leaving the waitress with one of Behan’s detectives. “Megan’s a pretty good wit,” he added pointing at the waitress. “She remembers Skylar was in the bar last night, but barely drank anything.”
“Was she alone?” Josie asked.
“No, she was with some guy, but Megan didn’t get a good look at him. They left around midnight with another guy she can’t ID either.”
“Who does that belong to?” Josie asked, pointing at a large box with a dirty blanket thrown over the top, tucked in a corner at the back of the alley. She guessed from his blank expression Ibarra didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, so she added, “Looks like some homeless person is sleeping there, probably gets handouts from the bar. Does this Megan know who it is?”
Ibarra looked confused. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask her.”
She wanted to say something like, “No shit?” but didn’t. Officers and detectives were milling around and always listening. Josie wouldn’t undermine her lieutenant. Though most of his subordinates didn’t have a high opinion of Ibarra, she wouldn’t contribute to his poor reputation while he worked for her.
An hour and a half later, Behan left his detectives in the alley and drove Josie back to the station.
“What do you think?” she asked, as he merged into heavy traffic on the boulevard.
“Ibarra’s an idiot.”
“About the homicide.”
“Somebody stuck a very big gun in her mouth and blew her brains out and then arranged her body like she was lounging at home watching TV. It wasn’t a robbery. Her cash and credit cards were in the trash and that diamond ring on her finger looks real, so I’ve pretty much eliminated the homeless guy as a good suspect unless he’s just a sicko who enjoys killing.” He was quiet a few seconds and then asked, “Don’t you think it’s odd the killer shot her in the mouth?”
“Why, is there a better place to shoot her?”
“It looks like somebody got her out of the bar to kill her. So, why risk her screaming for help or fighting. Why not shoot her in the back of the head?”
“Maybe the killer needed to talk to her first.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“You interview the waitress?”
“She knows the bum as Mitch, says she slips him a bottle of beer once a night. The footbeat cops say they’ve booked him a couple of times. He’s a drunk and his real name is Roy Mitchell,” Behan said.
“Did she see him last night?”
“Nope, hasn’t seen him since the night before last.”
“That doesn’t bode well for Mr. Mitch.”
J OSIE RETURNED half a dozen phone calls and cut her stack of papers down to a manageable number before Behan was ready to interview Fricke’s snitch.
She sat in the room adjacent to the interview room and could see and hear everything on a video feed. Sara Jean Dupont or “Mouse” as she was known on the street was a short, skinny woman with little studs piercing her nose and near her right eyebrow. Tattoos decorated both arms and her right leg had a vine-like tattoo from her ankle to the top of her cut-off Levi’s. Her long hair was dyed blond.
She waited patiently with her legs crossed until Behan entered the room. As soon as he sat across the table from her, Mouse smiled, and Josie thought she might’ve been a very attractive girl without all the permanent bodywork.
After the preliminary information was put on record, Behan got to the substantive questions. Mouse claimed she had encountered Hillary Dennis at the Oasis Club in Hollywood and had introduced the movie star to a guy she knew only as Little Joe, an unemployed musician and part-time pimp, who dealt a little heroin on the side. She claimed Hillary kept pestering her until she agreed to introduce her to the dealer.
“Like I told Officer Fricke, Hilly don’t come round much the last few weeks, so I figure she got connected somewheres else,” Mouse said. She spoke barely above a whisper and very slow.
“Did Hillary have problems with
“Was she alone?” Josie asked.
“No, she was with some guy, but Megan didn’t get a good look at him. They left around midnight with another guy she can’t ID either.”
“Who does that belong to?” Josie asked, pointing at a large box with a dirty blanket thrown over the top, tucked in a corner at the back of the alley. She guessed from his blank expression Ibarra didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, so she added, “Looks like some homeless person is sleeping there, probably gets handouts from the bar. Does this Megan know who it is?”
Ibarra looked confused. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask her.”
She wanted to say something like, “No shit?” but didn’t. Officers and detectives were milling around and always listening. Josie wouldn’t undermine her lieutenant. Though most of his subordinates didn’t have a high opinion of Ibarra, she wouldn’t contribute to his poor reputation while he worked for her.
An hour and a half later, Behan left his detectives in the alley and drove Josie back to the station.
“What do you think?” she asked, as he merged into heavy traffic on the boulevard.
“Ibarra’s an idiot.”
“About the homicide.”
“Somebody stuck a very big gun in her mouth and blew her brains out and then arranged her body like she was lounging at home watching TV. It wasn’t a robbery. Her cash and credit cards were in the trash and that diamond ring on her finger looks real, so I’ve pretty much eliminated the homeless guy as a good suspect unless he’s just a sicko who enjoys killing.” He was quiet a few seconds and then asked, “Don’t you think it’s odd the killer shot her in the mouth?”
“Why, is there a better place to shoot her?”
“It looks like somebody got her out of the bar to kill her. So, why risk her screaming for help or fighting. Why not shoot her in the back of the head?”
“Maybe the killer needed to talk to her first.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“You interview the waitress?”
“She knows the bum as Mitch, says she slips him a bottle of beer once a night. The footbeat cops say they’ve booked him a couple of times. He’s a drunk and his real name is Roy Mitchell,” Behan said.
“Did she see him last night?”
“Nope, hasn’t seen him since the night before last.”
“That doesn’t bode well for Mr. Mitch.”
J OSIE RETURNED half a dozen phone calls and cut her stack of papers down to a manageable number before Behan was ready to interview Fricke’s snitch.
She sat in the room adjacent to the interview room and could see and hear everything on a video feed. Sara Jean Dupont or “Mouse” as she was known on the street was a short, skinny woman with little studs piercing her nose and near her right eyebrow. Tattoos decorated both arms and her right leg had a vine-like tattoo from her ankle to the top of her cut-off Levi’s. Her long hair was dyed blond.
She waited patiently with her legs crossed until Behan entered the room. As soon as he sat across the table from her, Mouse smiled, and Josie thought she might’ve been a very attractive girl without all the permanent bodywork.
After the preliminary information was put on record, Behan got to the substantive questions. Mouse claimed she had encountered Hillary Dennis at the Oasis Club in Hollywood and had introduced the movie star to a guy she knew only as Little Joe, an unemployed musician and part-time pimp, who dealt a little heroin on the side. She claimed Hillary kept pestering her until she agreed to introduce her to the dealer.
“Like I told Officer Fricke, Hilly don’t come round much the last few weeks, so I figure she got connected somewheres else,” Mouse said. She spoke barely above a whisper and very slow.
“Did Hillary have problems with
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