Free Copp On Ice, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp Private Eye Series) by Don Pendleton Page A

detective. He pretended he hadn't heard my little speech to Ralston and I pretended I didn't see him until he spoke. "Chief, do you have a minute?"
    I'd noticed the guy at the Craggy Lane scene during the investigation there, thought he was a sharp and on the ball, fairly young—maybe thirty or so. I took him by the arm and walked him toward the exit while we talked.
    "What d'you have?"
    "ID on the Craggy Lane victim—well, I mean, further ID."
    "Yeah?"
    "Yeah. Thought you'd want to know. He'd worked up there as a security guard since the place was built three years ago. There are three of them on rotating shifts. This guy was Franklin Jones. He used to be a K-9 deputy from the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Department, expert dog handler."
    "Yeah?"
    "Yeah. He came over to Brighton when Murray did, ten years ago, got fired a few years later. But it seems that he got the job with Schwartzman on Murray's recommendation."
           "Yeah?"
           "Yeah. Isn't that strange? I helped ID five DOA's during one watch and every one of them either worked or had worked for this department. What is it?—open season on Brighton cops?"
           "Guess we're on a roll," I told him. "Thanks for the info. Is the autopsy report in yet?—on Jones, I mean."
           "Yeah. He got it three times in the heart. No way could he have walked after that, his heart was totally mutilated. Died on his feet before the fall."
           "Recover the lead?"
           "Bits and pieces. The shooter used frag rounds, explosives. Educated guess says they were .38 caliber or nine millimeter rounds, but of course..."
           We'd reached the exit and moved on outside to continue the discussion. I realized I didn't know the officer's name; told him, "Sorry—I forget your name. Too many too quick last night."
           He showed me a friendly smile. "Easy for me. You're only the second chief I've ever known. I'm Tony Zarraza."
           I asked him, "What kind of firearm do you carry, Tony?"
           He blinked and said, "I carry the official department firearm."
           I hauled out mine and checked it, a .38 Detective Special, double-action revolver. "Just like this?"
           "Yes sir. Chief Murray insisted that all plainclothes officers carry that piece."
           "Patrol officers?"
           "They carry Police Positives. No concealment problem for them."
           "Thirty-eights."
           "Right."
           I hefted the little pistol a couple times as I asked Zarraza, "Vice officers carry these pieces?"
           "If you mean Detective Turner, yes sir, she carries the standard piece."
           "What killed Manning and Peterson?"
           "Thirty-eight jacketed hollow-points."
           "The two narcs?"
           "Same type, yes. I meant to tell you, the fire did not kill them. Both were shot to death. Explosion had nothing to do with it."
           I tisk-tisked and said, "Bizarre incident, huh. You seem like a sharp cop. Why do you suppose those two were in that car, at that place, and at that time?"
           "Narcs are a different breed," he told me. "Every one's a cowboy. I have no explanation."
           "What would you say if I told you that those two tried to run me down with that car moments before they got it themselves?"
           "Are you telling me that?" he asked quietly.
           "Yeah."
           "Then I would say off the cuff that they copped the car for a hit and couldn't afford to be stopped in that car."
           I said, "Yeah, I had it doped that way too. But now I'm wondering..."
           "Sir?"
           "Are you aware that I have been under official surveillance since I got here last night?"
           "No sir, I didn't know that."
           "They've been keeping a log on me at Dispatch, every movement, every stop, every start. Why would someone want that?"
           Zarraza looked around