Written in Blood Read online

  ‘There’s one more factor that comes into play. And that is speed. The whole thing will be over in three, four seconds max. Too fast for you to notice.’

  Garcia looked back at Angela in a way that told her that he was still waiting for her to convince him.

  ‘OK, so let’s do it again, this time in real time.’

  She returned to her starting position – facing the detective seven paces ahead of him.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked.

  ‘As much as I’ll ever be.’

  They walked toward each other. Quick shoulder bump.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Angela said, her hands moving to Garcia’s torso, her eyes holding his stare. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Three seconds and she was gone, stopping a couple of feet behind Garcia.

  Garcia didn’t look back at her. His left hand moved to his inside jacket pocket and he shook his head.

  ‘My wallet is still in my pocket.’ As Garcia said those words, he saw the smile on Hunter’s face. ‘What are you smiling about?’

  ‘Your wallet is still in your pocket,’ Hunter replied. ‘But your cellphone and your badge are gone.’

  Garcia checked his jacket inside pocket, left side – no phone. He checked his belt – no badge. He turned around to look at Angela. She had his phone in her right hand and his badge in her left.

  ‘Shit!’ Garcia said. ‘I didn’t feel any of that.’

  ‘I could’ve taken your firearm as well,’ she said, with a head tilt. ‘But I figured that if I had done that, your partner . . .’ She nodded at Hunter. ‘ . . . would’ve probably shot me where I stood.’

  Hunter nodded back.

  ‘But I’ve unclipped your holster.’

  Garcia checked his weapon shoulder holster, which secured his Wilson Combat Tactical .45 pistol to the right side of his body, just a couple of inches under his arm. The security clip that held his gun in place was undone. He never left it undone.

  ‘She’s good,’ Hunter said, giving Angela an approving nod.

  ‘I’m the best,’ Angela corrected him before handing Garcia back his cellphone and badge.

  Hunter got to his feet. ‘OK, that settles it for me. Let’s go.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Garcia asked.

  ‘To the Rendition Room in Tujunga Village. That’s where you were when you boosted the bag, right?’

  Angela nodded.

  ‘I’m sure they have CCTV cameras in that place,’ Hunter said. ‘Most bars do. Who knows, we might get lucky. Also, there’s a chance that the bag owner went to ask at the bar or talk to the management once he realized his bag was missing. Ms. Wood might’ve not seen his face, but maybe someone else did.’

  ‘That’s a good point,’ Garcia said, clipping his badge back onto his belt.

  ‘You say “Ms. Wood” and I start looking for my mother,’ Angela said. ‘You can call me Angela.’ She shrugged. ‘Or Angie. So am I free to go?’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Hunter said. ‘I’d like you to stay with us for a while longer, just until we confirm your entire story.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Why?’ Garcia asked. ‘Are we going to make you late for work? Some more wallets you need to steal?’

  ‘Oh,’ Angela said, a cheeky smile on her lips. ‘Look who’s a sore loser. Did I hurt your pride?’

  Garcia shook his head. ‘I’m not sore, or a loser. And my pride is intact.’

  ‘Don’t be too harsh on yourself,’ Angela tried to comfort him. ‘I really am the best. The only reason why your partner saw me taking your phone and your badge was because of this set-up situation. He was specifically looking for it. In a street environment, no one sees or feels me doing anything.’

  ‘May I suggest we get going,’ Hunter said, bringing the confrontation to an end and ushering everyone out of the muggy and uncomfortable interrogation room.

  Twenty

  Once again, Garcia drove. This time, the silence wasn’t intentional. No one really had anything to say. Every now and then, through the rearview mirror, Hunter would check on Angela in the backseat. She sat with her arms crossed in front of her and her stare fixed outside her window. At a glance, she looked calm and in control, but every so often she would bite her bottom lip and her eyes would wander a little aimlessly for a second or two. When they did, they looked troubled and full of sorrow.

  Traffic was moderate and it took them thirty-two minutes to cover the fourteen miles between the PAB and the Rendition Room cocktail lounge.

