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Vasquez started to glance back down the alley again.
“Eyes on me,” she ordered. “Don’t move anything but your lips. Answer my question!”
“Okay. Okay. I saw a dude toss something in an alley dumpster over off Emelita Street in Van Nuys. I was curious. So I checked it out and found the laptop. It didn’t even have a hard drive. I just pawned it to make a few quick bucks.”
“Describe the dude,” she instructed, ignoring the heavy footsteps fast approaching.
“He had on a sweatshirt with a hoodie. But it was dark. I couldn’t see anything else.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t remember for sure. It was after midnight,” he said hurriedly, closing his eyes tightly at the sound of thundering footsteps only feet from him.
A second later, the running stopped. Jessie looked up.
“Identify yourself!” shouted an officer with a buzz cut just five feet from her. His weapon was pointed at her. The other two officers had theirs aimed at Vasquez.
“My name is Jessie Hunt,” she said loud and clear. “I’m a criminal profiler based out of Downtown Central Station. My identification is in my front left pants pocket if someone wants to check it. I also have a department-issued sidearm under my jacket on my right hip. I’m going to raise my arms above my head slowly.”
“What are you doing here?” Buzzcut demanded.
“I’m investigating a murder in which Mr. Vasquez is a person of interest. I was hoping to have a word with him.”
“And did you get that chance?” a familiar voice asked.
Jessie looked behind the officers in front to see Sergeant Costabile’s hulking frame emerge from the darkness of the alley. Two other officers stood behind him.
“We were interrupted by your colleagues,” Jessie said, careful not to directly answer the question. “But I’d love the chance to have a chat with him under less extreme circumstances.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to get in line, Ms. Hunt,” Costabile said as he reached down and violently wrenched Vasquez up to a standing position. “Valley Division has a few questions of our own for this monster, er, excuse me, alleged monster.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Vasquez yelled out frantically as Costabile slapped a pair of cuffs on his wrists.
The sergeant gave Jessie a nasty smirk.
“Sounds like the two of you got to chat a little bit after all,” he said, as he kicked Vasquez in the back of the leg, sending him to the ground. The suspect’s knees rattled as they slammed on the sidewalk and he gasped in pain.
“That’s not necessary, Sergeant,” Jessie said quietly. “He’s not resisting.”
“Oh, I definitely felt some imminent resistance,” Costabile countered. “He looked like he was about to run. In fact, he just made a move for my weapon.”
Before Jessie knew what was happening, Costabile smacked Vasquez in the jaw with the back of his hand, sending the man careening to the ground. Vasquez moaned but didn’t try to move.
“Now he’s trying to evade arrest,” Costabile warned before kicking Vasquez in the gut.
The man lay on the ground, silently writhing in pain. The sergeant looked back up at Jessie sneeringly, daring her to challenge him again. She looked around at the now half dozen officers who’d assembled around them. It occurred to her that standing there, with a weapon in her possession, she wasn’t entirely safe herself, even with her hands up.
This wasn’t the moment to take Costabile on. He had every advantage. She needed to wait until the odds were more even.
Behind the officers, she saw the youngish man in plainclothes who had rushed into the bar earlier. He was hanging back, trying not to be noticed.
“Detective Strode, I assume?” she called out.
He took a few steps forward into the light and nodded.
“I’m Wiley Strode,” he acknowledged, his voice shaky. “You’re Hunt, correct?”
“I am,” she said, trying to inject him with confidence through the sheer power of her voice. “Since you’re in charge here, do you mind if I put my hands down now? We’ve got our suspect in custody. The scene is relatively secure. Maybe we lower the temperature a bit?”
