Red Cesium

Chapter 2


Traffic was surprisingly light for Northeast Velo and Kelsey found herself making excellent time as she headed down Kensington Boulevard; in the overnight hours, it was faster to take Kensington down to the Hollywood Freeway than hit the 110. Eventually, she made her way out to the Barham exit, where she then negotiated her way around narrow streets until she could hit Lake Hollywood Drive, which wound past expansive homes and expansive vistas' of the area.

After passing by Hollywood Reservoir she continued on, connecting with the eastern terminus of Mulholland Drive. As she made her way along, the lights of her Audi R8 caught the eyes of a coyote meandering along the highway. It then turned and sauntered into the woods; it was in no hurry to get off the road, as if it were daring her to do something about it. The look in the coyote's eyes reminded Kelsey of her time as a patrol officer back in 77th Division, when she used to see the same challenging expression in the eyes of most everyone she encountered.

There was a small, unofficial overlook which was marked with signs saying NO PARKING and OVERLOOK CLOSED AFTER DARK strung from chains, but she knew these signs were routinely ignored; almost every night police would roust people from the overlook.

Little pulled in behind the coterie of vehicles - several black-and-whites' alongside a Forensics' van and a coroner's van. There was a broad perimeter of yellow crime tape enclosing the entire crime scene; surrounding a Porsche 911 RSR were more strands of yellow tape. Kelsey surmised that this must've been the victim's car.

Little parked and got out, walking towards one of the uniformed officers outside the tape. After showing him her badge and identification - and after he wrote down her name and badge number, 1402 - he held up the crime scene tape and allowed her to pass under. She approached the crime scene; two moderately-sized sets of klieg lights had been set up to illuminate the scene, which looked to be in the middle of the overlook. Glancing towards the hillside, Kelsey could see the ribbons of traffic moving up and down the 101 into and out of the Valley. Turning back towards the scene, she saw a forensics' tech videoing the scene and other forensics' and coroners' people working in and around the body.

"Hey, Kelsey, over here." Little turned and saw Lieutenant Beaux Barfield, who commanded Hollywood's detective division, leaning against a Dodge Challenger SRT, a cup of coffee in one hand and a bemused grin on his face. He looked as though he was waiting for something. He pushed himself off the Challenger's hood as Little came over.

The pair had briefly worked the homicide desk in Hollywood back when Kelsey was a senior detective and Barfield was a wet-behind-the-ears rookie detective. Now they were both L1's but Barfield still, in Kelsey's opinion, looked wet-behind-the-ears.

"Been waiting on someone from RHD to show up," he said. "Didn't know they'd send you out, though."
"Don't sweat it, Beaux."
"Where's the rest of your team?"
"They're on their way," she replied. "So, what do we have?"

Barfield turned so that Little could see what was on the trunk lid of the SRT. There was several large clear evidence bags arrayed around the trunk containing items taken from the body. One bag held a wallet, key ring and a clip-on ID; another contained an Android iOS smartphone and a moneyclip with a load of bills attached. "The coroner's techs just gave us these," Barfield said. "They should be done with the body any minute now."

Pulling out a set of thin reading glasses, Kelsey examined the bag with the identification. At the top it read, Mulholland Valley Oncology. Underneath it was a photgraph of a stocky-faced man with reddish hair and glasses; the name read Dr. John Mills. Little noticed the ID was also a pass-key used to enter security swipers.

"Okay, run down what you got for me, Beaux."
"Alright," he replied, flipping open a notepad. "Patrol units found the stiff about an hour, seventy minutes ago. In case you didn't see the signs back there, there's supposed to be no parking out here at night; the watch commander back at Hollywood usually sends one or two units through the area this time of night to scare off anyone. Makes the rich folks 'round here feel nice and safe, like whoever's in that house downaways'," pointing towards a mansion about 120 yards away. "Supposedly Sean Penn lives there or so I've been told," he added.

"Go on," Kelsey asked, thinking, Yeah, right, Sean Penn lives there; we're on the wrong side of the 101 for that to be true.
"Patrol swings by around eleven and sees the Porsche over there with its' trunk open, so they pull up to see if anyone's around. One of them walks over to the clearing and sees our guy, face down with two to the back of the head. Execution style."

Little nodded towards the ID on the Challenger's trunk. "And this is the guy, John Mills?"
"Looks like it. Both the tag and the ID confirm it. John Mills, 39 years old, with an Arrowood Drive address, just back 'round the corner from here. We ran the tags on the 911 and it came back to Hollywood Medical Oncology, where he's partnered with a Dr. Braden Kinchlow. We ran Mills' name for wants & warrants and found zilch; the guy's a straight-arrow. Or was."

Little nodded as she took in the information.
"For what its' worth, I'm glad you guys are getting this, Kelsey. All four of my teams are busy and as soon as the call came in from the first units out that there was an apparent 187 I got on the horn to Chief Sutherland and asked for RHD to take over. I didn't know it'd be you; I thought you were still running Open/Unsolved."
"I was but Sands just got promoted to Captain and they had to move someone over, so here I am. What's with your teams?"
"Three-bagger gang shooting. Three dead and a fourth hanging on for dear life at St. Joe's. That plus I got two detectives on court duty and another on medical duty..."
"Any chance this is related to your three-bagger?"
"Nope; that was a gang shooting where everyone was shooting at everyone else like it was high noon. Figured this was completely different."
"Alright, Beaux. I think we got it from here; I'll cut you loose pretty soon."
"Okay."
"Anyone check the car?"
"Not yet."
"The victim's residence been checked?"
"No on that."
"What about other residences?"
"Nada' there either. We were waiting for you guys."

Barfield had already judged the scene and decided that RHD would take over. It bothered Little that nothing had been done but she was also relieved. Too many cases had been bungled by units handing off cases up the chain and back down again.

After taking in the clearing once more, Kelsey nodded and looked back over at Barfield. "Alright, Beaux, you can take off now, I got it from here."
"No problem. Like I said, I didn't think it'd be you, though," Barfield said. There was a subtle inference in his tone, as if he was saying he wouldn't have dogged it had he known his former colleague would be leading the case from RHD's end.

As Barfield left, Little walked back to her own car and got out a Maglite from the trunk. Walking back to the Porsche, she slipped on a pair of gloves, opened the passenger door and looked inside. On the seat laid a briefcase; when she opened it, she noticed several files, various pens, papers and a small ruler. She closed it and left it on the seat. She thought to herself, Mills must've have come here by himself and met his killer here.. Opening the glovebox, she saw a couple more ID badges similar to the one in the evidence bag, each with his name and picture on them. Each bore a different hospital or oncology clinic on each; on several were handwritten markings. She examined them; she figured they were lock combinations as they had L or R after the numbers.

She continued searching and found even more ID badges from additional hospitals and medical centers; it looked as though John Mills had access to just about every hospital in Velo County. And, judging by the combinations on each card, security access at each place, she thought. Returning everything to the glovebox, Kelsey looked under and around the seats. Finding nothing worth noting, she backed out and walked over to the open trunk.

The trunk, small for a Porsche, was empty, but she quickly noticed several indentations in the carpeting, like there had been a heavy object lying inside. As she looked inside some more, she heard a voice behind her. "Lieutenant?"

Turning around, she shined her Maglite at the voice. It was the patrolman who had taken down her name and badge number. "Yes?"
"Ma'am, there's an FBI agent out at the yellow tape asking for permission to enter the crime scene."
"Where is she?"

The officer led Little back out to the outer perimeter; on the other side of the tape stood a woman, alone and not smiling, arms crossed. Little knew who it was and felt a sense of foreboding, wondering what the Feds' interest in her homicide was; every thought was followed by, If they're involved, just what is going on?

