I had to get up, shift gears. I started taking the dishes into the kitchen. My chest was heaving. I felt like I might be going to cry. My father was back, and I was starting to realize how much I had missed him. In a crazy way, I still wanted to be his girl.
My father helped with the dishes. I rinsed them off, and he loaded them in the dishwasher. We barely said a word. My whole body was vibrating.
When the dishes were done, we just sort of turned and met each other’s eyes. “So where’re you staying?” I asked.
“With an ex-cop buddy of mine, Ron Fazio. He used to be a district sergeant out in Sunset. He’s got me on his couch.”
I washed out a pasta pot. “I have a couch,” I said.
Chapter 63
ALL THE FOLLOWING DAY we pounded on the list of names Warden Estes and his people had given us. Two we crossed off immediately. A computer check indicated they had become re-associated with the California penal system, currently residing in other institutions.
Something Weiscz had said the day before had stuck in my head.
“I gave you something,” I had said, as the convict raved about the white race.
“And I gave you something back,” he had replied. The words hung in my mind. They had first hit me at two in the morning, and I rolled back to sleep. They had accompanied me on my morning drive. And they were still with me now.
I gave you something back….
I slipped my feet out of my pumps and stared out my window at the freeway ramp starting to back up with traffic. I tried to retrace my encounter with Weiscz.
He was an animal who never had a chance of seeing the light of day. Still, I felt there had almost been a moment with him, a bond. All he wanted in that hellhole was to see what he looked like. I gave you something back.
So what did he give me?
“You think I give a shit about your dead niggers?” he had seethed. “Long live Chimera,” he had hollered as they put him under….
Then, slowly, my mind settled on it.
“Maybe one of your own assholes has come to his senses. Maybe that’s what it was, an inside job.”
I didn’t know if I had gone off the deep end or what. Was I reaching for something that wasn’t there? Was Weiscz actually telling me something he could never be held accountable for?
An inside job…
I dialed Estes at Pelican Bay. “Any of your inmates up there ever been an ex-cop?” I asked.
“A cop…?” The warden paused.
“Yeah.” I explained why I wanted to know.
“Excuse my French,” Estes shot back, “but Weiscz was fucking with you. He was trying to get inside your head. The bastard hates cops.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Warden.”
“A cop…?” Estes grunted a derisive snort. “We had a bad narcotics inspector out of L.A., Bellacora. Shot three of his informants. But he was transferred out. To my knowledge, he’s still in Fresno.” I remembered reading about the Bellacora case. It was as dirty and low as law enforcement got.
“We had a customs inspector, Benes, who on the side was running a dope ring at San Diego Airport.”
“Anyone else?”
“No, not in my six years.”
“What about before that, Estes?”
He grunted impatiently. “How far back do you want me to go, Lieutenant?”