Fallen Angels by Connie Dial Read Free Book Online Page B

sir.”
    “Anything else?” Josie asked, standing.
    “Rating report,” he said, removing a folder from his desk drawer, then immediately tossed it back. “Just remembered, I can’t do that now . . . got to leave early. Have Sandy put you on my calendar for early tomorrow morning,” he said to Josie.
    She nodded and left his office, stopped at the secretary’s desk and got penciled in for the next morning. Behan was chatting with one of the young record clerks, but Josie wanted to leave and said she’d wait for him by the car. She could feel the anger and disappointment simmering inside her, and it wasn’t just the investigation. Josie never expected or wanted to promote higher than area captain, but she wanted a fair evaluation of her work. She’d labored too hard to have someone like ‘Not So’ assess her performance.
    She leaned against Behan’s vehicle. The fresh air and a light breeze cleared her head. Maybe she was making too much of something that really wasn’t all that important. If the rating wasn’t fair, she’d fight it. She gazed at the black and white patrol cars returning to the division’s parking lot one by one until they were lined up by the back door of Wilshire station. It was a change of watch. The returning officers cleaned out their cars, joked or shared information with the men and women who would work the p.m. watch, some of the dodgiest hours to patrol L.A.’s streets. Josie always marveled at how nonchalant and relaxed they could be about such a dangerous job. She liked watching them; it put the world back into perspective.
    Being in a patrol car had been one of the most enjoyable times she’d had during her career. She missed the simplicity of driving out of the station every night with her partner and looking for trouble, police work in its purest form—every day different, every radio call possibly the most important event in another person’s life or the last precious moments of your own. Patrol was sporadic doses of adrenaline or boredom frequently mixed with mind-numbing fear. A person got tested, courage and ability measured every day. Maybe that’s what really bothered Josie about Bright. By all accounts, he’d failed the test but still got rewarded.
    Behan had them back at Hollywood station by late afternoon. He’d stopped talking about the rich widow and was thinking about the Dennis homicide again. Josie had flipped through the pages of the binder as Behan drove, and was disappointed to discover the RHD detectives had already interviewed Cory Goldman at his home with his father and an attorney present. The interview had revealed no new information and basically Cory repeated the same scenario David had given her the night before. He claimed he wasn’t at the party and hadn’t seen Hillary for weeks, and was in fact trying to avoid her and her crazy mother. Cory described Hillary’s mother as a “religious crackpot” who had driven Hillary from her house with her constant ravings. There was a recent photo of the young man. He could’ve been handsome, but had pierced both ears and one nostril, shaved his head and had extensive tattoos on his neck and arms. It was difficult for Josie to believe this guy and her David were friends. In a lot of ways her son was conservative by today’s standards. He hadn’t done anything that caused permanent damage to his body and dressed like a flower child.
    “So, what’s your game plan,” Josie asked Behan as they entered the back door of Hollywood station.
    “Interview Fricke’s snitch and the other wits from the party,” he said, taking the binder from her.
    “Captain, Red, where you been?” Fricke shouted at them from down the corridor near the division’s jail. “We been waiting.” He grinned and pointed at the closest holding cell.
    Behan ordered Fricke to take the snitch back to the detectives’ interview room, and he’d be there in a few minutes. He waited until they were in her office, then asked Josie