“Really?” Dyche couldn’t hide the cynicism in his tone. “They just up and told you they did it, huh?”
“Something like that. We don’t have time to discuss it now.”
“Because…”
“You might be trying to triangulate a phone trace. You can tell Swain whatever you want; you and I don’t know each other. So we get off the line quickly. We meet one on one.”
“Look… if you’re not even going to trust—”
“Where and when?” Bob said. “We’re on the clock, Sergeant.”
“Polo Park. It’s a family sports park, where Noriega meets Old Farm Road. There are two big parking lots and you can see in all four directions. The one on Noriega. Also, people around, witnesses. Come after ten. I’ll be there until ten-thirty, then I blow this off and have words with Ms. Swain. No weapons, or I hit my emergency beacon and you have a hundred officers down on you before you can blink.”
“Okay.”
The call dropped.
Dyche hung up the phone then checked his perimeter again. No one was paying attention, the young officer and the hooker chuckling happily as they waited to book her.
The parking lot was nearly empty as Bob approached. He’d parked at the lot on Old Farm Road then walked over, across the baseball diamond, past the small storage yard and three-bay garage.
The lot on Noriega was a slightly smaller rectangle but still a solid hundred yards long, with perfectly lined spaces for more than two hundred cars. But it was late, the handful of streetlamps casting a dull glow, a few cars pulling out for the night.
Near the far end of the lot, a white concrete path led to a small bandstand-style seating area on the property’s east side. It looked deserted. Just before the path, a smaller sedan was parked in the shadows, a man leaning against the front end, his arms crossed.
Bob kept his head on a swivel. Dyche appeared to be alone. Please tell me he didn’t bring a police cruiser, he worried. A police presence would attract attention from the surrounding housing developments. The park was bookended by Patriot Elementary School and Freedom Middle School. Bob had no doubt worried parents might decide to wander over, and they might be armed.
Nope, looks like a Toyota.
Dyche was in civilian clothes. He uncrossed his arms and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “Okay. You’ve got my undivided attention, Mr. Richmond,” he said. “Talk.”
“I have a witness who will implicate Officer Jeb Fowler in two murders and clear Marcus Pell. I also have the motive behind Hap Singh’s death.”
“Huh. And how did you come about this information, Mr. Richmond? Because as you may be aware, most of the department is currently trying to ascertain your whereabouts.”
“It was freely offered,” Bob said. Sort of. No money changed hands.
“Just like that? With no coercion on your part? Because the last I heard, Jeb Fowler was looking to arrest on you on suspicion of assault.”
“Entirely unrelated, I’m sure.”
“Entirely?”
“Something… like that.”
“I notice a hesitation on that point, Mr. Richmond. Let’s not get this working relationship off to that kind of start. Did you coerce someone into a confession, or not?”
“I didn’t, no.”
“But someone did.”
“Like I said… I didn’t. Perhaps when you have them on the other side of a table, you can get them to tell you more.”
Dyche’s hackles were up. He could clearly tell Bob was holding back information. “And the motive?”
“I’ll deliver you everything. I want reassurances my friend Marcus will get protection inside until he’s released, and that neither I nor Sharmila Singh will be charged with interfering. In exchange, I’ll give you the tape.”
“Tape!?”
“Recording of our witness confirming everything. USB stick. You know what I mean,” Bob said. Jesus H, I’m old.
“The Kopec brothers are in Memorial right now with multiple gunshot wounds. They aren’t saying shit…”
“Without Fowler to do their dirty work, they’re a little less inclined to work with the police, I guess.”
“Richmond…”
“Sorry. But it’s probably true.”
“Just… don’t push it, okay? We all know who and what Jeb was, but what little Margaret told me… that’s going to cause a shitstorm of unprecedent proportions around here. Where’s Officer Czernowitz?”
“Like I said, I need some guarantees first.”
Dyche took a long, deep breath through his nose, his expression distant in the moment. He took off his glasses, then took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and began to clean the lenses.
“You know… I’ve lived here all my life, and there’s a lot of truth in what people say about Bakersfield. People here came from hardship, and they’re tough. They go after want they want, and sometimes… well, sometimes there’s not a whole lot of consideration for legality. But… that’s any city, I guess.”
“It is,” Bob agreed.
