time I’d been here, I’d realized that the atmospheric landscapes were all signed “A. HELLAND” in tiny gold type. It interested me to think of Detective Helland turning his analytical brain to photo composition as he tried to capture a mood or a moment; he was just so darn un-artsy on the job.
“I got your email,” he greeted me when the officer knocked on his door. His gaze flicked to me for a split second and then returned to the document on his desk. I paused on the threshold. More landscape photos—black-and-white studies of trees—decorated the beige wall behind his desk. An empty fish bowl sat on a credenza near a computer printer; last time I’d been here, it had held a Siamese fighting fish. Perhaps he had moved on to the Big Fishbowl in the Sky. File folders, case binders, a computer, and other office paraphernalia took up most of the available space on the desk and bookshelves. He had no personal photos on his desk—no smiling wife, no tow-headed kids, not even a dog—which I tended to think meant he wasn’t married. Not that it mattered to me, I hastily reminded myself.
“Good work,” Helland said. “You didn’t have to come down here.”
His slightly condescending tone raised my hackles immediately. “My boss asked me to check in and see whatprogress you’re making.” I wanted to make sure he understood I hadn’t come of my own accord. “And,” I added reluctantly, knowing Helland would be dismissive, “he wanted me to tell you that Captain Woskowicz is missing.”
“Missing? I talked to him yesterday.” He looked up at me, raising brows a few shades darker than his white-blond hair.
“I know, but he didn’t show for an appointment with his ex-wife last evening and he didn’t turn up for work today.”
“So he had one too many last night and he’s sleeping it off,” he said, just as dismissively as I had known he would. Standing, he shrugged into a pin-striped jacket. “I’ve got a meeting.”
What was it with men walking out on me today? “I’ll walk with you,” I said. He didn’t object, so I preceded him out of the office and we fell into step. Our shoulders brushed, and I put another couple of inches between us, too aware of him. From the almost imperceptible hesitation in his step, I thought he’d felt the jolt, too. “About the Arriaga case. It would be helpful to locate either the guy or the girl he was with at Fernglen, right? Have you talked to them yet?”
“No,” Helland admitted. “We’ve managed to touch base with the mero mero —leader—of the Niños Malos, and he’s assured us that no gang member had any involvement in his homey’s death. Cross his heart and hope to die.” Heavy irony laced Helland’s words. “He’s told the Niños not to talk to us, so they’re not. He suggested we haul in some Latin Kings for questioning.”
“A rival gang, I presume?”
“Exactly.”
“Think there’s anything to that?”
“It doesn’t look like a gang hit to us,” he said, pausing outside a conference room door. “And our gang task force hasn’t heard about a Latin King or Blood taking credit forit. That doesn’t prove it wasn’t a gang thing, but—” He shrugged.
People trickled past us into the conference room, giving me curious stares. I knew I was about to lose him. “Look, I can describe the pair he was with at the mall. If you have an artist—”
“We don’t. Budget cuts. We’ll handle it.” He strode into the conference room. I was dismissed.
Six
Word had trickled through the security force by the next morning that Captain Woskowicz was AWOL and Quigley had put me in charge temporarily. A couple of the old-timers seemed inclined to resent my being appointed over them, but most of the officers were okay with it. For many of them, working mall security was just a job that paid the bills; they wanted to work their shift and go home with no worries about staffing or funding or other management functions. For others, it
“I got your email,” he greeted me when the officer knocked on his door. His gaze flicked to me for a split second and then returned to the document on his desk. I paused on the threshold. More landscape photos—black-and-white studies of trees—decorated the beige wall behind his desk. An empty fish bowl sat on a credenza near a computer printer; last time I’d been here, it had held a Siamese fighting fish. Perhaps he had moved on to the Big Fishbowl in the Sky. File folders, case binders, a computer, and other office paraphernalia took up most of the available space on the desk and bookshelves. He had no personal photos on his desk—no smiling wife, no tow-headed kids, not even a dog—which I tended to think meant he wasn’t married. Not that it mattered to me, I hastily reminded myself.
“Good work,” Helland said. “You didn’t have to come down here.”
His slightly condescending tone raised my hackles immediately. “My boss asked me to check in and see whatprogress you’re making.” I wanted to make sure he understood I hadn’t come of my own accord. “And,” I added reluctantly, knowing Helland would be dismissive, “he wanted me to tell you that Captain Woskowicz is missing.”
“Missing? I talked to him yesterday.” He looked up at me, raising brows a few shades darker than his white-blond hair.
“I know, but he didn’t show for an appointment with his ex-wife last evening and he didn’t turn up for work today.”
“So he had one too many last night and he’s sleeping it off,” he said, just as dismissively as I had known he would. Standing, he shrugged into a pin-striped jacket. “I’ve got a meeting.”
What was it with men walking out on me today? “I’ll walk with you,” I said. He didn’t object, so I preceded him out of the office and we fell into step. Our shoulders brushed, and I put another couple of inches between us, too aware of him. From the almost imperceptible hesitation in his step, I thought he’d felt the jolt, too. “About the Arriaga case. It would be helpful to locate either the guy or the girl he was with at Fernglen, right? Have you talked to them yet?”
“No,” Helland admitted. “We’ve managed to touch base with the mero mero —leader—of the Niños Malos, and he’s assured us that no gang member had any involvement in his homey’s death. Cross his heart and hope to die.” Heavy irony laced Helland’s words. “He’s told the Niños not to talk to us, so they’re not. He suggested we haul in some Latin Kings for questioning.”
“A rival gang, I presume?”
“Exactly.”
“Think there’s anything to that?”
“It doesn’t look like a gang hit to us,” he said, pausing outside a conference room door. “And our gang task force hasn’t heard about a Latin King or Blood taking credit forit. That doesn’t prove it wasn’t a gang thing, but—” He shrugged.
People trickled past us into the conference room, giving me curious stares. I knew I was about to lose him. “Look, I can describe the pair he was with at the mall. If you have an artist—”
“We don’t. Budget cuts. We’ll handle it.” He strode into the conference room. I was dismissed.
Six
Word had trickled through the security force by the next morning that Captain Woskowicz was AWOL and Quigley had put me in charge temporarily. A couple of the old-timers seemed inclined to resent my being appointed over them, but most of the officers were okay with it. For many of them, working mall security was just a job that paid the bills; they wanted to work their shift and go home with no worries about staffing or funding or other management functions. For others, it
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