Unwelcome Intervention

The thunderous roar of a chopper engine and swishing blades destroyed the quiet as it appeared low in the sky from the direction of the Dodger's Stadium. It wasn't a police chopper, which circled some distance away. Looking up to the sky, Stone could make out the white livery and distinct stripes of what he recognized as a local C.B.N. news helicopter as it banked, and then circled overhead.

As the lead detective at the scene of the cop slaying, Stone knew that he'd be the one that would have to convey what had happened to his family. He could only hope that he could get to them before they saw images of the scene on the news channel. It wouldn't be hard for the relatives to know it was their loved one from the identification number on the roof of the cop car. A sense of indignity washed through him as he slid his butt sidesaddle onto his car seat and grabbed his microphone from the hook.

"Dispatch. I'm calling from the scene at the Dodger's Stadium. Contact those CBN idiots circling in the news chopper with their search beam. Tell them to keep their searchlight and camera away from identifying the patrol car number on the roof. Or tell them to at least distort the image."

"Will do. Any news on the officer's status?"

Stone hesitated to answer. With luck, he hoped any family would be tucked up in bed at that late hour. It was never an easy task relaying the circumstances, even when there was no connection to the deceased. A shiver ran through him that he'd be breaking the news to the next of kin of a fellow officer. Stone shrugged his shoulders, thankful that the police chopper had reported back earlier that there wasn't any sign of assailants lying in wait. Pulling his microphone toward him, he drew it to his mouth. Stone ran his tongue over his dry lips and cleared his throat.

"I can confirm the scene at Elysian is a homicide. The coroner's office has been informed."

Stone closed his eyes and tapped the microphone on his forehead. There was a distinct delay in a response, and then the dispatch operator choked out her reply.

"Oh, no... dear, God."

Stone opened his eyes and drew the microphone to his lips.

"You mentioned witnesses. Can't see anyone."

"I have them on the phone. They can see you. They're parked around one hundred yards away on Elysian."

"Any idea what the officer was doing over here?"

"Normal patrol duty."

"Check that."

Stone scanned along Elysian, catching sight of a parked car partially hidden behind a squad car. The doors opened, and in the dark lit road, a man and then a woman climbed out from the back seat. They appeared as dark silhouettes as he climbed out of his seat and ambled toward them. He still couldn't get it out of his head that the officer had been so brutally dispatched. Stone prayed that he never saw it coming. This was the third white cop slaying in recent weeks. He reckoned that it was more than a coincidence that the murders took place after a rogue white cop shot an unarmed black guy in South Los Angeles. Burning and looting a few buildings didn't look as though it had slaked the thirst for someone's revenge.

As he neared the witnesses, the woman smoothed down her skirt, then fastened the top button of her blouse. The man bent down to fasten a shoelace.

Stone made his introduction and took down the witnesses' details. He decided to split them up, asking the woman to take a seat back in the car, and then reversed their roles.

He shook his head at the descriptions and events that they had given him. They were black guys, possibly white guys with ski masks. The pickup was a Ford, could be a Toyota, possibly a Chrysler. The only things in their statements that they agreed upon, was that the assailants were dressed in black, after the witnesses had dared to snatch a look and saw them jump into their vehicle, then they'd driven off.

There was that, and the fact that he'd seen the witnesses climb out of the back seat. That fit with the guy saying that they'd been in a tryst, when first the one car passed them, and then another. That was quickly followed by a crescendo of gunfire. The woman said ten shots. The guy said five and a shotgun blast. They had ducked after seeing them drive off, not daring to look again for maybe five minutes, just in case they had left someone behind, they both had said. The guy only phoned emergency services after another five minutes. Stone reckoned that was about the time it would have taken them to get dressed.

Stone glared at the witnesses and then spat on the asphalt. Those five minutes could have saved the cop his life.

"Wait here," he said, when he saw the forensic van arrive, and Stone noticed that his mid-blue car appeared black. He recognized John right away as he arrived at the patrol car. John shone his flashlight around the scene.

"Professionals," John said.

"How d'ya make that out?"

"Multiple gunshots from the driver's side, and besides those, he has a massive hole in his cranium on his passenger side, and there are pellets imbedded in his skin. Not a casing anywhere. They must have gathered up the casings. Amateurs wouldn't take the time to retrieve them. The passenger window was blown out with a shotgun at close range which matches with the pellet pattern that blew the hole in his skull."

Stone winced at his description of the gaping hole in the officer's head. For professionals, he thought the one with the gun had been wasteful firing off so many shots, as though it was personal.

"Hardly professional firing from both sides. If he'd ducked, they could have shot each other."

John raised his eyebrows. "Not if they were standing outside. They'd be firing down at an angle."

"Did he get a shot away?"

"No, his gun is still in his holster."

Stone stroked at the stubble on his chin. The car window at the driver's side was in the open position. Rubber marks on the asphalt indicated a vehicle had raced from behind the cop car. The marks confirmed what the witnesses had told him about the position of the vehicles. He doubted a traffic stop. The cop car's reds and blues hadn't been flashing. He'd have parked behind them to get the stop on his dashboard cam, but it wasn't even activated when he'd arrived. No cop would stop for red lights at that time of night. Not with clear sight left and right. They'd have at least crawled out. He wondered if maybe he knew his assailants and they'd flagged him down by flashing their lights, then he'd rolled down his window and... bam, bam.

An unmarked car pulled up at the roadblock set up to his left on Stadium Way, but the officer quickly waved it through. Stone's spirit sank when he realized who it was. The guy strutted toward him as though he owned the street.

"What have we got?" asked Detective Kyle Reagan.

"Homicide. Looks like the cop killers have surfaced again."

"Killers!"

"Yeah, witnesses saw the two suspects leaving the scene."

"That'll be the black SUV pickup."

"Black, pink, yellow, who the fuck knows? I wouldn't rely on what the witnesses saw. They were a hundred yards away and its not that well lit."

"Have you taken statements?"

"Yeah. I've told them to wait in their car."

"Good, I'll take fresh statements and check them against yours later now it's my case."

Stone's chest tightened. Anger welled inside of him. He wasn't about to let the case slip away from him.

"Hey, I was first on the scene," he spat. "This is my case."

"Not any longer. Dispatch contacted Logan and said you'd responded. You're off duty, remember? He says I'm to take the case. Incidentally, he says to tell you that he wants you to meet him over at HR tomorrow at ten in the morning."

"Shit, what have I done wrong now?"

Reagan looked sheepish and averted his gaze.

"Who said you've done anything wrong?"

No one had to say. He'd seen the signs with the look in Logan's eyes earlier in the day. Worse, it still hung over him like a dark cloud when Logan had told him at his last disciplinary that it was his final warning. It was the third time that he'd heard those words. Three times unlucky, he mused.