the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) by Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
Authors: Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
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with a Bizon.
If it had been Sally who was working this with me, we would have been high-fiving each other right about now and talking about which bar we were going to hit for our celebration. The red-ball case was buttoned and we were down to mop up. Even better, we'd have done it in less than seventy-two hours. The tape left little doubt as to what happened and who the killer was. All that remained was to find Karel Sladky and get patrol or SWAT to hook him up for three murders.
But since it wasn't Sally, but Hitch, there was no high-fiving o r c elebrating. Instead we went back out to the crime scene with the evidence team to look for more bullets, per the Black Dahlias instructions. We traveled in separate cars, a subtle but not unnoticed indicator of how badly we were getting along.
At the crime scene the press swarmed Hitch.
"I wouldn't let them take your picture," I told him. "You've been in that suit for two days. It's not good for your media profile to look like you sleep in your car."
"Go fuck yourself, Scully."
We pushed past the press to join a ten-person tech team waiting for us in the backyard in their blue jumpsuits. We put a DVD copy of the surveillance video into my new Apple MacBook, then ran the video for the CSIs, as on the screen, Karel Sladky began to fire.
"Some slugs could still be in that hillside," I said to the ten techies, pointing in one direction. "We got everything out of the pool house walls and off the house, but we need to check over by the pool heater. Looks like he squeezed off a burst in that direction. As far as the brass, since you did an outside spiral search last night, let's try a grid - and-graph search now."
Using the surveillance video, we went back at it.
While the CSIs and metal detector team organized their search, I wandered over and looked through the solarium window again. I really wanted to get into this house.
A lot of things had started to bother me. For instance, who buys and holds a multimillion-dollar mansion they're not going to live in for over twenty-five years? That story about holding it in Brooks's estate until he was thirty-five seemed like complete BS. And despite Sheedy's stated fear of starting a haunted house rumor and killing the market price, why was Thayer Dunbar so determined that nobody go inside?
I began calculating the potential hazard to my career that breaking into this house without a warrant might produce.
As I pondered this my pager went off. Across the pool, Hitch's went off at exactly the same time. I'd been a cop long enough to know that when this happens, something big is going clown. Both of us clawed at our cell phones and hit programmed numbers. I connected with Jeb just a little ahead of him.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"The BOLO yielded results. They found Sladky. One of the Hollywood Division cops knew Chrissy. She used to strip at a club on Sunset called The Manhole. That's where she met Karel. We called over there and the bartender says Sladky's at the bar right now. He's kind of a fixture at that place. He does some bouncing for them from time to time even sleeps in the manager's office. Because of that Bizon I've got SWAT rolling."
He gave me the address. I hung up and headed toward Hitch, who was yapping on his cell phone getting the same information. "2556 Sunset," I told him.
"Just got it."
We sprinted down the long drive, but slowed to a walk as we passed the reporters so we wouldn't alert them to the fact that something was happening. We didn't want to show up at that strip club pulling a train of TV news vans and network anchors.
Hitch led the way because the Porsche was faster. He got permission to go Code Three and put on his custom window flashers. I tucked in behind him and drafted.
Twenty minutes later we were in a parking lot across the street from the club. SWAT was already there and was waiting for a lieutenant watch commander from the Hollywood station before going inside.
"One of us should case it,"
If it had been Sally who was working this with me, we would have been high-fiving each other right about now and talking about which bar we were going to hit for our celebration. The red-ball case was buttoned and we were down to mop up. Even better, we'd have done it in less than seventy-two hours. The tape left little doubt as to what happened and who the killer was. All that remained was to find Karel Sladky and get patrol or SWAT to hook him up for three murders.
But since it wasn't Sally, but Hitch, there was no high-fiving o r c elebrating. Instead we went back out to the crime scene with the evidence team to look for more bullets, per the Black Dahlias instructions. We traveled in separate cars, a subtle but not unnoticed indicator of how badly we were getting along.
At the crime scene the press swarmed Hitch.
"I wouldn't let them take your picture," I told him. "You've been in that suit for two days. It's not good for your media profile to look like you sleep in your car."
"Go fuck yourself, Scully."
We pushed past the press to join a ten-person tech team waiting for us in the backyard in their blue jumpsuits. We put a DVD copy of the surveillance video into my new Apple MacBook, then ran the video for the CSIs, as on the screen, Karel Sladky began to fire.
"Some slugs could still be in that hillside," I said to the ten techies, pointing in one direction. "We got everything out of the pool house walls and off the house, but we need to check over by the pool heater. Looks like he squeezed off a burst in that direction. As far as the brass, since you did an outside spiral search last night, let's try a grid - and-graph search now."
Using the surveillance video, we went back at it.
While the CSIs and metal detector team organized their search, I wandered over and looked through the solarium window again. I really wanted to get into this house.
A lot of things had started to bother me. For instance, who buys and holds a multimillion-dollar mansion they're not going to live in for over twenty-five years? That story about holding it in Brooks's estate until he was thirty-five seemed like complete BS. And despite Sheedy's stated fear of starting a haunted house rumor and killing the market price, why was Thayer Dunbar so determined that nobody go inside?
I began calculating the potential hazard to my career that breaking into this house without a warrant might produce.
As I pondered this my pager went off. Across the pool, Hitch's went off at exactly the same time. I'd been a cop long enough to know that when this happens, something big is going clown. Both of us clawed at our cell phones and hit programmed numbers. I connected with Jeb just a little ahead of him.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"The BOLO yielded results. They found Sladky. One of the Hollywood Division cops knew Chrissy. She used to strip at a club on Sunset called The Manhole. That's where she met Karel. We called over there and the bartender says Sladky's at the bar right now. He's kind of a fixture at that place. He does some bouncing for them from time to time even sleeps in the manager's office. Because of that Bizon I've got SWAT rolling."
He gave me the address. I hung up and headed toward Hitch, who was yapping on his cell phone getting the same information. "2556 Sunset," I told him.
"Just got it."
We sprinted down the long drive, but slowed to a walk as we passed the reporters so we wouldn't alert them to the fact that something was happening. We didn't want to show up at that strip club pulling a train of TV news vans and network anchors.
Hitch led the way because the Porsche was faster. He got permission to go Code Three and put on his custom window flashers. I tucked in behind him and drafted.
Twenty minutes later we were in a parking lot across the street from the club. SWAT was already there and was waiting for a lieutenant watch commander from the Hollywood station before going inside.
"One of us should case it,"
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