“Could have happened. If it was actually Como. Or Alicia, for that matter. Although it might have been neither.”
“Neither?”
“Neither. The driver-Carter, is it?-and his girlfriend, if any. Or one of the other young male drivers and somebody they were driving around on any given day.”
Hunt stopped rubbing her feet again and chuckled. “Roake, you are definitely in the right field, you know that?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that your devious defense-lawyer mind just automatically sees all the ways you can rearrange and argue the facts so that the most obvious explanation gets lost in the shuffle.”
“Well, sometimes the most obvious explanation is wrong.”
“Most of the time, though, not.”
“Still. Enough to make the exercise worthwhile.”
“From what I’ve told you, don’t you think it’s likely Alicia?”
“I have no idea.” With a sigh, she pulled her legs back off the ottoman and sat up straighter in her chair. She put her glass of Oban down on the table next to her seat. “There is simply nothing I’ve heard that comes close to convicting her, Wyatt. If I were going to be exerting any energy here, I have to tell you I’m still liking Len Turner.”
“Who I had a nice chat with this morning, you know.”
Roake sucked in a quick breath, concern suddenly obvious in her demeanor. “You didn’t do anything to make him feel threatened, I hope.”
“No. He was surrounded by his gang at Como’s memorial.”
“Do you know what, if anything, Juhle and Russo are doing about him?”
Hunt shook his head. “No. Not much, I don’t think.”
“Looking into his alibis, if any? Trying to get a feel for his financial records? Asking Ellen Como or anybody else about personnel or financial problems that might have come up recently between him and Como? Seeing if Turner has any kind of special relationship with any of the Battalion members?”
“All of those would be included under the general heading of ‘not much.’ What about the Battalion?”
“Nothing, specifically. And again, just rumors.”
“Why am I doubting that, Roake?”
She wilted under Hunt’s gaze. “All right,” she said. “Although it galls me if this is the way it has to get to Juhle and Russo. They should be looking in this direction already. If I didn’t think you needed to know so you’ll take Mr. Turner more seriously, I wouldn’t mention it.”
“Okay,” Hunt said casually. “That’s a good lead- in. What do you know?”
“I know and everybody knows that one of the Battalion’s visible roles is that for only twenty dollars, they hand out little signs you put in your window that your business supports the Sunset Youth Project. You’ve seen them all over the city, right?”
“Right. So?”
“So what most people don’t know is the percentage of contacted businesses of all types that support the SYP. You want to guess?”
“All businesses?”
“Right. Asian cleaners and restaurants, Hispanic mom and pops, Muslim shop owners, law offices, cigar stores, everybody. Take a stab.”
Hunt shrugged. “Forty percent.”
“Close,” Gina said. “A hundred percent.”
Hunt was silent for a long beat. “They’re selling protection,” he said.
“No, they couldn’t be,” Gina responded. “The city would surely bust them, would it not? Oh, except if they somehow had enough political influence to just let the practice remain a necessary evil, the cost of doing business here. The SYP is really doing a world of good for a lot of people, and that’s true. So businesses should be glad to pony up twenty bucks for such a good cause. Plus, they get the nice sign in the window.”
“That can’t be the entire Battalion.”
“No. It’s not. It’s only a few who go out if somebody doesn’t pay.
Trusted senior guys. In other words, professional muscle. On the payroll, and paid for by your tax dollars, by the way.”
“And you think Turner’s got access to these guys?”
“Not exactly. No.”
“Well, then…”
“Wyatt, I know it. Fifteen years you’re a public defender here, you learn a few things. These kids aren’t angels to begin with, you know. Como gives them the jobs, strictly legit, tutoring and cleaning up at Ortega, passing out political pamphlets and like that. Eventually the promising ones are in the Battalion, moving up, getting paid decent money. AmeriCorps money, by the way. Life’s good. Turner picks a few every year and just tells them if they want to stay on, they’ll just do this or that. Break the window on this store, vandalize that flower shop, strong-arm some liquor store clerk. Otherwise, they go back to jail.”
“And Como didn’t know about this?”
Gina shrugged. “Maybe he did. I don’t know. But he wouldn’t have had to. Or maybe it was his cost of doing business and he thought it was a fair trade. Or maybe he just found out last week and he called Turner on it.”
“You’re saying Turner could have one of these Battalion kids kill for him?”
“I’m saying if I were Juhle or Russo, at least I’d try to rule it out. Oh, and if it turns out this is any part of it, I told Jeff Elliot I’d split the reward with him.”
“I’ll put that in my report if the time comes. With a strong recommendation.”
“I’ve got a strong recommendation for you.” Roake drained the last of her Scotch, and placed it down on the lamp table with finality. She reached over, took his hand, and stood up. “If you want to get the lights.”
26
It was by no means the obvious choice.
In fact, it was risky and desperate, but Mickey couldn’t think of another solution.
Alicia had abandoned her own digs. If Juhle and Russo were planning to put her under arrest, the next place they would look would probably be Ian’s, who was listed at Morton’s as her primary contact in case of an emergency. As she’d told Mickey, none of her girlfriends lived alone, so they were out. And once they realized that Mickey had disappeared from the hospital, they would undoubtedly come to his place. They could go to a motel, of course, but that was both expensive and impractical-they would have to register and he, with a black eye and his arm in a cast, would be easy to identify.
Eventually he formed his plan, and under his direction, she took the 280 Freeway to the Sixth Street exit and turned right onto Brannan, then made a U-turn and pulled into the depressed curb space outside an industrial roll-up garage door to a good-sized and completely darkened warehouse. Mickey got out into the now frankly bitter night and pushed the button on the box next to the metal door adjacent to the garage’s entrance.
When no one answered, he got back into the car and directed Alicia to turn right at the next corner, then to take another quick right into the alley behind Brannan. She pulled over and stopped by a low stoop under a darkened door that he knew to be painted bright orange by day. The light over the door, and all the windows in a row high along the wall, were dark. But Mickey knew where he was going as he got out of the car again and found the key right where it was supposed to be, tucked into a magnet case that was stuck against the upper inside edge of a floor vent on the side of the stoop.
He told Alicia to wait where she was. Then, opening the back door, he let himself into Hunt’s warehouse on the residential side. He deactivated the alarm, and then, turning on lights as he walked through the kitchen, den, hallway by the bedroom, he let himself into the massive basketball court side, then crossed to the door next to the garage and unlocked it. Retracing his steps, in spite of his gimpy walk, he was in seconds back in Alicia’s car, directing her down to the end of the alley, then through another couple of right turns back onto Brannan, and then waiting by the curb while he let himself in again, and pushed the button to raise the garage door. As soon as she was all the way inside, with Mickey getting her parked so she’d be out of the way of Wyatt’s Cooper, another push of the button let the garage door down.