  Normally, the lounge would only open its doors to the public at 5:00 p.m., but with just over two weeks until Christmas and the streets heaving with eager shoppers, the management had decided that during the month of December they would add a few more coffee-based cocktails to their list and open from lunchtime, a decision that seemed to be paying off.

  At just a few minutes past three in the afternoon, the place was pretty busy, with every table taken. All that was left were three scattered seats at the long, dark-wood bar counter.

  Hunter paused as he, Garcia and Angela stepped into the atmospherically lit and beautifully decorated 1930s speakeasy-style lounge. Ragtime played through several mini-speakers that had been strategically positioned throughout the place, filling the large room with a contagiously cheerful vibe.

  ‘Can you show me where you were?’ Hunter asked Angela.

  ‘Right over there,’ she replied, indicating a small table just a few feet from the bar. The table was taken by two men, who were leisurely sipping from bottles of beer.

  ‘And the man?’ Garcia this time.

  ‘He was at the next table over.’ She indicated the table just ahead of the one she had pointed out.

  Hunter studied the location of the tables in relation to the floor area before checking around for CCTV cameras. He saw three of them, all standard ceiling cameras encased in dark glass. The first one was positioned at the bar, directly above the cash register, which was in an almost direct line with the tables that Angela had showed them. The second CCTV camera was to their left, close to the doors to the bathrooms. The final one had been placed by the lounge’s entrance.

  ‘Was he facing the bar?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘No. Neither of us was. We were both looking the other way.’

  Hunter nodded before approaching the bar at its quieter end, on the far right, just by a door with a placard that read ‘Staff Only’. Garcia and Angela stood right behind him as he signaled one of the three bartenders.

  ‘Hello,’ the young barman said, immediately placing three round drink coasters on the bar in front of the new customers. ‘What can I get for you folks today?’

  Hunter discreetly showed the young man his credentials. ‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter with the LAPD. This is Detective Carlos Garcia.’

  Garcia did the same.

  The bartender studied them for a couple of seconds before looking back at Hunter curiously.

  ‘Were you, by any chance, working here this past Saturday,’ Hunter asked. ‘Evening shift?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. I was off the entire weekend, but Ricardo, the manager, was.’ His head tilted right to indicate the bartender closest to the cash register – a tall and slender man with side-parted hair and a perfectly trimmed pencil moustache.

  ‘Ricky,’ the young bartender called before motioning the manager to come closer.

  ‘How can I help?’ Ricardo asked, as he joined the group. He looked to be at least a decade older than the first bartender.

  Once again, Hunter began by discreetly showing the manager his credentials and introducing himself.

  Ricardo took his time studying them. ‘Is there some sort of a problem?’

  ‘No, no problem at all,’ Hunter replied in a comforting tone. ‘We’re just trying to identify, and hopefully find, a customer that we know came into your establishment this past Saturday. Apparently he took that table right over there, and that was around . . .’ Hunter looked at Angela.


  ‘Five-thirty,’ she said with a head shuffle.

  ‘We believe that he had his bag stolen from him while he was in here.’ Hunter took over again. ‘Does that ring any bells? Did anyone come to you, or any of the bartenders, complaining about a stolen bag on Saturday evening?’

  The bar manager frowned at Hunter. ‘So today you’re after the man who had his bag stolen, rather than the bag itself, or the person who took the bag?’

  Ricardo’s words intrigued everyone.

  ‘I’m not sure I follow,’ Hunter said.

  ‘The officer who was here on Sunday,’ Ricardo explained, ‘was concerned only with finding the person who took the bag – the thief – which, I must admit, is the more logical approach. But you are asking about the victim.’ He shook his head, as if confused. ‘Didn’t he come to you, the police, to report that his bag was stolen?’

  ‘You had an officer here on Sunday asking about the stolen bag?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Was that a plain-clothes officer?’ Garcia this time. ‘A detective like us, or a uniformed one?’

  ‘Full uniform,’ Ricardo confirmed. ‘I’m talking LAPD cap and the standard-issue sunglasses. Even in this light.’ His right index finger pointed up, toward the ceiling. ‘He kept them on the whole time.’