Chapter 4


As they drove away from the overlook, Kelsey glanced over towards her erstwhile friend. "Alright, now that we're away from the scene, Abby, care to tell me what the Feds' interest in my victim is?"

"Ever since September 11th, one of the biggest fears Washington's had is that of someone - anyone from al-Qaeda to homegrown terrorists - detonating a radiological device inside a major American city--"
"Radiological? You mean nuclear?"
"Precisely," Hearns replied. "John Mills is - well, was - on one of DHS' watch lists' because of the nature of his work. He was a medical oncologist & physicist who handled radioactive materials used in the treatments of various cancers, materials that in the wrong hands could injure or kill hundreds, if not thousands of people."
"How?"
"Through the use of a dirty bomb - an improvised nuclear device - basically, a regular bomb surrounded in some manner by radiological materials - containing radioactive isotopes."
"Alright. Now how does Mills figure in?"
"Two years ago, someone or a group of people stole three dozen tubes of a radioactive isotope called cesium-137 from Brigham & Women's Hospital in Boston, Mass. The medical use for Cs-137 is in the treatment of gynecological cancers; we don't - and still don't - know who took it or where it went, but that little bit's out there..."
"So when word got out here..."
"Several of us went throughout Southern California to talk with every medical oncology & medical physicist in the region; Mills was one of the people I spoke to then."

Before Little could ask anything else, Hearns said, "That's the house; the one on the left." Kelsey strained to see where Hearns was pointing; once she saw where, she pulled the Audi to the curb. As they approached the house, Kelsey noticed the front door was ajar. Motioning to Hearns, she drew her weapon; Hearns soon followed suit. The two slowly made their way to the door, which Little slowly pushed open. The two entered the house, guns up; Little felt along the wall until she found a light switch.

The lights revealed a living room, neat and clean but eeriely quiet. "Mrs. Mills?" Hearns called out. Whispering to Little, she added, "there's just the wife; no kids." Hearns called out again but there was no answer. Approaching a hallway, Little took the lead, flipping a light switch to illuminate the space around them.

Quickly, they moved through the house, passing by an alcove space that looked to have several pieces of gym equipment. Passing by, they began searching, room by room, for Mrs. Mills. They found her in the master bedroom; she was naked, gagged and bound in a hogtie, hands behind her back. Her eyes were closed. Hearns rushed to the bed to see if she was still alive while Little searched the bathroom to make sure no one was still around.

When she returned, Little saw that Hearns had removed the gag and was in the process of removing what looked like zip-ties from Mills' wrists and ankles. "Is she alive?" Little asked, catching for an instant the faint smell of urine from the bed.
"Yeah, I think so; she's passed out. Call for EMT's, Kelsey." Hearns started rubbing the woman's wrists and ankles to try to get the circulation back in them; they were black-and-purple from a lack of circulation. As she did that, Little walked back into the alcove and cut on her rover; once she got a line to dispatch, she requested EMT's to the residence Code 2. Walking back into the bedroom, Little called out, "Ten minutes," as Hearns continued trying to get the woman back into consciousness.

Then, they heard a loud groan from the woman. "Mrs. Mills, its' okay," Hearns said. "It's okay; you're safe."
Tensing, the woman's eyes grew wide at the sight of both Hearns and Little. Holding her badge up, Hearns told her, "FBI, Mrs. Mills. Do you remember me?"
"Wha...where's my husband?!?"

She started to get up but then stopped when she realized she was practically naked; her fingers were still numb and she couldn't steady herself on the bed. "Where's John?"

Hearns knelt down so that she was at eye-level with the woman as Little stood there; the woman stared at Little, hoping for some sense of balance, of purchase.

"Mrs. Mills, your husband's not here. I'm Lieutenant Little of the VCPD and this is Agent Hearns of the FBI; we're trying to find out what happened to him." The woman looked up and then over at Hearns.

"I...I remember you," she said. "You came by to warn us. Is that why this is...this is happening?" Hearns leaned closer and spoke in a comforting tone. "Alison - it's Alison, right? - we need you to calm down a bit so we try to help you. Would you like to get dressed?"

Alison Mills nodded. "Alright, we'll get you something to wear," Hearns said, nodding for Little to find her a robe or something. As Little searched for one, Hearns asked, "Are you injured in any way?"

The woman shook her head no as Hearns continued on. "Are you...?" Hearns paused, as if she was trying to ask a question that was once asked to her, years ago; a painful question to say the least. "Alison, were you sexually assaulted here tonight?"

Mills shook her head again. "No, all they did was make me take my clothes off. That's all they asked." Little studied her eyes, hoping to get a read on them.

"Okay, Alison, we're going to leave you to get dressed," Hearns said as Little handed her a terry-cloth robe she had found in a bedroom closet. As Mills got up to put on the robe, Little saw the large stain on the mattress; the woman had been so frightened she lost herself waiting for someone to rescue her.

As Mills began to steady herself and walk out of the bedroom, Hearns whispered to Little, "What do you think?"
"I think we're lucky to have a witness," Kelsey replied sotto voce. "Maybe she can help ID whoever killed her husband."

As Hearns put her arm around Alison Mills, Little decided to make a second search of the house. Finding nothing that caught her eye, she walked to the backyard and got on the rover again, asking for a Forensics team to the Mills residence and for an ETA on the paramedics. She was told they would be there in five minutes. Five minutes....we've waited fifteen minutes already and that was after we were told they'd be here in ten!

She then dialed a number on her Blackberry. Almost immediately Commander Hunter came on the line; Little filled her in on everything that had happened. Hunter listened intently, pausing to think. The intersection of what Hearns had told Little on the way to the Mills residence and the possibility of terrorism gave Hunter pause.

"Looks like I'll have to wake some people up." In other words, Hunter was going to have to notify her superiors, both within the Detective Bureau and within the department's hierarchy. No senior officer above the rank of captain wanted to have an assistant chief, or worse, Chief Beck himself, ask why they hadn't notified the command staff sooner. Little knew that Hunter would have to protect herself as she sent word up the ladder. This was fine on the one hand...on the other hand, the VCPD had its' own Counter-Terrorism Section, run by a senior captain most everyone in the department, Little included, believed couldn't run a rubber-gun squad.

"Is one of those calls going to be to Captain Janvier, Commander?" Michael Janvier was the commander of CTS and, in a not-so-coincidental coincidence, was the life partner of the chief of staff to Police Commission Chair Laura Richardson, a woman who had held a long-burning hatred towards the department. Within a year of Richardson's appointment as commission chief, Janvier had found himself promoted from deputy commander, West Valley Operations to commander, Counter-Terrorism Section. It had been a political appointment, pure and simple; rumor had it the VCPD had acquiesed in the face of having the long-hated consent decree kept indefinitely, so Janvier got the position.

The mission of the CTS was to work with state and federal counter-terrorism units in stopping any and all terrorist attempts against the city of Velocity. In the decade or so since 9/11, Velo City had been the target of six failed terrorist acts. All six times, the Feds' had stopped the terrorists right in the VCPD's back yard, embarrassing the department and all-but-forcing the creation of the CTS. Unfortunately, the formation of the CTS did nothing to stem the animosity between the two agencies, who still distrusted each other intensely. Already, Little could see the beginnings of an inter-agency squabble and they weren't even an hour into the investigation.

"Yeah, odds are Captain Jackass will be in the loop," Hunter said, referring to Janvier by the nickname everyone in the command ranks referred to him by. "There'll be several people in the loop; I'll notify Assistant Chief Yaeger when I hang up here. Kelsey, don't concern yourself with Janvier; let me worry about him. You run your end of this investigation and I'll cover the command side of it, okay?" Then Hunter added, "Watch the Feds' on this one, Kelsey - the time to worry about them is when they start being too friendly, you know?"

