“Damn it, man—”
“Let me do my job, David.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“And a lot easier for me to do if you stay clear of it.”
“Fine,” David snapped, cranking the key and producing a protesting roar from the Chevy’s engine. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands—for now.”
“I’ll call you later. If Chris has any ideas, great. Otherwise
stay
out of it
.”
Bryan stepped away from the car and David wheeled out of the lot, roaring away in a cloud of exhaust and hitting thirty before he even reached San Fernando Road.
Thursday, 9:10 am, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
“What the hell do you mean they put you on administrative leave?” Chris watched David hunch over the kitchen table, refusing to meet his eyes. “What the fuck is administrative leave?”
“It’s PSB’s way of telling me to bend over, I’m about to get screwed.” David stared into his coffee, wishing for the fi rst time that he had something stronger than the Indonesian stuff Chris favored. A couple of stiff belts of scotch might make this nightmare palatable... He knew that was a path he didn’t dare travel—he’d seen too many good cops eat their own weapons once alcohol embraced them. “And right now I don’t even understand how it happened, so don’t ask.”
“Well, tell me what you do know.”
So David told him about getting the condoms followed by the email he thought was from Chris, and what happened next.
“There was a link and you said—I mean it said it was important.
That it would explain everything, so I clicked on it.” David buried his nose in his mug. He felt like an idiot, reliving that moment.
He was supposed to notice things. He was a
Detective
, supposedly the crème of the LAPD. How could he be taken in so easily? “I clicked on it and this...garbage started popping up.”
“Garbage?”
“Kiddie porn. All pre-adolescent kids.” David winced. “With male adults.”
“A lot of pictures?”
“Enough.” His face fl ushed as blood rushed to his head.
“They kept coming, and I couldn’t shut it down. Why the hell is that?”
“You got mouse-trapped.”
80 P.A. Brown
“What?”
“Mouse-trapped. The web page has code hidden in it that controls how the web page is handled. It’s a trick a few unethical programmers developed to trap users on their pages, sometimes just as a gimmick, sometimes to increase revenue—advertisers bill on the number of pages viewed.”
“Yeah, well, it trapped me all right. But how did I get it? And who sent it?”
Chris started shaking his head, then suddenly he shot to his feet. “Shit, I can’t believe I missed that. How stupid can I get—?”
Before David could ask what he meant, Chris was gone, only to return minutes later with a sheet of scrap of paper. “Sanderson, Sandman—now who’s the idiot? I should have seen it—”
“Seen what?” David snapped.
Chris tossed the sheaf of paper down in front of David. “I got these the day you had your overdose at the hospital. Look at the name. Then I get that call today and because he tells me he’s a bloody cop I fall for it.”
David studied the printouts. Most of it was pure gibberish, but toward the end he spotted what he assumed was the actual message: mind your own business or else and if you mess with me david might not be so lucky next time He raised his head and met Chris’s gaze. “And you were going to tell me about this... when?”
Chris fi dgeted in his chair. “I tried to trace the poster, but couldn’t get anywhere.”
“Do you still have the original emails?”
“Sure—”
David got up and paced, too wound up to sit still. “Good.
I’ll get them to Martinez. They won’t mean anything to him, but maybe our tech boys can make something of them.”
L.A. BYTES
81
Chris bristled. “I traced the IP address to Ste. Anne’s—it’s not the ISP it claims to be. Someone hacked Ste. Anne’s and did some IP spoofi ng to cover their tracks.”
David ignored Chris’s anger. David didn’t care if Chris was right and the LAPD techs couldn’t fi nd out anything more. At least Professional Standards Bureau would have to take a good hard look at the facts before them. Would they come to the conclusion that seemed so obvious to David? If they believed that David had been tricked into launching those pages, then even PSB would have to back off.
“I’ll need the information about the hospital, too.” David pushed his wrought iron chair back. “Let me use your offi ce to call Martinez. Will you be willing to make a statement to our technicians about what you found out? It’s all Greek to me. I’d never be able to make any sense out of it.”
