Lomax & Biggs - 01 - The Rabbit Factory by Marshall Karp

Author:Marshall Karp [Karp, Marshall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Humour
ISBN: 9781596922174
Google: 0L37lA5JxHUC
Amazon: 1596921749
Goodreads: 826466
Published: 2005-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 53

When you’re trying to solve the highest profile homicide in the Department, you don’t get days off. It was Sunday. I was working. So were Terry and the rest of the Lamaar Task Force. Everyone showed up, except Matt Diamond, who called in to let us know that his wife Rae was in labor.

“How many centimeters dilated is she?” Terry asked. “Three,” Diamond said.

“Can you come in and work till she’s up to nine?” Biggs said, in his best official, by-the-book, police detective voice.

Diamond, who is new to our squad, panicked. He started to stumble through an explanation of why he couldn’t possibly Irave his wife alone, when Biggs let him off the hook. “Just busting your balls, Diamond. Twisted cop-working-on-a-Sunday joke. Have a nice baby.”

Terry hung up and threw his hands in the air. “First Falco and now Diamond. This maternity crap is dragging us down. Clicking horny cops can’t keep their dicks in their pants.” “I wondered why we couldn’t solve this case,” I said.

The Chief of the Los Angeles Police was working Sunday too. He showed up looking very natty in his Protestant golfwear, and gave me and Terry twenty minutes to debrief him. He was teeing off with the Mayor and wanted to be able to answer any and all questions. The Mayor, in turn, would be attending a black-tie dinner with the Governor that evening and also needed to be kept in the loop. All those powerful people working on our behalf, and so far we had squat.

Ziff the Sniff, my friend in Narcotics, was also working Sunday, and he called to say they had arrested a suspect in the Trachtenberg murder. Tino Santiago, a low-level drug runner who settled an old score with Dr. Trachtenberg by sticking an ice pick through his heart.

“Well, at least there’s some good news today,” I said.

“I don’t think it’s gonna wind up being such good news for the widow,” Ziff said. “Santiago lawyered up, and he’s willing to drop a dime on a couple of big rats in the drug sewer if we lower the homicide charge to something lighter.”

“Like what?”

“He’d like it to be self-defense, but the D.A. will go for voluntary manslaughter.”

“That sucks,” I said.

“Tell it to the D.A.,” Ziff said. “I already did. I told him hang Santiago; I’ll figure out how to get the drug lords. I don’t want to give up this homicide.”

“I guess a homicide collar looks good on your record,” I said.

“Fuck my record,” he said. “I’m the best Narc they got. I could walk into the Chiefs office, piss on his desk, tell him it’s part of a new urine-testing technique I’m developing, and he’d say, Keep up the good work. I don’t want to give up the homicide collar because I personally believe that people who kill other people should be shot or fried or at least locked up for life.”

“I’m sorry for the crack about your record,” I said. “I didn’t know you were so passionate.”

“This is why I can’t work Homicide, Lomax.

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