Kelsey nodded over the phone; Hunter's advice was well-founded, considering how both agencies viewed the other. Cutting off the Blackberry, Little walked back into the house. When she entered again, there was another man standing next to Hearns. Dressed in what looked like a Brooks Brothers suit, he exuded FBI all over him. It made Kelsey want to throw up.

"Lieutenant Little, I presume," the man said, offering his hand in a gesture of friendship. "Bill Alexander, West Coast TTF." The way he said instantly said boss to Little; Hearns' expression confirmed as much.

"So you two know each other?"
"From the FBI National Academy, yes," Little replied; both her and Hearns had attended the FBI's inter-agency program several years ago, back when Little was still a patrol sergeant up in Devonshire and Hearns was working the bank robbery detail at the FBI's Westwood office. As Little spoke, Hearns ended her phone conversation.

"Sorry," Hearns said, "I was filling in the task force inspector. He's mobilizing our teams here in Velo City; they'll start hitting every hospital and clinic to see where Mills might've gone to over the past day or so, see if Mills had visited any radiological sites."
"Radiological...you mean hot sites?" Little asked.
"Yeah, radiological or radioactive sites. We need to know if he's been to any of them."

Little nodded, though she knew inside they would likely have one solid hit. Mulholland Valley Oncology. Mills had been wearing an ID with that location on it. Neither Alexander nor Hearns knew that but Little wasn't about to tell them; she wanted to keep at least one lead within the VCPD's purview and not theirs. "So, what about us?"

"You mean, the VCPD?" Alexander said. "Or, do you mean, what about you? Is that it?"
"Yeah, am I in this or what?"
Holding out his hands in an open gesture, Alexander said, "You're in. You're in all the way, Lieutenant."
"Good, that's what I wanted to hear," Little said, looking over at Hearns to confirm her associates' remark. Hearns just looked away.

Chapter 6



Despite its' name, Mulholland Valley Oncology was on the northern end of the Valley, near Sylmar. Because it was the middle of the night Little made excellent time on the 170 Freeway, one eye on traffic and the other on the gas needle. She knew she'd need to fuel up the Audi R8 for the trip back downtown. Agent Alexander sat in the passenger seat; before leaving, they had decided that Agent Hearns would remain at the Mills residence while they headed up to Mulholland Valley.

As Kelsey drove, she could hear Alexander making and sending numerous calls; by the sound of it, she could almost faintly hear the sounds of the Big G springing into action. After what seemed forever, Alexander finally finished talking on his iPhone, placing it back in his jacket pocket and then looked over at Little.

"I've got a NEST team enroute there right now," Alexander said. "They'll go into the radiological lab and secure what's there."
"Radiological? You mean, hot lab?"
"Correct."
"What's a NEST?"
"Nuclear Emergency Search Team."
"ETA?"
"Should get there when we do. They might beat us there, though."

Little was impressed. For the NEST team to beat them to the oncology clinic meant they must've been on alert. At least someone's on the ball tonight, she thought. Alexander continued.

"Washington's going full field on this one, Lieutenant. Homeland Security's taking the lead from D.C.; there's going to be a status briefing at 9am on both coasts to bring everybody in."
"Everybody?"
"In situations like this, there's a protocol. DHS will lead, along with the West Coast Terrorism Task Force. It'll be one big alphabet soup of agencies, Kelsey. FBI, DOE, DOD, DOJ, NEST...heck, we might even see FEMA get involved for good measure."

Little, from her husband's own experiences, knew a few of the agencies. It all spelled Federal to her. "Who's running the show, Agent Alexander?"
"Everyone and no one, Lieutenant. If we open the hot safe there and the cesium's gone, then we'll only have a few hours before Washington starts attaching puppet strings to all of us."

Little nodded, thinking, Maybe I misjudged Alexander. He and Hearns seem to want to get things done. Perhaps not all Feds' are abject assholes. Before she could finish her thought, another one popped into her mind. "What about the VCPD? Are we in?"
"I've already told you, the VCPD is in. You are in this, Lieutenant Little. My guess is that Washington's getting bridges built between our people and yours. If I recall, your department has a counter-terrorism section working out of One Parker Center. My guess...they'll be brought in on this; we need all hands on deck."
"Have you ever worked with our CTS before?"
"On occasion. For the record, the less we have to work with Captain Jackass, the better."

Kelsey smiled at the FBI agent's reference; she also smiled at the changing tone in the agent's voice. "Let me ask you something. Earlier you said you had me checked out. What exactly did you mean?"

"Before I got to the Mills residence earlier, I called Agent Hearns and asked her who the point investigator would be and she mentioned you. I made a few calls; from what I've been told, you're a very capable investigator. You're also a Medal of Valor recipient, which means you're willing to put your life on the line when the situation calls for it. I also know you once left the department and joined your husband to work as a private investigator but that you returned to active police duty after fourteen months or so, originally to work open and unsolved crimes but a few weeks back they assigned you to command RHD's Homicide Special unit. Bottom line...you're a damn good investigator and I, for one, am glad you're on this case. My bosses might not agree but they can shove it for all I care."

Little looked over, impressed at the fact that in a very little short amount of time the FBI agent had found that much about her. Truth was, between her own experiences with the Feds' and those of her husband, including his 11-month stint in 2004 as a "guest" of the federal government, they probably had a file at least as big as a large phone book on both of them. "Anything else?"
"They also told me that you can be difficult to work with at times, that you're a results-oriented person. But I think we're doing pretty good so far."

LIttle nodded, remembering the conversation Hearns had earlier; that was probably where Alexander had gleaned most of his info on her. She decided to change tack. "Listen, tell me about cesium."
"Did Agent Hearns tell you anything?"
"Not much at all."
"Alright. Cesium is a by-product of nuclear fission, principally fission of uranium or plutonium. Back when Chernobyl blew its' stack in the mid-80's, cesium was the stuff that blew into the air. It comes as either a silvery powder or as a silverish medal."
"What about for medical use?"

Alexander exhaled a moment before continuing. "The cesium used for medical purposes comes in small tubes or capsules about the of a typical suppository. It's contained in stainless steel capsules that are kept inside lead-lined safes at numerous medical and oncology clinics. When used in the treatment of gynecological cancers the cesium plug is placed inside the woman's body - typically inside the uterus - for specific amounts of time, enough to kill the cancer but not healthy tissues nearby. It's up to medical physicists like John Mills to do the calculus - how much is needed and for how long. Once he does that, he then goes and gets just what is needed and delivers it to the oncologist requesting it. The whole thing is set up so that whoever's performing the procedure is exposed for as little a time as possible."
"Do these steel capsules protect them?"
"Nope; the only protection from cesium-derived gamma radiation is lead. The safe used to protect them is lead-lined."

Little nodded before continuing on. "Bottom line. If this gets out into the open, what are the risks?"
"When it comes to radiological materials the keys are distance, quantity and delivery system. Cesium has a LD-50 half-life of about 30 years--"
"LD-50?"
"Lethal Dose 50. I.e. how much of something does it take to kill half a target population."
"Go on."
"That's only, though, if the cesium's released in an open space. Somewhere like an enclosed structure - building, subway, train station - it's closer to three hundred years."

Kelsey was stunned at that bit of news. Alexander went on. "There's also dispersal and environment to consider. A high-intensity exposure could kill someone in just hours. But with most alleged attempts at a radiological explosion - a dirty bomb - immediate casualties aren't the primary objective. Remember, a main objective of any terrorist is just that, terrorize the population in question. Something like this goes off in a major American city, Kelsey...it would make our reaction after September 11th look like a Boy Scout Jamboree."

