reilly leave. Will he show up on Monday?”

Hoffman shrugged. “Don’t know. Wish I could say I didn’t care, but Jack is a good guy. I don’t want his career to end with him getting fired or psycho retired.”

“You think he can handle patrol?”

“Dr. Bell signed off on it. What about your end? Have you told Caruso what’s coming down yet? Can she handle O’Reilly?”

Rodriguez blew out a breath. “She just got back from Utah. I asked her to come in and talk to me tomorrow. I’ll break the news then. And she can handle O’Reilly. I’ll just have to agree with her when she points out that reassignment sucks.”

“Maybe it does and maybe it doesn’t. It’s best for her to lie low for a while. How do you think she’ll take it?”

“Probably same as O’Reilly. But just like him, she doesn’t have any choice in the matter.”

* * *

When Brinna walked into the sergeants’ room, Sergeant Rodriguez waited for her. She motioned for Brinna to have a seat across from her.

“Hey, congrats on the Utah find. A park ranger called to recommend you for a promotion.”

“Hero found him; I think he’d look great in sergeant’s stripes.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Brinna noticed the look on her sergeant’s face. “Uh, they’re not taking Hero away, are they?” Fear spread as if it had been dropped by a grenade. Brinna felt sick to her stomach and flushed in the face.

Rodriguez blew out a breath and avoided her eyes. “It’s temporary,” she said. “And he’s not being taken away from you. Hero is just being sidelined, kind of like an administrative leave.”

Brinna gripped the arms of the chair. “How temporary?”

“I can’t say yet. All I can assure you is that I pressed the chief and he promised that only horrendous circumstances would make it permanent.”

“Like me being indicted?” Brinna said with undisguised bitterness.

“That’s not going to happen. The shooting was clean; we just have to ride out the Hester hurricane.”

Brinna started to rise when the homicide boss, Lieutenant Hoffman, entered the room. The threesome occupied the
patrol sergeants’ office. A large room off the squad room, it was used by all the sergeants of every patrol watch and was sparsely furnished with old beat-up desks and a few chairs. Hoffman motioned for her to stay, and she sat back down, wondering if he had information about the shooting.

“Evening, Caruso. How’s everything?” Hoffman joined Rodriguez on her side of the desk.

“I’m not sure,” Brinna said guardedly, looking from one person to the other. “This looks like a double-team.”

Janet smiled. “No, you didn’t let me finish. You actually have options. You can either ride out the unpleasant storm at the business desk, or you can do some retraining for two weeks for an officer who wants to leave detectives.”

Now she understood why Hoffman was there. “A homicide dick wants to leave the detail? That’s un
 
—” Maggie’s words about an unbalanced detective came roaring back to her memory. “Is it Jack O’Reilly?” Brinna clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open. Not only were they sidelining Hero; they were assigning her to play nursemaid to a burnout two-legged partner for two weeks.

“He’s coming back to patrol?” she asked, her mind racing, struggling to find some excuse to get out of the reassignment. “I’ve heard he’s 5150, ready for a psycho retirement. Is that why they’re kicking him out of homicide?”

“Gossip.” Sergeant Rodriguez gave a dismissive wave. “I thought you knew better than to pay attention to that.”

“He wasn’t kicked out,” Lieutenant Hoffman said. “Jack has asked to be reassigned.”

Brinna bit her tongue. There were other worries on her
mind. A lot of high-ranking officers objected to Hero. They wanted the grant money allocated somewhere else. Would her being reassigned give them ammunition? But would her protests about this “temporary” assignment label her a troublemaker? Milo always taught her to pick her battles. Maybe this was a battle she didn’t want.

“Okay, I understand,” she said. “It’s just for the two-week retraining period.”

“Correct.” Rodriguez nodded. “Don’t worry about Hero. He’ll be welcomed back when this is over.”

Brinna took a deep breath, relief flooding her veins as Rodriguez read her mind.

“I’ve heard a lot of stuff about this O’Reilly that isn’t gossip.” Brinna switched the focus back to the psycho cop. “Will he hold up his end of the unit?”

“Jack has had a rough year.” Hoffman stood and walked around the desk, leaning on the corner to face Brinna. “His pregnant wife was killed by a drunk driver. That would be tough on anyone. He’s been cleared by Dr. Bell and he needs a change of scenery. Policy says all you need to do is bring him up to speed on everything new in patrol.”

Sergeant Rodriguez added, “If he doesn’t hold up his end, let me know.”

“Oh, I will.” Brinna rolled her eyes. “In two weeks I’ll be able to work with Hero again?”

Hoffman and Rodriguez exchanged glances. “That’s what I’m hoping,” Janet said after a minute.

“You’ve been a cop long enough to know the drill.” Hoffman blew out a breath and fixed his gaze on Brinna.
“While we don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong, you need to stay under the press radar for a while. No one can say how long that will be.”

“But I will get Hero back eventually? We’ll get to work cases still, right?” Brinna hated that her voice sounded whiny.

“That’s up to the chief. Right now I’d say yes, eventually.” Hoffman stood and walked back to the other side of the desk, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know your rep, Caruso. You’re a hard worker. Relax and concentrate on helping Jack get back into the swing of things. I can’t promise anything, but maybe the situation will cool down after the shooting board issues official findings.”

“You can still train Wednesday afternoons with the K-9 detail,” Rodriguez said, “to keep Hero sharp. That should make the pill go down a bit easier.”

Brinna blew out a breath. “I don’t have a choice.” She stood to leave. “I’ll make the best of it.”

“I knew you would. By the way
 
—” Hoffman smiled as he stopped Brinna at the open door
 
—“congratulations on finding that kid in Utah.”

Brinna cleared her throat and kept her eyes on the lieutenant. “Thanks. Hero found him wedged between some rocks in a ravine. Found him just in time too. He was very dehydrated.” She shrugged and decided to broach another subject bothering her, turning back to Janet. “What about all the lies Clark keeps spreading about me in print? Is there anything I can do about that?”

Rodriguez sighed. “Right now the circus seems to have the upper hand. These things take on a life of their own, and
it will get worse before it gets better. But the truth will come out. Don’t read the paper.”

“Wait it out patiently,” Hoffman added. “No one on the PD is saying it was a bad shooting, but it’s political football and it will be messy for a bit. If you remember, last month a cop in LA was on the hot seat after he shot a kid in a stolen car.”

Brinna nodded; she remembered the protests and the press. The officer had thought he was going to be run over and emptied his gun into the car. The driver turned out to be a twelve-year-old kid who could barely see over the steering wheel.

“It seems our suspect, Lee Warren,” Hoffman continued, “used to be a good kid before he went right rudder. Shockley has lined up a sob story of family members to testify what a sweet, nonviolent brat he was.”

Brinna gave a shake of her head and leaned against the door. It never failed. After a creep was killed by the police, everyone had a story about how he wasn’t really a bad creep.

“Jack O’Reilly was once sued by Shockley. He may help you out on that score. Besides, he had a great reputation when he worked patrol,” Rodriguez said. “He isn’t a bad guy.”

Small consolation. “Maybe so, but I’d rather have a partner who barks and drools than a partner I’m not certain I can trust.”