“I thought I’d beat you,” she said.
“I had to come down to the D.A.’s office,” he jerked his thumb across the street, “to pick up a list of all the cases Hart prosecuted during his tenure. It’s all computerized now. Every case, win or lose, with defendant, sentence, last known address, whether they’re still in prison or a repeat offender. Good stuff, really. Also includes known associates, which might come in handy right about now.”
“I heard the shooter’s dead.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “You talked to Jim?”
“I ran into Jim at Hart’s office. You haven’t ID’d the guy?”
Steve shook his head. “No ID, no prints, car was stolen. Doesn’t give us much to go on.”
“Any ideas at all?”
She desperately wanted to give Steve and Jim a clue that this might be tied to the Russian mob, but she needed to talk to Matt Elliott first.
“None,” Steve said. “But we’ll figure it out.” He tapped the folder he carried. “My gut tells me it’s connected to one of his old cases. The LG isn’t a high-profile office, but Hart was a prosecutor. They make enemies.”
Steve pulled out a form from the top of the folder in his arms. “Here’s your statement. If you can just sign and date.”
She read the statement first. It was straight-forward, no extraneous details. Jim hadn’t included her theory that Hart might not have been the target, but she supposed that was mostly because it was conjecture, not fact.
Still, she asked Steve, “Are you looking into Eric Huang?”
“The legislative consultant?” Steve shrugged. “He’s clean. Squeaky clean. Nothing on his record. Third generation Chinese-American, graduated from Berkeley, worked for the previous LG, rather bland. From Folsom, parents still live there, owns a townhouse up off 26th or 27th, you know—they built them as infill housing about ten years ago.”
She knew the area. Relatively cheap to buy, easy commute to downtown or hop onto the freeway, good restaurants within walking distance.
“Did Hart recognize the shooter?” she asked.
Steve shook his head. “Still, Hart was a prosecutor up until three years ago before going into corporate law, then the LG appointment when Goodman died in office. Hart could easily have forgotten the case, could have been minor for him, or a friend or relative of a victim or perp.”
“Makes sense.” Except, she knew the shooter was connected to organized crime. She went out on a limb. “Did you run ballistics? Any connection to other cases?”
Steve nodded, and almost told her, then stopped himself. “Alex, I’d love to share everything with you, but our investigation is being monitored from on high. You burned a lot of bridges last year. Not that you were at fault,” he added quickly.
“I don’t want to make anything difficult for you,” she said with a half-smile, though inside she was seething. This whole thing was bullshit, and the way Jim and Steve were treating her was bullshit, too. She was a witness, she was a trained investigator, she wanted to help. But she got it, loud and clear. If anyone in the department found out she was involved, over and above giving her statement, it could cause problems for Jim and Steve. She wouldn’t put it past the powers that be to pull them from the case and give it to someone with no connection to her.
Steve looked her up and down. “You okay?”
He meant well, but she was getting sick and tired of being asked the same question. “Fine. It was a flesh wound. Itches like a bitch.”
“I meant, in general.”
She shrugged. “I’m okay.”
“I think it’s crap that you felt like you had to quit.”
“Don’t be naive, Jefferson. You know how it is.”
“We all knew Tommy bent the rules.”
Her ears perked up. “What?”
“All of us from Southern Command. I was a rookie cop at Southern before I made detective and was assigned to Central. Tommy was a sharp cop—really good. But everyone turned their back when he slipped a few bucks in his pocket during a bust. Maybe we shouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “You know why he was transferred to Northern Command.”
“No,” she said flatly. “He told me he asked for the transfer so he didn’t have to commute as far after his divorce.”
Steve looked perplexed, then clearly regretted saying anything. “Maybe it’s all water under the bridge. The guy is in jail, juries love to send cops up the river.” He squirmed. “I shouldn’t have said that. He deserves whatever he gets.”
“Not everybody thinks that,” she said. “Why was he transferred?”
It was clear Steve didn’t want to tell her, but after a moment of mental debating, he finally relented. “A prostitute came forward and said he’d been taking advantage of their cop discount for blow jobs.”