Little nodded once more; there wasn't anything she could think to stay as they continued to drive along the 170 in silence.

Chapter 8



Little and the rest of the federal agents walked out of the clinic, somber looks about them. As she watched, all of them climbed onboard the chopper. She watched it take off in the night sky, then went back to her own car and headed back downtown. Along the way, she stopped for gas, then got back on the 170 and quickly goosed the Adui up to an easy 85 on the freeway.

As she drove back downtown she turned the stereo on and hit the CD button without thinking. Seconds later Moby's "New Dawn Fades" began playing and Kelsey smiled. Perfect driving music, she mused. Besides being good driving music, it also helped her clear her thoughts. She could see that the case was beginning to roll on two very different, yet mutually connecting tracks. The feds' were concentrating on the cesium, while her and her team were concentrating on the murder. She thought the feds' were going down the wrong track, looking for the cesium. "When we find the killers, we'll find the cesium," she said out loud to herself, "not the other way around."

Eventually she exited the 170 at the Los Angeles St. exit and made her way down to One Parker Center, pulling into a parking lot reserved for senior command officers. This time of night, it wouldn't matter that she was a mere lieutenant parking in one of the assistant chiefs' parking slots.

Entering police headquarters, she headed up to the 5th floor offices of RHD and found it mainly deserted. Seeing neither Knight nor Mahne, she dialed Mahne first. "Where are you and Taz?"
"Over at Forensics, Lt. We're getting the evidence sorted through so we can start getting the murder book sorted out. You just get there?"
"Yeah, a few moments ago. Where's our witness?"
"522, Lt. He should be cooking in there by now. You want the first bite at him?"
"Yeah, I'll take it. Let's hit him with someone older and see what shakes." It was an honest yet delicate suggestion. The witness was Taz's find, yet Kelsey had more time investigating murders than both Taz and Reign had combined. She was also approaching the big four-oh, while neither Knight nor Mahne were thirty yet.

On the other hand, when she was given command of Homicide Special, she had taken it on two requests: one, that she continue working cases as she had in Open-Unsolved, and two, that she got to pick her own detectives for the section. It meant that she had probably the best detectives within the VCPD, but it wouldn't look good if she hijacked witnesses her subordinates had picked up and interviewed them herself. Knight, though, shook off the implied suggestion, in stride.

"Have at 'em, Lt. Mahne and I will watch from the A/V room. If you need one of us to help, just give the signal."
"Alright."
"I woulda' made coffee when I got in earlier, but your door was locked so I didn't sweat it." It was common knowledge that, instead of drinking the swill that passed for coffee on the RHD floor, Kelsey brewed her own coffee, which her husband ground weekly for both him and Kelsey. Depending on the manner of grind her husband used that week, it could also raise the dead on occasion as well as keep one fired up with caffeine.

"Put Taz on the line," Kelsey asked. Seconds later, when Knight answered, she asked, "Tell me about your witness."
"Witness's name is Jimmy Mendall, from Medicine Hat, Alberta. He's a drifter, made his way down here a few months back. He stays in shelters or sometimes in the hills when it's warmer."
"That might explain why he was in the hills tonight."
"Makes sense."
"Alright, I'll start on the witness. You guys get done at Forensics and get back up here pronto, okay?"

Ending the call, she opened up her office door and entered. Taking the large coffee pot over to a fountain, she filled it, poured the water into her coffee machine, added several scoops of coffee and turned it on. Minutes later, she poured herself a mug; the scent alone seemed to fill every pore of her body with a caffeine charge.

Robbery-Homicide Division occupied almost the entire 5th floor of One Parker Center except for a few ancillary offices near the main stairwells. The division was divided into four sections: Homicide Special, Robbery Special, Open-Unsolved and Special Assault, which handled major sexually-based crimes the way her section handled major murder and arson cases. Along one side of the division's area were the command offices; Kelsey's was on one corner of the building, which gave her views of downtown going along both S. Spring St. and East 1st St. Along another portion of the floor were the division's conference and meeting rooms, along with several interview rooms and an audio/video equipment room.

Before going in to talk to Knight's witness, she walked over to Knight's desk, where both he and Mahne had brought the witness's belongings to. Grabbing the backpack, she opened it and emptied the items inside. It was mainly clothing and other personal items. Stephen King's "Four Minutes From Midnight" book was inside, along with a toothbrush and a few toiletries. It was a meager existence for their potential witness.

Setting the backpack down, Kelsey reached over for the evidence bag. In it were a small amount of American currency, keys, a Canadian passport and a wallet. There was also a "Homes Of The Stars" map as well; marked on it was a location along Mulholland that the witness thought belonged to actor Sean Penn. The map was long out of date; Kelsey knew that from personal knowledge. Her husband, a private investigator, had helped one of the major studios' with security concerns towards a few of their stars and Penn had been one of the actors in questions he'd worked with. While Penn had lived at the house where their witness was found near, he now lived nowhere near there. Their witness had been stalking an actor who lived far from the place marked.

After checking a few other items, Kelsey folded the map back up and returned everything to the evidence bag. Heading back to her office for a moment, she grabbed a rights waiver form, a legal pad and several pens, then walked over to the interview room where Knight had stashed their potential witness.

For what seemed like forever, the witness was reluctant to talk but as Kelsey continued asking questions in a sorta' of push-pull manner, Mendall began opening up. From several angles Kelsey asked him what he had seen and heard at the overlook; Mendall answered as best as he could. From what she could gather, Mendall had indeed witnessed John Mills' murder at the overlook but it was one thing he said, Kelsey thought as she scanned her notes afterwards, that she zoomed in on. Whoever Mills had delivered the cesium to at the overlook, they had either said or cried out Allah before shooting Mills. It screamed foreign terrorist to Kelsey; the feds' involvement made it a near-certainty but there were things in Mendall's statements that made her question her own thoughts.

After exiting from the interview room, Kelsey headed back over to where Knight & Mahne's desks were. She checked the time on her watch; it was nearly 5 am. The status meeting with the Feds' wasn't for another four hours but she could the case's energy coursing through her. As she walked back to her office to fill her coffee mug back up, she caught Knight & Mahne going over several large boxes full of evidence bags and folders. It was all the evidence Forensics' had collected on the case up to now.

"Thanks for watching me and your witness in the A/V room, guys," she said, startling both of her charges'. Knight sheepishly explained that they had just returned from Forensics with all of the arrayed evidentiary items and were beginning the process of tagging it for the murder book. She shook his explanation aside, telling him she had set the recorders on before talking to the witness. As Knight and Mahne went over with Kelsey was they had brought up, she thought to herself, Lighten up, girl! Lighten up... as she studied her two charges.

Both twenty-nine years old, Thomas "Taz" Knight and Klint "Reign" Mahne were excellent detectives who had spent the requisite two years in patrol(Knight in Newton Division, Mahne in North Hollywood) before taking the detectives' examination, which both passed(Knight was 3rd of 177, Mahne 1st of 185). Both had asked for Detective Bureau assignments and had been assigned straight to RHD. Like Little, Knight was Velo born-and-bred while Mahne was from central Wisconsin. Other than their heads, they could've passed for brothers. While both possessed bodybuilder-like frames, Knight had a clean-shaven head atop a tanned frame while Mahne carried a close-cropped cut of light-brown hair atop an equally tanned frame.

Kelsey stepped over to a nearby desk to use the phone; she would have to wake Commander Hunter up one more time to update her on the situation. Before she did, she asked them, "Either of you run the vic's gun yet?"
"Yeah, through ATF," Mahne said. "He bought a Smith & Wesson twenty-two caliber eight months ago."