  Hunter peeked at Garcia. ‘Did you talk to him yourself on Sunday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he give you a name, a phone number, any way that you could contact him in case of any information?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Did he tell you which precinct he was from?’ Garcia asked.

  Ricardo thought about it for a moment. ‘If he did, I can’t remember.’

  Angela was beginning to look quite lost.

  ‘On Saturday evening,’ Hunter asked, ‘the night that the bag was stolen, did the owner of the bag approach you or any of your bartenders once he realized that his bag was gone?’

  ‘No,’ Ricardo replied. ‘Not at all. There were no incidents that evening.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Garcia pushed. ‘Don’t you need to ask the bartenders?’

  ‘Positive.’ Ricardo looked almost offended. ‘If any of our customers come to any of our bartenders to report a theft from inside the Rendition Room, they have to bring it to the manager on duty. I was the manager on duty on Saturday evening. There were no incidents.’

  ‘Going back to the officer that spoke to you on Sunday,’ Hunter said. ‘Could you run us through what he said? The more you can remember, the better.’

  Ricardo was unable to hide his confusion. ‘Now I am the one who doesn’t follow. What is going on?’

  A few more people had just entered the Rendition Room and approached the bar.

  ‘Maybe it would be better if we could talk somewhere a little more private,’ Hunter suggested. ‘Is that possible?’

  Ricardo hesitated for a moment before checking his watch. ‘This place gets quite busy at this time of the year, as you can see.’

  ‘We really won’t take too much of your time,’ Hunter insisted. ‘This is very important.’

  Ricardo ran a hand over his mouth before looking at his two other bartenders. ‘Mick, George, hold the floor for a bit, will you? I’ll be right back.’

  Both bartenders nodded.

  ‘OK,’ Ricardo said, indicating the ‘Staff Only’ door. ‘Please follow me.’

  Twenty-One

  The ‘Staff Only’ office that Ricardo guided Hunter, Garcia and Angela into was small and cluttered, with crates of beer and boxes full of spirits just about everywhere. The walls were once white, but time had taken its toll and they were now a dirty beige.

  ‘Please excuse the mess,’ Ricardo said, clearing a couple of boxes full of vodka bottles from two wooden chairs that sat in front of a small desk with a computer. ‘Sorry, I only have two chairs in here.’

  ‘We don’t need the chairs,’ Hunter said.

  Ricardo nodded, leaned back against the edge of the desk and folded his arms in front of his chest. Classic defensive posture.

  ‘There’s a chance that the man who came to talk to you on Sunday,’ Hunter began, ‘wasn’t really an LAPD officer.’

  The confusion in Ricardo’s eyes deepened. ‘Really? But why would he do that?’

  ‘That’s why we need to know what was said during the conversation,’ Hunter replied.

  ‘And with as much detail as possible,’ Garcia added.

  Hunter noticed the manager’s hands tighten their grip on his crossed arms ever so slightly.

  ‘I don’t want to be rude here, or anything,’ Ricardo said. ‘But could I have a look at your IDs again?’

  Hunter was already half expecting that move. In short, what he and Garcia were doing was trying to discredit someone who probably looked completely legit as a police officer, uniform and all. More legit than Hunter and Garcia looked at that particular moment.

  ‘Of course,’ Hunter replied, handing Ricardo his detective ID. Garcia followed suit.

  ‘How about her?’ Ricardo asked, gesturing toward Angela.

  ‘She’s not an officer,’ Garcia said, telling a quick white lie to avoid even more explanations. ‘She’s a civilian “ride along”.’

  Ricardo didn’t look too convinced, but there wasn’t much he could say. The credentials that Hunter and Garcia had handed him looked authentic, not that he would really be able to identify a fake. He studied them for several long seconds before returning them to both detectives.

  ‘Are we good?’ Garcia asked.

  ‘Yes, sure.’

  ‘So,’ Hunter asked again, ‘can you now please run us through what this “officer” told you on Sunday?’

