“I saw that,” Elwood said. “Fu Manchu mustache and a blow-dried mullet.”
Liska nodded. “The perennial favorite hot look for the white trash set.”
“You ever have a mullet, Sam?” Elwood asked.
Kovac scowled at him. “Jesus Christ.”
“He had the mustache,” Liska said with mischief in her eyes. “I’ve seen the photographs.”
“It was the eighties,” Kovac defended himself. “Every cop with balls had a Fu Manchu.”
“Yeah? I don’t think I was born yet.”
Kovac gave her a look across the table and tried not to laugh. “Don’t make me come over there, Tinker Bell.”
“What’re you gonna do?” Liska teased. “Beat me with your walker?”
“You’re just begging for a full day of misogynist PMS jokes.”
“Ha! You’re the one asking for it, Kojak. As you well know, you are no match for my mouth.”
“I’m not touching that,” Tippen announced. “It’s too easy.”
It felt good to open the pressure valve and release some of the job stress, Kovac admitted. They were merciless with each other, and a lot of their humor would be considered shocking, rude, and in very poor taste by normal human beings. But it was how they coped with a job that showed them the worst kind of human cruelty and depravity on a regular basis.
Lieutenant Dawes cleared her throat loudly, reining them in. “Ethan Pratt…?”
Liska had the grace to look sheepish. “He’s on probation. But he’s not at his last known, he didn’t show up for work last night, and he didn’t check in with his PO yesterday. And Amber Franken told me he was going off on the judge the last time he visited, ten days ago. She said he called Moore a fucking cunt.”
“A popular phrase with the mullet faction,” Tippen said.
“Practically an endearment,” Elwood concurred.
“You should add that to your repertoire, Elwood,” Liska suggested. “Girls go wild for that kind of talk.”
“So, he’s not accounted for, he has a temper, he called Judge Moore the same thing her assailant did,” Dawes said. “We need to find this guy and have a sit-down.”
“It’s out there,” Liska said. “Be on the lookout for an asshole with a mullet.”
“I’ll put someone on that specifically,” Dawes said. “There has to be someone out there who knows where this guy is.”
“Even assholes have friends,” Elwood said.
“Any word on Stan Dempsey?” Kovac asked.
He knew there was a BOLO out for Dempsey in all agencies in the entire metro area, but no one wanted to talk about it.
“He’s the one running around armed to the teeth and promising justice,” Kovac said dryly.
Dawes shook her head. “We have a call in to his daughter in Portland, Oregon, but she hasn’t called back.”
“Dempsey has a daughter?” Elwood said with disbelief.
“Dempsey had sex with a woman?” Tippen said. “Stan, we hardly knew ye.”
“Well, that’s a problem, isn’t it?” Dawes said. “We don’t know him. We can’t find anyone who knows him. We don’t know where he’d go to hide. We don’t know what he does outside the job.”
“He used to do some fishing,” Kovac said. “And there was a photograph in his house of him and the ex ballroom dancing.”
Nobody knew what to say to that. They couldn’t have looked more puzzled if Kovac had jumped up on the table and did the tarantella.
“Check with the county registrar,” Kovac said. “Maybe he’s got a shack on one of the lakes. And we should try to track down the ex, in case Stan’s decided justice begins in the family.”
“Good idea, Sam,” Dawes said. “I’ll go back further in Dempsey’s file. She must have been listed as a contact at one time. And we’ve got Dempsey’s address book from his house. She might be in there.”
“If that doesn’t work, find out from Dempsey’s financials who his attorney for the divorce was,” Tippen suggested. “He’ll have the name of the wife’s attorney. It’s roundabout, but it works.”
Dawes nodded. “We’ve already checked with the DMV to see if he might have another vehicle registered. There’s nothing.”
“So he’s in his own car,” Tippen said. “Or has to boost something.”
“He won’t steal a car,” Kovac said. “It’s against the law.”
Liska gave him a look. “And torturing someone with a meat fork isn’t?”
“He sees that as justice. An eye for an eye. That’s his job. But he won’t break the law to do it. For one, that would be against his principles, to say nothing of stupid and careless.”
“What do we need with Dempsey’s shrink when we have Sam?” Liska asked.
Kovac looked to Dawes. “It’s just common sense.”
“Who have you got at Judge Moore’s house?” Dawes asked. “Since no one has any idea where Karl Dahl is, the judge will be Dempsey’s obvious first choice.”
“If he tries to get to the judge, I’ve got a unit on the house and a prowl car staying within a four-block area around the clock.”
“How’s Judge Moore doing?” Dawes asked.
Kovac shrugged. “She’s a tough cookie. She’s hanging in.”
“She’s tough, but her sentences aren’t,” Tippen complained.
“Give her a break,” Kovac snapped. “Someone beat the shit out of her last night.”
Eyebrows went up all around the room. Kovac felt his cheeks heat.
Liska broke the silence. “He’s trying to quit smoking again.”
As if that would explain any strange behavior on his part.
“Oh…”
“Hmm…”
“Well…”
No one looked directly at him except for the lieutenant.
“Nikki tells me you don’t think much of the husband.”
“He’s an asshole. I’m on my way to check out his alibi as soon as we’re done here.”
“You don’t think it’ll hold up?”
“He’s an asshole,” Kovac reiterated. “What’s the word on the videotape from the parking garage?”
Liska shook her head. “I wouldn’t recognize myself on that tape. See for yourself.”
She went to the television that was sitting on a cart in the corner of the room nearest Sam and started the tape rolling.
Kovac frowned. “This the best they could do?”
“Considering what they had to work with…”
The picture had a slightly better clarity, but the subjects were featureless.
“What’s that white thing on the back of the perp’s jacket?” Kovac asked.
“Some kind of logo, I suppose,” Liska said, “but there’s no chance in hell of ever being able to read it.”
“What about the check of the license plates in the ramp?”
“Nothing so far.”
“Not the Haas kid or his pal, or Ethan Pratt,” Kovac said, thinking out loud. “Anyone with priors?”
“Nothing,” Tippen said.
Kovac sighed, scratched his head, drank some coffee. His eyelids felt like they were lined with sandpaper. He pushed his chair back from the table and got up. “Are we done here?”
“You have better things to do?” Tippen said sarcastically.
Kovac stretched and yawned. “Yeah. I thought I’d go catch some bad guys, then maybe catch a movie or save the world or something.”
Liska batted her eyelashes at him. “A superhero’s work is never done.”
“You got it, babe,” he said. “Play your cards right, and maybe I’ll let you watch me change clothes in a phone booth.”
“So what was that about?” Liska asked when they were back in their cubicle in the squad room.
Kovac didn’t look at her. “What was what?”
“Last night you wanted to leave Carey Moore for dead. This morning you’re ready to defend her honor? What’s that?”
“I feel sorry for her,” he said, making a show of putting on his reading glasses to go back over his field notes. “She got the crap beat out of her while her husband is off fucking some bimbo and couldn’t care less what’s going on with his wife.”