Little nodded. "A .22. Makes sense with the entry wounds and lack of exit."
"Bullets check in but they don't check out," Knight said. It was funny but distinctly unfunny. Odds were John Mills had indeed been killed by a gun he had purchased for his own protection, killed by someone who had called out the name of Allah as he pulled the trigger. What a world it is, Little thought, when someone would draw the courage to pull the trigger by calling out to their God as they did so. The thought chilled her; for someone to call on God to kill meant there could be a religious component to the case that they might have to deal with later on.

"That's not a good way to go," Knight added.
Kelsey looked over at her team. "Taz, what was the first thing you learned working homicide cases?"
"The first thing...no, what?"
"There are no good ways to go, Taz."

Chapter 10


Little, Knight and Mahne exited the front doors of the Beverly Hostel and glanced at the morning sky. Although the sun was still below the horizon, dawn was beginning to brake over the city of Velocity. Out in the distance the marine layer was coming in, bathing the cityscape in a ghostly gray. It made them think they were in a city of ghosts, which was fine with Little. It matched her present mood.

"You want one of us to hang around with the witness, Lt.?" Mahne asked.
"Nah," Little replied, putting on her shades as they walked to her R8, "the Feds' might try to lean on you like they leaned on Forensics. Besides...where else is our witness going to go?"

The three of them had put Jimmy Mendall in a room at the Beverly Hostel under the name Justin Matthews. Kelsey viewed Mendall as their ace in the hole against any pressure the Feds' might apply to them. The Feds' needed him for their missing cesium, Kelsey and her team needed him for the overlook murder. It was a quid pro quo and she, for one, wasn't about to let him go without a good reason.

After consulting with Commander Hunter, they'd decided to place Mendall in the hostel for four days; Hunter approved it for four days, allowing them to sit on their witness while they continued working the case. By the end of the four days they'd have a better idea where their case was going.

Little, Knight and Mahne got into her R8, Little driving, and began heading down Beverly. At the first light she dialed a number on the car's speakerphone. Since she hadn't heard back from Abby Hearns, she had dialed the other agent's number. Bill Alexander came over the line, his voice sounding very awake for near-dawn.

"Agent Alexander, Kelsey Little from RHD. Just checking in with you. Are we still on for the 9am status briefing?"
"Yes, but the briefing's been pushed back to 10am. Washington's orders."

Alexander's answer made it appear the meeting wasn't a done deal. Little pressed him on it. "Where's it going to be? Westwood? Downtown?"
"Downtown," Alexander replied. "At the Federal Building, 11th floor. Just ask for the TTF meeting."

Little decided to hold her cards close until she had a better idea of where she stood with the Feds. "Our witness says he saw the shooting from a distance. He saw the transfer, saw one shooter kill John Mills and then move the transfer case, the pig, from Mills' Porsche to another vehicle."
"Any plates?"
"No plates. Odds are it was the wife's car they used to leave the overlook with."
"Can he ID the shooter?"
"Like I said, he didn't get a good enough glimpse to make the shooter."
"Shame. Where's your witness at?"
"Medicine Hat, Alberta."
"Funny, Little. You know what I mean."

The tone and the fact he used her last name gave Kelsey pause. "He's got no fixed address; he's a drifter. We dropped him off at McKenzie's Bar & Grill on Sunset 'cause that's where he wanted to go. I gave him three dimes for breakfast." She could feel both Knight and Mahne staring at her with abject What the fuck are you thinking? glances as she spoke.

"Can you hold a moment, Kelsey?" Alexander said. "I got a call from D.C.; be just a moment." As the line cut to music Knight spoke. "Why did you lie to him, Lt.?"
Little held up a finger as if to say, Wait. As they waited the light changed and Kelsey turned down towards Sunset.

Eventually Alexander came back on the line. "Sorry for the wait, Kelsey; that was D.C. As you can imagine, they're beginning to pull on this case from afar." Little decided to change tact for a bit. "How are things on your end, Agent Alexander?"
"Not much so far. DHS is sending several Blackhawks equipped with radiation monitors to try and track down the cesium from the air but unless it's in the open we'll have a hard time tracking it. Other than that, we're still organizing the status briefing so we'll all be on the same page."
"That's all you Feds' have done thus far?"
"Like I said before, Kelsey, it's an alphabet soup of Federal agencies."
"What about Mills' partner, Kinchlow? Have you talked to him yet or do you want us to take a shot at him?"
"We've been talking to him, to both him and the widow Mills. And Washington advised us not to let you at either of them 'til after the status briefing."

Kelsey looked over at her team and whispered, I knew it, I knew it! as Alexander continued on. As they listened to Alexander, Kelsey pulled the R8 into the parking lot of McKenzie's. It was a 24hour bar & grill that served some of the best food anywhere in Velo City and was a regular hangout for nightowls from across Hollywood, both citizens and police. As she pulled into a parking lot, she said over the speakerphone, "See you at 10am, Agent Alexander."

Cutting off the speakerphone and turning the car, she said to both Knight and Mahne, "Remind me to explain something about how we relate to the Feds', okay? Now let's eat while we have a chance to, alright?"

The three of them walked into the restaurant and sat down at a booth along the back, with Kelsey facing the front door. As they sat one of the barstaff walked over; it was a woman Kelsey remembered from her days as a detective back in Hollywood Division, an old friend of hers. "Mousey, long time, no see," Kelsey said, rising to give her friend a hug. Mousey was the night bartender, a woman about the height of Kelsey's husband and someone who knew almost as much about what went on in Hollywood as did most cops.
"That's certainly true, hon'," Mousey said. "How's my girl McNeal doing today?"
"Fine, and it's Little by the way; been married going close to two years now," Kelsey said, smiling at her old friend.
"You mean someone finally tamed you?" Mousey said with a sly, faintly seductive tone.
"He wishes," Kelsey said with a equally sly wink and a nod. "Anyway, it's been a while since I've had to work a case through the night and my stomach's growling. Can I get the breakfast special?"
"For you, hon', on the house," Mousey said. "While I'm at it, what can I get your male harem, Kelsey?" That made both Knight and Mahne blush with embarrasment and helped to lighten the mood Kelsey had been in from talking to the Feds. When Mousey left them, Kelsey began to explain why she had misled the Feds.

"Guys, I don't know about y'all but I got a feeling they're going to try to cut us out," Kelsey said. "How? You hear Alexander; they've already scooped up both the business partner and the widow and I'll bet you my next paycheck they won't let us talk to either of them."
"How can you be sure?" Knight said, rubbing his bald head and taking a drink of coffee. "I mean, aren't we working the case with them?"
"Oh, we're working a case with them but just watch...the first chance they get, they'll snatch our murder case away and shuffle us out the door. Well," Kelsey said, leaning in and speaking sotto voce, "fuck that and fuck them!"

As Knight and Mahne looked on, Kelsey explained something to them. "When I made Detective I back in 2000, they sent me out here to Hollywood and stuck me on the homicide desk. Our supervisor at the time, Sergeant Harry Bosch, had a saying...'Everybody counts or nobody counts.' That's how you have to work murders, Taz. Doesn't matter how you work the case...and the feds? To hell with them; this is our case, not theirs! They're looking for the missing cesium; they could give a rat's ass about the victim...well, I'm not letting them have our half so that can happen."

Before she could continue on, Mousey returned with three heaping plates of food, noting with a sigh a turned over salt shaker that Knight had knocked over by mistake. "I know they're young, Kelsey, but don't they teach them matters anymore?"
"Well, I'm trying, Mousey, but they won't let me use whips and chains on 'em, ya' know?"
"I hear you, girl. Holler if you need anything."

