04 Vertical Coffin by Stephen J Cannell

Author:Stephen J Cannell [Cannell, Stephen J]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

By my math, nine out of twelve points were present here, which technically put the serving of this warrant at the highest risk possible and mandated a SWAT team.

You could see the indecision in the room. Everyone was asking themselves: Isn’t this different? These are cops, not criminals. Should a strict adherence to the prep list be observed? Isn’t it unnecessarily provocative to serve a SWAT team with a SWAT team?

Nobody said anything.

Alexa finally spoke: “Let’s low-key it. Do it with a warrant control team; but we should recognize the risk and keep SWAT in reserve.”

“No,” Tony overruled sharply. “That’s nuts. We do it by the book.”

Alexa stiffened slightly, but she put up no further argument.

“If we serve our people, you gotta serve yours,” Salazar finally spoke.

Brady Cagel and Garrett Metcalf, with their tan gabardine suits and styled hair, stood stone-faced, looking like window mannequins, or an ad for genetic engineering.

“We don’t have time to argue about this.” Cole Hatton stepped up, grasping the gravity of the problem.

“I can convince a friendly federal judge across the street to paper the warrant on our guys. Tony, you get the municipal judge for the sheriffs.”

Metcalf and Cagel didn’t like it, but what could they say? Their own U.S. Attorney had just jumped the fence.

The meeting broke up. A lot of unhappy faces crowded into the elevator for the ride down. I walked with Alexa back to her office. She was quiet most of the way. Once she was behind her desk she picked up a folder and handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“You were right about Vincent Smiley applying to the LAPD before Arcadia,” she said stiffly. “We turned him down in April of ‘ninety-nine. He flunked the preliminary psych interview. I made a copy of the written denial by the academy, but I haven’t had a chance to read anything, except the summary. He looks like damaged goods.” She seemed distracted, tense—wrapped tighter than the inside of a baseball. I was about to say something when her phone rang, so I waved good-bye and left.

When I reached the lobby I was paged. The LCD readout said: Jo Brickhouse. I found her number and called back. She was still out at the sheriff’s crime lab when she answered.

“Me,” I said. “What’s up?”

“The crime techs have done both casings. Good striation marks and pin impressions on both. If we can get comparison casings, our lab says they have enough here to make a match.”

“Good. Sheriff Messenger just covered his ass with a search warrant. He can’t use the first batch—illegally obtained. He’ll have to stick with the cover story, say the range captain was just adjusting sights, and do it all over again. Get in touch with Messenger’s office and have him send the second batch of brass over to the lab as soon as he gets them. I’ll let you know when the SRT long guns have been tested.”

“One more thing …” she said.

“Go.”

“Robyn DeYoung, the CSI for Hidden Ranch, just rolled out of here with an evidence team and two vans full of academy cadets.

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