  Ricardo shrugged, as he gently shook his head. ‘There wasn’t that much conversation, to be honest.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Garcia asked.

  ‘The officer came to me, explained what had happened the night before – the theft of a bag – indicated the table, just like you did, and asked if he could have a look at the CCTV camera footage from the night in question.’

  ‘So there is CCTV footage?’ Garcia asked. ‘The cameras in the lounge are real.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Hunter and Garcia had both seen too many fake CCTV cameras in too many different establishments to ever assume anything anymore.

  ‘And this “officer” did check the footage?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘Yes. I brought him in here and he used this computer. It didn’t take him long. He was in and out in about . . . fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Did you stay with him?’ Garcia again. ‘Or did you leave him in here by himself?’

  ‘I showed him the CCTV app then just left him to it,’ Ricardo replied. ‘The floor was way too busy on Sunday afternoon for me to babysit a police officer.’ He paused for a second. ‘At least that’s what I thought he was.’

  ‘Do you mind if we have a look at the footage?’ Hunter asked.

  ‘Sure, be my guest,’ Ricardo said, rounding the desk to face the computer monitor. ‘Hang on a sec . . . Any particular camera you’d like to have a look at first?’ Ricardo asked after a moment.

  ‘Let’s start with the one on the ceiling right above the cash register,’ Hunter said.

  ‘No point,’ Ricardo told him. ‘That camera is trained directly on the register itself.’ His hands moved up in a ‘what can I do?’ gesture, before explaining. ‘In the past year, we had to let three people go due to stealing.’

  ‘OK,’ Hunter said. ‘So let’s go with the one closest to the bathrooms.’

  ‘Sure.’ Two mouse clicks. ‘You want to look at the footage from this past Saturday, right? December 5th.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Another click.

  ‘And you said that the time you’re looking at is around five-thirty?’

  ‘Actually,’ Hunter said, ‘let’s go all the way back to five in the afternoon.’

  ‘Sure, no problem.
’ Another two clicks. Ricardo then paused and frowned at the screen. ‘OK, this is weird.’

  ‘What is?’ Angela asked, her voice a little anxious. Her concern was that the camera would show her boosting the bag.

  Hunter, who already had a pretty good idea of what Ricardo was referring to, checked the timeframe clock on the top right-hand corner of the screen. He was right.

  ‘A huge segment of the footage is missing,’ Ricardo informed them, as he indicated the clock. ‘From around two in the afternoon on Saturday all the way to six in the evening. Look at this.’ He slowed the footage down to ‘frame by frame’ speed. As the clock reached 14:00:00, it suddenly jumped to 18:00:00. ‘The whole chunk is gone.’

  ‘Recycling bin?’ Hunter suggested.

  Another mouse click.

  ‘It’s been emptied,’ Ricardo said.

  Angela seemed relieved, but Hunter scratched his forehead.

  ‘Let me check the other camera,’ Ricardo said. ‘The one by the entry door.’

  Neither Hunter nor Garcia said anything, but they both knew that the exercise would be pointless.

  ‘It’s also gone,’ Ricardo announced after a couple more clicks. ‘The exact same four hours.’

  ‘No surprise there,’ Garcia commented.

  Ricardo looked back at the detectives, intrigued.

  ‘There’s a chance that our IT forensics unit will be able to retrieve something from your hard drive,’ Hunter explained. ‘Which means that we’ll need that hard drive.’

  Ricardo took a much more defensive position.

  ‘I’m sorry, but for that you’ll need a warrant. I can’t just hand over the lounge’s computer like that. I’m just the manager here, not the owner.’

  Hunter was quick to calm him down. ‘Yes, we understand. We’ll get you the warrant. I wasn’t suggesting that we take the computer right now. Maybe that won’t even be necessary, I’m not sure, but meanwhile, I’d suggest that you get in touch with the owners and maybe start making a copy of whatever other documents you have on that hard drive.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Ricardo gasped, running his thumb and index finger over his moustache. ‘All of that because of a stolen bag? What the hell was in that bag?’

  ‘You really don’t want to know,’ Angela said, as she reached for the door.