As Mousey let them be, Kelsey dug into her plate of eggs, bacon, toast and grits. She was starved and had a feeling they'd be on the move again; she wasn't about to let a chance to eat pass them by.

She was halfway through when she noticed a trio of men in dark suits and dark expressions walk in and begin talking to the dozen or so people in the restaurant. Except for Kelsey and her team, everyone in the restaurant other than staff were mostly Hollywood night crawlers, people who lived at night among the grit and grime of the area and slept during the day. As they continued to eat, Kelsey watched the three, Feds' by their mannerisms, stop next to people and ask for ID. As they got closer to them Kelsey tapped on the table to alert Knight and Mahne.

Eventually, two of the agents made it over to their table. They introduced themselves as FBI Special Agents Ray Paxton and Kendall Grove. Ignoring Little, the asked both Knight and Mahne for their identification. "What's going on, gentlemen?" Little asked.
"We're looking for someone, lady. We just need to see some ID."

As both Knight and Mahne showed the agents their badges and ID's, Little felt a growing sense of annoyance inside her. "You know, I don't get it. You two geniuses are asking for ID's, which means you have a name. Funny thing is, I never mentioned our witness's name until a little bit ago, which makes me wonder if you don't have a wire or bug planted in Parker Center or maybe in one of our cars, maybe even mine."

Paxton, who seemed to be in charge of the three FBI agents inside the grill, looked right at Little as she spoke. "And you are?"
"What, you want my ID too? I might be pushing forty but my husband tells me I look at least ten years younger than I actually am," causing snickers of laughter to come from both Knight and Mahne. Holding her ID out for the agent to see, she said, "Satisfied?"

The agent took his time looking the ID over, as if he were trying to ogle Little over. "Kelsey Little," he said, as if he were trying to think of something. "Hey, aren't you married to some smart-ass private eye?"
"I am, but let me tell you this...Matthew's more of a man than you'll ever amount to...in more ways than one," Kelsey said, her voice a mix of sultriness and icy anger towards the FBI agent.
"Smart-ass," Agent Paxton said. "Just like every other VCPD punk I run across, you guys think you so badass but you've gotten into so much trouble you don't dare complain about us for fear we'll bend you over a table like your department so badly deserves to get!" He tossed Kelsey's ID down onto the table, where it landed onto her breakfast plate. "Now, where's Jimmy Mendall, Lieutenant?"

Had Kelsey been there by herself, odds were Agent Paxton would have gotten a bloody nose, if not worse. But with two other detectives alongside, she bit her tongue for a moment. "Who's Jimmy Mendall?" she asked, looking at both Knight and Mahne, who shrugged in a Who? manner of expression.
"You know damn well who he is, now where is he?" Paxton replied.

Little nodded at him as though she were on solid ground. "We'll let you Fibbies' talk to him....right after my colleagues and I interview both Dr. Kinchlow and Alison Mills at ten."
Paxton smiled in a manner that was as cold as liquid hydrogen. "You know, officers like you are the reason this city gets a bad rap. What, they let you guys loose with billy clubs whenever you want?" Knight started to get up, angry at the agent's attempts to insult their lieutenant but Little motioned for him to sit back down. Little turned back around and smiled an equally cold smile. "See you at the 10am meeting, Agent Paxton. Now, if you'd excuse us, we'd like to fnish eating. We need our energy in order to use those billy clubs you say we carry. Never know when you might have to knock some sense into an FBI agent who's one step removed from being a vulgar bastard."

Paxton straightened up and pointed a finger straight at Little's chest. "You better watch it, Lieutenant." With that he turned and walked towards the exit, motioning for the others to follow him. Little watched them walk out the door. "Thanks for the heads-up," she said to herself as she sat back down to finish her breakfast.

Chapter 12



As they headed down away from the Mills residence, no one spoke as Little considered the possibility she had just placed both of her detectives' young and promising careers in jeopardy because of her own reckless actions. She set it aside and tried to make conversation. "Well, that was a big, fat bust," Kelsey said. "You find anything in the office, Taz?"
"Nada, zilch, zip," Knight replied.
"Anything at all?"
"I went through the desk. One drawer had tax forms, insurance papers, business records. Another had a trust statement in it. They owned several pieces of property throughout Southern California, from Laguna Beach through the Inland Empire. Their passports were there as well, in the second drawer."
"Okay. How much did Mills make?"
"The husband made around 350, 400k," Knight replied. "The wife, nada. No income."

Little grew quiet as she thought about a few things. When they made it off the mountain she decided not to get on the freeway, instead opting to travel down Cahuenga Boulevard for a ways. Knight quickly noticed the change in scenery. "What's up, boss? Why the detour?"
"We're heading to Los Feliz, guys."
"What's there?" Mahne asked, his curiosity piqued.
"The Donut Hole over on Vermont," Little told him.
"Why? Didn't we just..." Then it dawned on both Knight and Mahne why Little was heading there. "You're going to meet Chief Beck?"

Little looked at her Rolex; it was nearly eight and she hoped he hadn't been early getting there. "You're going to talk to the Man, aren't you?" Knight said, shocked. "Why are we jumping about three or four rungs on the command ladder, Lt.?"
"Don't worry about it, Thomas; I'll take care of it. We don't have time to run through official channels. The chief should know what's going on and he'll probably be glad we told him what's up. I'm betting he'll help us with the Feds'."
"Yeah, if Commander Hunter doesn't string the three of us up over it," Knight said, still not believing what his supervisor was considering. "She won't be too happy with us jumping the chain so far."
"Tough for her," Little said. "And if she says something, I'll take the rap, not either of you." The three of them drove the rest of the way there in silence.

Like many big-city departments, the Velo City Police Department was a very insular organization, one which yielded from tradition rarely, if ever. Indeed, unlike its' counterparts in New York, Philly or Chicago, Velo City's finest had survived for more than a century by rarely looking outward. Even when they did look outward, when Bill Bratton was Chief of Police for nearly a decade, they kept many of the insular things hidden from public view. On of these was an informal departmental intelligence ratline that kept officers of most every rank below Lieutenant in the know about the command staff, those ranking Captain and above.

It was a ratline that dealt in information, a pipeline of information which flowed through roll call and locker rooms, through division and downtown squad rooms, from cop bars in Northeast Velo to hangouts in the Valley, a network of information that eerily mimiced a person's circulatory system. It was so good at disseminating information throughout the department that patrol officers in Southeast Division knew which Detective Bureau commander had been at which lesbian nightspot in West Hollywood over the past weekend. Narcotics officers in West Valley knew where the chief liked to get his uniforms pressed and cleaned at in Northeast Velo and beat cops down in the Harbor knew where the chief's wife liked to shop for groceries in Silver Lake.

It also meant that Robbery-Homicide Lieutenant Kelsey Little and Detectives Thomas Knight and Klint Mahne knew which doughnut shop Police Chief Charles Beck stopped at on his way into One Parker Center every morning.

As her watch passed eight am, Lt. Little pulled her Audi R8 into the parking lot of the Donut Hole on Vermont Avenue. Seeing no sign of the chief's command SUV, she got out of the car. The business was aptly named and located in the flats along the lower end of Los Feliz. Little opened the door to the Audi and leaned in. "Either of you want to join me inside?" Neither said anything, so Kelsey closed the door and walked inside.

Stepping inside, Little was disappointed at her detectives' decision but understood she had a lot more to risk than either of them did, so she let it ride. Patiently moving along as the line in front of her got to the counter, she ordered a coffee, two creams from the Asian man at the counter. "No doughnuts?"
"None, just the coffee." As the counter-man poured her the coffee and put the two creamers' on the counter, she took off her shades and held her badge out. "The chief arrive here yet?"

