White Sister by Stephen J. Cannell Page B
Authors: Stephen J. Cannell
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, Mystery Fiction, Missing Persons, Los Angeles (Calif.), Police - California - Los Angeles, Scully; Shane (Fictitious character), Musical fiction, Sound recording industry, Hip-hop
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the house. If detectives from the Professional Standards Bureau were here to question me, they were pretty damn good at blending in. I couldn't see any sign of them but decided to enter my house from the canal side anyway, just to be safe.
I moved quickly along, hoping none of my neighbors would see me. I entered the backyard, took out my key, unlocked the sliding glass door, and carefully pushed it open.
The minute I stepped inside and smelled the stale air, I knew she was still missing. Nobody was there. The house was lifeless and still.
It was just after ten-thirty a . M . I turned on the kitchen television as I walked through, but was stopped in my tracks by what I heard.
"Speculation is running rampant. What was a dead undercover police officer doing murdered in the front seat of the head of the LAPD Detective Bureau's personal car?"
One of the anchors from Channel Four was leaning forward, looking stern, but you could see the excitement in his eyes. I turned away from the TV and checked on the answering machine hooked to our kitchen telephone as the newscast continued.
"This morning, in a brief statement, Deputy Chief Ramsey confirmed that Sergeant David Slade was killed while in police handcuffs but refused any comment on the guilt, innocence, or whereabouts of Lieutenant Alexa Scully. He also wouldn't say if she was a suspect in the execution-style shooting."
I froze with my hand on the telephone, watching this asshole engage in rampant speculation. Suspect in the execution-style shooting? How could he even imply that? The video package played behind him, complete with separate shots of Alexa and David Slade. They had used Slade's Academy photo. He looked handsome and clean cut. It would not have helped this media hatchet-job to show him like he really was, in his Marcel do with an armload of badass Crip ink. The shot switched to a pleasant-looking, middle - aged African-American woman in a TV-friendly, dark blue suit and pale blue blouse. She wore a small gold angel pin prominently on her lapel, attesting to her purity and faith. The on-screen graphic identified her as Congresswoman Roxanne Sharp. She had a long record as a media whore who always weighed in on racially charged situations.
"If this is what it appears to be, I can assure you that I will personally take the LAPD to task," the congresswoman promised. "This fine, African-American officer was gunned down in his prime, left dead in his bureau commander's car. I can promise the people of Los Angeles, this will not become the latest example of LAPD arrogance or investigatory incompetence."
Nathan Red was up next. Handsome, with gray flecks in his black hair, he looked like Billy Dee Williams in a tailored Armani with a silk tie.
"David Slade's family is considering legal redress against the LAPD and the city. At this time, we will withhold further comment, except to say that it certainly raises questions that Lieutenant Scully is suspiciously missing."
My heart sank. I knew this was only the beginning.
I played my messages as the newscast continued spewing speculation and misinformation. My three calls to Alexa were still on the machine. A call from the Professional Standards Bureau came in at nine a . M ., issuing me the dreaded two-six to report to Mike Ramsey's office. Then Alexa's voice was on the machine.
"Shane, it's me." She sounded small and tired. "I'm so sorry about this, darling. I can't bear to think what this is doing to you and Chooch, but I had no other choice." Then there was a long pause before she said, "I killed David Slade. An argument over something personal. I'm confessing to his murder. Please turn this tape over to the department." Then, another long pause, before she said, "I can't go on. Things have been too difficult. I'm too far gone to save myself. I love you, darling. Kiss Chooch and tell him I love him, too. Try not to hate me too much."
Then I heard a gunshot.
Chapter 17.
ALEXA WOULD NOT commit suicide!
But her
I moved quickly along, hoping none of my neighbors would see me. I entered the backyard, took out my key, unlocked the sliding glass door, and carefully pushed it open.
The minute I stepped inside and smelled the stale air, I knew she was still missing. Nobody was there. The house was lifeless and still.
It was just after ten-thirty a . M . I turned on the kitchen television as I walked through, but was stopped in my tracks by what I heard.
"Speculation is running rampant. What was a dead undercover police officer doing murdered in the front seat of the head of the LAPD Detective Bureau's personal car?"
One of the anchors from Channel Four was leaning forward, looking stern, but you could see the excitement in his eyes. I turned away from the TV and checked on the answering machine hooked to our kitchen telephone as the newscast continued.
"This morning, in a brief statement, Deputy Chief Ramsey confirmed that Sergeant David Slade was killed while in police handcuffs but refused any comment on the guilt, innocence, or whereabouts of Lieutenant Alexa Scully. He also wouldn't say if she was a suspect in the execution-style shooting."
I froze with my hand on the telephone, watching this asshole engage in rampant speculation. Suspect in the execution-style shooting? How could he even imply that? The video package played behind him, complete with separate shots of Alexa and David Slade. They had used Slade's Academy photo. He looked handsome and clean cut. It would not have helped this media hatchet-job to show him like he really was, in his Marcel do with an armload of badass Crip ink. The shot switched to a pleasant-looking, middle - aged African-American woman in a TV-friendly, dark blue suit and pale blue blouse. She wore a small gold angel pin prominently on her lapel, attesting to her purity and faith. The on-screen graphic identified her as Congresswoman Roxanne Sharp. She had a long record as a media whore who always weighed in on racially charged situations.
"If this is what it appears to be, I can assure you that I will personally take the LAPD to task," the congresswoman promised. "This fine, African-American officer was gunned down in his prime, left dead in his bureau commander's car. I can promise the people of Los Angeles, this will not become the latest example of LAPD arrogance or investigatory incompetence."
Nathan Red was up next. Handsome, with gray flecks in his black hair, he looked like Billy Dee Williams in a tailored Armani with a silk tie.
"David Slade's family is considering legal redress against the LAPD and the city. At this time, we will withhold further comment, except to say that it certainly raises questions that Lieutenant Scully is suspiciously missing."
My heart sank. I knew this was only the beginning.
I played my messages as the newscast continued spewing speculation and misinformation. My three calls to Alexa were still on the machine. A call from the Professional Standards Bureau came in at nine a . M ., issuing me the dreaded two-six to report to Mike Ramsey's office. Then Alexa's voice was on the machine.
"Shane, it's me." She sounded small and tired. "I'm so sorry about this, darling. I can't bear to think what this is doing to you and Chooch, but I had no other choice." Then there was a long pause before she said, "I killed David Slade. An argument over something personal. I'm confessing to his murder. Please turn this tape over to the department." Then, another long pause, before she said, "I can't go on. Things have been too difficult. I'm too far gone to save myself. I love you, darling. Kiss Chooch and tell him I love him, too. Try not to hate me too much."
Then I heard a gunshot.
Chapter 17.
ALEXA WOULD NOT commit suicide!
But her
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