David left Chris fuming in the kitchen. Once in Chris’s offi ce he dialed Martinez’s line. After a half a dozen rings it went into voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message. Then he called Martinez’s cell.
“Martinez here.”
“Don’t interrupt, just listen,” David said, not wanting Martinez to use his name, in case he wasn’t alone. Martinez sounded cool and David had the sinking feeling his partner wished he hadn’t called. He’d always known Martinez’s tolerance was shallow.
He just hadn’t expected it to vanish this fast. He repeated what Chris had told him. “The techies will have to talk to Chris for the details, but if they can verify this...”
“You gonna go to Williams with this stuff?”
“I’m not just going to sit here and get railroaded.”
“Where do you think that shit came from?” Martinez’s voice dropped. “I always heard it was all over the Internet. Guess that’s true, but
Dios
...”
“I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life.” David froze, then his own voice grew hoarse. “Is someone saying otherwise? Is someone saying I
like
that stuff?”
82 P.A. Brown
“You know gossips, they don’t care about the truth...”
“You know me better than that, right?” Except Martinez hadn’t even known he was gay for six years of their partnership.
Suddenly David wanted off the phone, before one of them blurted out something that would irreparably damage their partnership, if it hadn’t been already. “Listen, I have to go. We’ll talk later.”
He hung up before Martinez fumbled for a response. His next call was to his advocate. He repeated what he had told Martinez and tried to summarize Chris’s fi ndings. Someone had to see the same thing he did in the whole convoluted mess.
“Get Chris to document all that, David,” Bryan said. “I’ll get a tech to come out and secure those emails. Make sure Chris doesn’t touch that computer until we get there. We don’t want PSB claiming he planted the stuff to help you, though they probably will anyway.” Bryan’s voice softened. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” His knuckles were white where they clung to the phone. “Pissed. No, furious.”
“Good, hold that thought. As long as you’re mad you’ll keep on fi ghting.”
Chris entered his offi ce just as David hung up. David gave him the bad news fi rst.
Chris slumped onto the futon he kept in his offi ce for out of town visitors. “And when are they going to come and do this?”
“No idea.”
“Great.” Chris pulled out his Blackberry. “At least I can check email on this thing.” He frowned over the device at David. “What are your plans for the rest of the day? Chase your own tail some more?”
Had Chris overheard his conversation with Martinez? Chris had never been a big fan of David’s partner. Would he be happy to see a wedge driven between the two?
L.A. BYTES
83
The day yawned in front of him. “We still on for supper?”
“Unless you’d rather not.” Chris followed David out of his offi ce. “I’m really getting tired of this Sandman.” He threw himself onto the living room sofa and stared out the bay window at the distant Mt. Hollywood looming over Griffi th Park. Sunlight glittered on the reservoir. “How much priority do you think they’ll give to fi nding him?”
David lowered himself beside Chris, feeling a tightness in his gut from the tensions of the day. He folded his arms over his chest. “Let’s see... one disgraced cop and his faggot husband.
How much do you think?” David rubbed his face, encountering stubble. He needed to shave again. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re blaming yourself for something you had no control over.”
“Now why does that sound familiar?”
“Because you’re used to delivering the speech, not hearing it.”
Chris touched David’s face. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”
David made a face. “It sucks.”
Thursday, 2:35 pm, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles
Chris was determined that David wasn’t going to sit around and stew.
David’s advocate, Bryan Williams, hadn’t shown up until after lunch. Since David had been outed, Bryan had been a major help during a time of confusion and hostility for both David and Chris.
While Chris had been there for David, he hadn’t lived his life in the closet and hadn’t dealt well with David’s reticence. When the confl icts of being a gay cop in a paramilitary organization like the LAPD got to be too much, Bryan was there as only another cop could be.
Chris liked the guy, but his intensity was wearing at times.
Bryan was a political animal through and through. Chris wasn’t
84 P.A. Brown
sure he put cream in his coffee without considering the political ramifi cations of his actions.