The counter-man, who also owned the shop, said nothing. He knew zilch about the department's informal ratline and didn't know what to say. He knew he could lose a valuable customer if the chief found out what he said.
"It's okay," Little said. "I'm supposed to meet him about something, don't worry."
"He not here yet," the counter-man said in halting English.

Happy that she hadn't missed him, Little paid for the coffee and put both creamers in, stirring briskly. Going to an empty table, she surveyed the establishment. This time of morning, the place was a takeout kind of business and business that morning was brisk. For several minutes she drank the coffee and watched people go in and out of the place.

Glancing over, she saw the jet-black Explorer SUV pull into the parking lot. Getting out of the front passenger seat, Chief Beck and his driver scanned their surroundings and walked over to the door. Little knew that the chief's driver was a senior Metro Division officer assigned as both a driver and bodyguard.

She waited until the chief had bought his cup before walking over to him. "Can I buy you a cup of coffee, Chief?" Little asked him.
It took him a moment to recognize her but he did a double-take when he did recognize the woman who had once been a patrol officer under him years ago down in 77th Division. "Kelsey...Little, if I'm not mistaken. What brings you here this time of morning?"
"I need to talk to you about something, sir--"
"Not bad news I hope, Lieutenant?"
"More of a heads-up, sir," Little said.
"Follow me," Chief Beck said as they walked to a nearby booth. "Thankfully, I've got some morning time built into the schedule today, so tell me what's wrong? But first, how's everything been going?"

For several minutes, the two spoke to one another as old friends would. When Little first joined the VCPD back in the mid-90's, she had been assigned to the toughest division a young patrol officer could be in, South Velo's 77th Division. Charles Beck, the current Chief of Police, had been division commander for three of the five years then-Kelsey McNeal had been there. Seeing a potential chief in her down the road, Beck had taken her under his wing, serving as a unofficial "rabbi" to Kelsey and helping to steer her through the department hierarchy. When Kelsey had decided, after working alongside her husband as a P.I., to rejoin the department last year, it was then-Assistant Chief Beck who had shepherded her through customs and back into the VCPD fold. Doing that, though, meant she had a marker that she could call in if needed...such as on the overlook case.

"You know, I scan the Overnights' every morning, Kelsey," Chief Beck said. "I know, for instance, that you caught the overlook case last night from Hollywood and I've gotten briefings on it from both Commander Hunter and Captain Janvier." That surprised Little; as far as she knew, CTS hadn't been briefed on the case.

"Out of curiosity, what is Captain Janvier and CTS doing on this case?
"Checking our intelligence, seeing what we can do to help solve this case. Now, what's the case looking like so far?"

Little gave him a full rundown on the case, laying out possible theories on the case and her own opinion of those theories. She also laid out the federal involvement on the case and her belief that they were trying to shut them out of it using the spectre of terrorism as the cudgel. While she acknowledged the cesium was the Feds' priority, she also stated her belief that the case was a homicide, pure and simple, and that the cesium was nothing more than a red herring. "Red cesium," she said. "That's all it is. This is a murder, Chief, and I think the Feds' are using the cesium to shut us out." By then the chief had finished his two cruellers' and coffee and was rolling the donut papers up into a tiny ball.

"Okay...is there anything you're not telling me, Kelsey? Anything at all?"
Little shrugged. "Not much, other than the dustup I had with an FBI agent at the Mills residence."
"Last time I remembered, RHD detectives worked in pairs or trios'. So why are your two partners in that expensive Audi out in the parking lot?"
"Difference of opinion. They're young and too willing to roll over for the Feds', Chief."
"And of course, we don't do that in the VCPD...right, Kelsey?"
"Not if I can help it, Chief."
"Did they also have a difference of opinion on you jumping the chain of command to have this meeting?"

Little dropped her eyes to the table, feeling a little embarrassed. Beck's voice had taken on the tone of a father talking to a wayward daughter.

"They weren't thrilled, to be sure, Chief," Little said quietly. "It wasn't either Knight's or Mahne's idea; it was mine and mine alone. I just felt we didn't have enough-"
"Doesn't matter what you think, Lieutenant," Chief Beck said. "It's what you did. So if I were you I wouldn't mention this to anyone and I would keep this meeting to yourself. I'll keep it to myself as well. Don't ever do this again, understood, Lieutenant Little?"
"Crystal, Chief."

Glancing over towards the doughnut case, he added, "By the way, how did you know where I'd be this time of morning?"
"I don't know offhand, sir. It just gets around the department, you know?"
"Hmm," Beck said. "Shame. I really, really liked this place, Kelsey. Now I'll have to find somewhere else for coffee and doughnuts."

Little realized the chief would now have to change his routine. If she could find him here at this time of day, any other officer could as well. "If I could make a recommendation?"
"Fire away."
"I grew up in the heart of Wilshire, in Carthay Center near the Fairfax Farmers' Market. My parents own a candleshop, By Candlelight, there. Across the main drag that they're at is a place called Bob's Coffee and Doughnut. I know it's a little out of the way for you, sir, but the coffee, the doughnuts and the churros' they serve there are the best in the city."

The chief nodded appreciatively. "I'll keep that in mind, Kelsey. Now, what is it you need me to do for you?"
"Run interference for me, open some windows. I need to speak to both the widow Mills and the victim's business partner, Braden Kinchlow. The FBI's got both of them on ice and I think my departure time was five, six hours ago." She paused before adding, "that is why I'm here, Chief. I need access to them so that the case can move forward."

Leaning back in his booth seat, Chief Beck spoke. "In addition to being the police chief, I'm also on the Joint Terrorism and West Coast Task Forces. I'll make some calls, get the wheels in motion. Besides you, we have Captain Janvier, who despite not being the sharpest wheel on the department wagon, is still the point officer for us with both groups. I'll raise the flag, call Director Mueller in Washington."

To Little it sounded like the chief would go to bat for her. Then he added, "Do you see the broader picture here?"
"The broader picture, sir?"
"The big picture, the forest. You see this as a homicide investigation; it is much bigger that that. Look at it from the Feds' perspective. Unpopular--check, very unpopular president, a Middle East on the brink of regional war, European countries going bankrupt...it would serve Washington very well if they could bring the President a piece of domestic good-news going into the 2012 elections. Breaking a terrorist operation would serve them very well; to add it to the previous six they've stopped under our noses would both help them and perpetuate the myth among certain elements in Washington that Velo City can't protect its' own."

"You mean they might try to keep us from getting involved just to make political points back east?"
"Welcome to command politics, Lieutenant. A case such as this, you have to see both the forest and the trees...something your husband tells me on occasion you have trouble differentiating at times. Plus...you have local politics to consider?"
"Sir?"
"You have a mayor in Armin Villareal, Mayor Sunny I've heard him called, who wants to clean house, starting with me and going through the senior command staff. Then you have a certain former Deputy Mayor who has her own agenda." Chief Beck was referring to former Velo City Deputy Mayor Penelope Baldomero, who had been driven from City Hall in disgrace by both Kelsey and her husband; rumor had it Baldomero had vowed to go after both of them.

"Baldomero? Like I actually care about that tall, broad witch?" Little said, emphasizing the 'witch' part.
"She knows lots of secrets, Kelsey...secrets that allowed her to weather what happened to her after your husband found out Baldomero's involvement in that trunk case of yours from your time in Hollywood. When she became City Council Chair, she sent me a certified letter. Inside she had written a note saying, "Tell Ms. McNeal her day will come soon." If you do anything, don't give her justification to carry that threat out."

