for the spiral notepad with Wheeler Cassidy's address on it. 1243 Belaggio Road, P-3. Penthouse? Probably a condo, she thought. Then she turned on the computer that she shared with four other desks and entered the triple case number. The computer told her the shooting had taken place on Canon Drive, not Belaggio. She was about to shut it off when she saw that the name of the owner of the residence was Prescott Cassidy.
"What the fuck?" she said to herself softly. That was the dead lawyer's house. Then she pulled up the full case report, and her amazement grew. The computer screen gave her Ray Fong's detailed and colorless account of the shooting. She was dumbfounded when she got to the name of the shooter. It was her smug, vomit - speckled asshole, Wheeler Cassidy.
"What's going on here?" she said to herself softly. She instructed the computer to hard-copy the case to her printer, then shut off the console. She sat in her chair, looking at the blank screen, trying to piece it together. She ran the beats, chronologically.
Prescott Cassidy had had a heart attack. Maybe. She made a note on her pad to get a look at Prescott's autopsy report. After Prescott Cassidy died, Chinese bodies started dropping like bunny shit. First Angie Wong gets a Death Doll from a Tong street gang, then she gets a punishment kill, complete with a rat gnawing her insides. A young Chinese man's picture is left on the body. Identity still unknown. No prints or trace evidence at the scene, so the perps had been thoroughly schooled in periand post-mortem crime scene behavior. She had asked patrol to interview the neighbors to see if anybody had seen anything unusual, a car, people who didn't belong. Nobody had. So far, the Wong killing was a complete "Who done it?" The Wong house appeared to have been thoroughly searched. Then, three Chinese gangsters were caught apparently burglarizing Prescott Cassidy's home. Wheeler, who is bringing his sister-in-law home from the airport, walks in on it. He gets his brother's target pistols out of the pool house. Next comes the O . K . Corral. Wheeler acquits himself surprisingly well and puts two of the three gangsters in the county freezer. The patrol unit skags the third one as he's running off the property. According to Ray Fong's detailed report, Wheeler took one in the leg and spent the night at Cedars-Sinai in Beverly Hills.
Way too much activity in one place.
Something much bigger was going on. She looked over at Ray Fong, who was leaning back at his desk, his feet up, reading a Chinese paper. She wondered how this would go down. Only one way to find out. She got up and walked over to his desk.
"You have a good New Year last night?" she asked conversationally, playing dumb and smiling at the Chinese detective.
"I caught a squeal right after I left here. Triple kill in Bel Air. Brother of the homeowner dropped two. The responding unit got the other. I was up all night with it," he complained. "My D . B. S had no I . D . Prints can't pull up anything. They're probably illegal immigrants. Maybe Tong members. So it's gonna be a stonewall out there."
"How do you know they were Tong?' she asked.
"They had more drawings on 'em than a South Central overpass. From the tattoos, I'd say they're Bamboo Dragons."
"I think those three shootings may be connected to the Wong hit."
"Yeah?" he said, putting the paper down. "How come?"
"The guy who found Angela Wong's body is Wheeler Cassidy, the brother of the guy whose house was being burgled. The same guy who lit up two of your Bamboo Dragons."
Ray sat up and took his feet off the desk. "Nobody told me Wheeler found Angie Wong's body. He didn't say anything last night. 'Course he was going into shock."
"And it wasn't in the computer," she said, stating the obvious.
"All the more reason you've gotta give me the Wong case," he said.
"Look, Ray, I don't want to fight with you over this. Department guidelines say that everything that stems from one killing is under
"What the fuck?" she said to herself softly. That was the dead lawyer's house. Then she pulled up the full case report, and her amazement grew. The computer screen gave her Ray Fong's detailed and colorless account of the shooting. She was dumbfounded when she got to the name of the shooter. It was her smug, vomit - speckled asshole, Wheeler Cassidy.
"What's going on here?" she said to herself softly. She instructed the computer to hard-copy the case to her printer, then shut off the console. She sat in her chair, looking at the blank screen, trying to piece it together. She ran the beats, chronologically.
Prescott Cassidy had had a heart attack. Maybe. She made a note on her pad to get a look at Prescott's autopsy report. After Prescott Cassidy died, Chinese bodies started dropping like bunny shit. First Angie Wong gets a Death Doll from a Tong street gang, then she gets a punishment kill, complete with a rat gnawing her insides. A young Chinese man's picture is left on the body. Identity still unknown. No prints or trace evidence at the scene, so the perps had been thoroughly schooled in periand post-mortem crime scene behavior. She had asked patrol to interview the neighbors to see if anybody had seen anything unusual, a car, people who didn't belong. Nobody had. So far, the Wong killing was a complete "Who done it?" The Wong house appeared to have been thoroughly searched. Then, three Chinese gangsters were caught apparently burglarizing Prescott Cassidy's home. Wheeler, who is bringing his sister-in-law home from the airport, walks in on it. He gets his brother's target pistols out of the pool house. Next comes the O . K . Corral. Wheeler acquits himself surprisingly well and puts two of the three gangsters in the county freezer. The patrol unit skags the third one as he's running off the property. According to Ray Fong's detailed report, Wheeler took one in the leg and spent the night at Cedars-Sinai in Beverly Hills.
Way too much activity in one place.
Something much bigger was going on. She looked over at Ray Fong, who was leaning back at his desk, his feet up, reading a Chinese paper. She wondered how this would go down. Only one way to find out. She got up and walked over to his desk.
"You have a good New Year last night?" she asked conversationally, playing dumb and smiling at the Chinese detective.
"I caught a squeal right after I left here. Triple kill in Bel Air. Brother of the homeowner dropped two. The responding unit got the other. I was up all night with it," he complained. "My D . B. S had no I . D . Prints can't pull up anything. They're probably illegal immigrants. Maybe Tong members. So it's gonna be a stonewall out there."
"How do you know they were Tong?' she asked.
"They had more drawings on 'em than a South Central overpass. From the tattoos, I'd say they're Bamboo Dragons."
"I think those three shootings may be connected to the Wong hit."
"Yeah?" he said, putting the paper down. "How come?"
"The guy who found Angela Wong's body is Wheeler Cassidy, the brother of the guy whose house was being burgled. The same guy who lit up two of your Bamboo Dragons."
Ray sat up and took his feet off the desk. "Nobody told me Wheeler found Angie Wong's body. He didn't say anything last night. 'Course he was going into shock."
"And it wasn't in the computer," she said, stating the obvious.
"All the more reason you've gotta give me the Wong case," he said.
"Look, Ray, I don't want to fight with you over this. Department guidelines say that everything that stems from one killing is under
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