But today Chris welcomed him. If anyone would fi ght tooth and nail for David almost as much as Chris, it would be Bryan.
And Bryan knew the ins and outs of the LAPD bureaucracy.
The computer technician had shown up thirty minutes after Bryan. He and Chris spent the next forty minutes dissecting Chris’s computer, then going over what Chris found at Ste.
Anne’s. Bryan told Chris that they would have little trouble getting a warrant for the hospital’s computer records. That ought to make him real popular with Terry.
“Then,” Bryan said, “we’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise you, Chris.”
Chris could only hope he was right.
For all that, Chris was glad to see the two men leave. He barely shut the door behind them when he turned his most determined gaze on David, who had come to stand behind him in the foyer.
“Grab your shoes,” he said, ignoring David’s startled look.
“We’re going out.”
“Out where?”
“Shopping.”
“Shopping.” David looked pained. Chris ignored him.
“Shopping where?”
“Hey, we only got a couple of days till Halloween.”
“And I told you I wasn’t wearing a costume... What the hell is that smile about?”
Chris took his arm and steered him toward the door, pausing only to grab jackets for both of them, in the event the rain that had been threatening all day came. “Everyone knows how butch you are, hon, but this is one argument you are not going to win, so give it up.”
L.A. BYTES
85
Thursday 7:10 pm, Blujam Cafe, Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles
From the patio of Blujam on Melrose, David watched the usual parade of upscale funk and tourists that fl ocked to Melrose, the new Beverly Hills according to one gushing review.
David watched it all with a cop’s cynical eye. A blue-haired, black-clad guy strolled by, his arm around a pink-haired Latina girl who couldn’t have been more than fi fteen. They both wore enough metal to make them walking lightning rods. The girl sported tattoos on both cheeks, some kind of Aztec symbol.
Or maybe it was Sanskrit. Who knew? Four Japanese tourists, enthralled by the walking art gallery, trailed the duo, snapping pictures.
A trio of older teens came out of Blue Stone with bags of trendy threads. They tottered down Melrose, texting each other in silence. As far as he could see they never said two words to each other, but their thumbs never stopped moving. The tourists out-numbered the locals two to one. Melrose was one of the few popular strolls in L.A. Here cops didn’t look at pedestrians with the same jaundiced eye they gave them elsewhere in the city.
Across the table Chris grinned over the rim of his Pinot Noir.
He looked slightly ridiculous in the black Stetson he insisted David get to fi nish off the outfi t they had selected from the leather place down Melrose.
“How do I look?” Chris asked, trying to admire himself in the nearest window.
“Like a deranged rodeo queen.”
“Very funny.” Chris twisted this way and that and tried to see the back of his head. “I don’t think black suits me.”
David stuffed calamari in his mouth to keep from answering.
“It suits you, though.” This time Chris reached into the bag on the chair between them and pulled out the black leather chaps.
“As soon as we get home I want you to model this.”
“I tried it on in the store. It fi t just fi ne—”
86 P.A. Brown
“That was over your jeans. I want it on alone.” Chris growled deep in his throat. “Hot daddy... I told you we should have got those boots. You’re gonna give this rodeo queen a serious boner.”
This conversation was doing the same for David. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The part of him that wasn’t being aroused by Chris was still fretting over his problems at work.
Chris was doing a good job distracting David, but a part of his mind couldn’t get over his other problems. What if PSB believed he was guilty? He might not have downloaded those images but they were on his computer. “Can we wait till we get home for this?”
Chris smiled. “Just warming you up to the idea. I fi nd leather really inspiring.”
“Well, just be uninspired for now.”
“Not a chance, baby.” He handed David his glass of ice water.
His eyes danced. “Here, cool off with this.”
David signaled the server for their bill. He scooped the shopping bag off the chair and held it in front of him as he fi shed through his wallet for some bills to toss down.
Chris took his arm, and, laughing, led the way down the street to where they parked the car.
And it occurred to David that if Martinez was right, they were going to bury him with gossip. He was glad Chris was driving. He never would have been able to concentrate enough to get them home safely.