The chief got up out of the booth and began to head for the door; before he reached it, he turned back around. "Remember the forest and the trees, Kelsey. Think about your moves before you carry them out. Don't give your enemies weapons they can use against you, okay?" Turning around, he walked to the door as his driver held it open.

Chapter 14



As Little and the rest of her team rode to where CTS said their 'person of interest' lived, her mind went back to an incident her first year in 77th's Tactical Unit, when her and several others officers went to assist a division narcotics team in taking down a drug dealer on 87th Street near Manchester Ave. The whole operation had been meticulously planned, right down to where everyone would enter. Everything planned out, everything surveilled...only to find when they raided the house, it was the wrong house. All they found were a family who had just moved into the house two weeks after their suspect had moved out. No drugs, no weapons...just another family in South Velo whose house they ransacked in a vain effort to find drugs that were long gone.

That was going through Little's mind as they rode to the place CTS had referred to. A CTS officer drove while Janvier, a tall, bespectled man, sat in the passenger seat. Little and Knight rode in the F250's back cab, while Mahne sat in the open back with two other CTS officers. The truck's police scanner was cranked to 11 and was set to a department back-channel - one that was not listed on any public directory.

As they got to within a half-block of the place the driver slowed to allow the other 2 F250's to pass them and continue on the al-Araki residence. Little leaned forward to look; there were CTS officers in the other 2 trucks, 2 inside the cabin and 2 hanging onto runners' attached to the vehicles. The house in question was a California Ranch-style home; as they got nearer one truck headed onto the driveway while the second came to a stop on the lawn.

As she watched the CTS officers jump out of the F250 on the front lawn, she assumed the ones in the back truck were doing likewise. While she thought Janvier's plan sucked, she admired the precision the CTS officers were carrying it out with. She saw one officer use a battering ram to take down the front door; at the same time, she could hear a similar sound towards the back.

"Move in, everyone," Janvier called out. Almost immediately everyone could hear the radio traffic over their earpieces.

"Unit 1 inside."
"Unit 2 inside; back clear!"
"Unit 3--hey!" There came several loud cracks from a back room. "Shots fired! Shots fired!"

Little heard several more shots but as close as they were she didn't the radio to hear them. The CTS officer driving the truck she was in slammed on the brakes as they got to the house. All the doors opened and everyone got out or climbed from the back, running towards the house at full sprint.

"House clear! House clear!" came the call from inside the house. "We got a suspect down! We need an ambulance here now!" It had taken inside of thirty seconds for it to all go down.

Little ran across the lawn, her Kimber down to the side. Both Knight and Mahne were right behind her while Janvier and the CTS driver were alongside Little. Entering the house with guns drawn, they saw one of the CTS officers waving to them from a hallway. Walking over, they entered a bedroom and saw their person of interest, Wassam al-Araki, lying on the floor, bleeding from three gunshot wounds to the chest and uppen abdomen, blood streaming onto a large off-cream carpet. A middle-aged woman in a matching robe was kneeling over him, wailing inconsolably.

Little looked over at a nearby cabinet, where she saw a small-caliber revolver next to several small candles. It lay about two feet from where al-Araki had been shot. "He went for that piece, Captain, and we dropped him. Three shots, center mass," said a CTS officer by the name of Hazleton.

Everyone looked down towards al-Araki. The man was staring almost blankly into the air, his chest rising and falling in halting steps. "He's gone," Janvier said smugly. "Off to meet his damn virgins, I guess." Turning to Hazleton, he added, "Find anything of note?"
"Not yet," Hazleton replied. "We've got radiation counter en-route to here."
"Search this place from attic to basement," Janvier said. "Also, let's get the car checked...and," nodding towards the young woman, "get her out of here."

As a pair of CTS officers helped the woman to her feet and took her out of the room Janvier headed out of the door, with Little and the others following right behind. They headed towards the curb, where John Mills' Cadillac Escalade was parked alongside.

They looked inside but didn't touch anything. Little took a moment to walk around the vehicle, noting that the doors appeared to be unlocked. She also saw that the keys were still in the ignition. "Keys are still here," Little said. As she put on a set of latex gloves, Janvier motioned for her to wait. "Let's get a geiger reading on that vehicle first, Lieutenant," he said, signaling one of his officers to sweep the vehicle with a handheld radiation counter.

The officer began to sweep the vehicle carefully, checking for any signs of radioactive materials. The counter popped and clicked a little bit, but nothing major. "Got a few spots here and there, Captain," he said.
"I doubt it, Officer," Little said. "It ain't here," she added as she opened the driver's side door and leaned in to hit the rear gate button. "Little, wait--"

Little pushed the button before Janvier could object. The rear gate of the Escalade flew open. Backing out of the SUV, Little walked around to the rear. The back was empty but she saw the same indentions that had been left in Mills' Porsche back at the overlook.
"It's gone," Janvier said. "The transfer case, it's gone. They must've already made the transfer."
"Yeah, probably before you and your geniuses ever found the vehicle," Little replied.

Little and Janvier stood, eyeing each other with major distrust. "Misdirection, Captain. Whoever took the cesium just led you and your team, along with my investigators and I, down a dead-end road. Thanks for nothing, sir!"

Before Janvier could reply in turn, they were interrupted by Ofc. Hazleton. "Apologies...Captain, al-Araki's dead."
"Call off the medics and go call the coroner instead." Pausing for a second, Janvier added, "Tell everyone to tell that fucking house down to the bare walls! If that goat-fucker was going for a gun, its' a good bet he hid the cesium. Just because we ain't found it yet doesn't mean its' not there. You hear me, Hazleton! Strip that house down to the drywall!"

As Hazleton ran back to the house, Janvier turned his icy expression back towards Little. "It'd probably be a good idea to call Forensics and have them assist--"
"Don't tell me how to do my goddamn job, Lieutenant!" By now, a small crowd had stopped watching the activity around the house and were watching them, wondering what was going on between the RHD lieutenant and the CTS captain. "You make trouble for me and I will damn sure make trouble for you, you understand?"
"Oh, I understand. Glad to see you're thinking of your own career instead of doing the job."
"I got connections, inside and outside the department. I can make your life a living hell, Lieutenant."
"Gee, thanks for the warning, sir."

Little began to walk away but hesitated for a moment. "Well," Janvier said. "what is it, Lieutenant Little?"
"I was just thinking, sir. Now maybe Wassam al-Araki was a bad dude; I don't know and frankly I don't care--"
"You should. It was people like him who cheered when 9/11 happened--"
"What kind of people, Captain? At best, al-Araki was a blowhard, someone who could give Rush Limbaugh a run for his money on offensive and vile things to say but that doesn't make him a terrorist. All I know is that that man wasn't involved in either the cesium theft or the murder of John Mills. He was set up for a fall guy, just like you got set up in coming here. Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain...I've got a murder case to solve. Good day!"

Little started to walk away, glad to finally vent her anger towards Captain Janvier, who she was now convinced was not only incompetent but was also a would-be bigot to boot. It was all Kelsey could do not to flatten the senior officer right there on the spot but she knew with the growing crowd that kind of action would almost certainly end her career.

Walking over to both Knight and Mahne, she told them to remain there and supervise the Forensics' technicians when they arrived to process the al-Araki residence. "Where are you headed, Lt?" Mahne asked.
"Downtown for the status briefing." Looking at her watch, she added, "looks like we missed it. Oh well. Let me know if Forensics finds anything, okay?"

As they began calling Forensics, Little started walking down the street, back towards the recreation center where her car was parked. "Little, where the fuck are you going?" Captain Janvier yelled at her. "You're not done here yet!"

Little turned and waved at him, then sharply turned around and continued walking. By the time she was within a block of the rec center, the first TV vans passed her, heading in the opposite direction.