Therapy

Sam Diaz said, “Oh, man, I should be out there.”

“Where’s Milo?”

“Don’t see him- I’m calling for backup, then I’m outta here, Doc. You stay inside.”

He got on the police radio. I watched Albin Larsen bend and retrieve Degussa’s gun. Gull had freed his legs, and he swung them at Larsen, missed, sprang up, turned to run.

Larsen examined the gun, then aimed it, turning his back to the camera.

Crack. Crack. Two bursts of applause. Two holes materialized on the back of Larsen’s sport coat, within an inch of each other, just right of the center seam.

Diaz was saying, “Another one just went down, this is Code Three Plus, friend.”

Larsen straightened. Stretched his neck, as if plagued by a sudden pinch. The spot on his jacket became a brown stain. His right hand reached back, scratching an itch.

He changed his mind. Rotated, showed the camera a partial profile.

Expressionless. More dreadful applause, and something puffed in the center of Larsen’s neck. At the juncture of ruddy neck flesh with tan shirt.

Larsen reached for that, too. His arms shot out spastically and flopped to his sides.

His body lurched forward, onto the grass.

Gull was twenty feet away, staring, screaming.

Birdsongs on the speaker.

Still life on the monitor.

The Starbucks cup hadn’t even moved.

The truck’s rear door burst open, and Milo threw himself in.

Ghostly white, breathing hard. “Someone’s up there,” he panted. “Has to be one of the houses on Spalding, a backyard. Has to be a rifle, I was pi

Diaz returned to the cab, slid the partition open. “Backup’s on its way. Gotta be a long-range scope. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Seconds later- seventeen seconds, according to the monitor- came the sirens.

CHAPTER 45

Be

Faced with a mountain of evidence compiled by Medi-Cal fraud investigator Dwight Zevonsky- a twenty-nine-year-old with the look of a hippie grad student and the ma

The scam had gone just as we’d theorized: Hacker and Degussa trolling for halfway-house residents whose names could be registered as Sentries patients. Compensating the parolees with small cash payments or drugs, or sometimes nothing at all. At first the cons showed up for sign-in sessions and one follow-up, in the unoccupied suite on the ground floor. Later even that pretext was dropped.

Later, the patient population had stretched beyond the halfway houses, with Degussa charged with finding new recruits.

“Sometimes we used dope, sometimes Ray just scared the junkies,” Hacker said. “Ray gives you a look, that can be enough.”

He smiled and smoked. Knowing he’d made a good deal. Probably working out six years of angles.

Milo and Zevonsky sat across from him in the interview room. I watched through the one-way mirror. Before being booked, Hacker’s contact lenses had been removed, and he’d been issued cheap jail eyeglasses with clear plastic frames. A size too large, they slid down his nose and made his chin appear even skimpier. The gestalt was creepy: malicious nerd in County blues.

Hacker tried to tell the story as if he wasn’t a protagonist. Degussa and “his partner” receiving two-thirds of the billings filed under Franco Gull’s name- splitting slightly over two hundred thousand dollars during a sixteen-month period.

“Ray was unhappy,” said Hacker. “He figured the others were making millions, he should be getting more.”

“What did he do about it?” said Milo.

“He was pla

“Them,” said Zevonsky, “being…”

“The shrinks- Koppel and Larsen.”

“They were in charge.”

“It was all them. They cooked it up, came to me.”

“How’d you know them?”

“Koppel used to see me at the halfway house she owned. Checking up on my charges.”

“She came to you,” said Zevonsky.

“That’s right.”

“And your job was to…”

“Sign my name to some therapy forms. Also, to pinpoint good candidates.”

“Meaning?”

“Druggies, losers, guys who wouldn’t give problems.” Hacker smiled. “She was a businesswoman.”

Milo said, “She owned the halfway houses in partnership, with her ex.”

“So?”

“What about him?”

“Fat boy? He owned the houses, but he had nothing to do with it.”

Zevonsky said, “You’re sure you want to go on record saying that?”

“I’m on record because it’s true. Why would I lie to you?” Puff puff. “Hell, if I could bring someone else into this, I would. Spread the wealth, do myself some more good.”

“Maybe you’d lie just for the fun of it?” said Milo.

“This isn’t fun,” said Hacker. “This isn’t anything near fun.”

“What about Jerome Quick?” said Milo.

“Again with that? The only Quick I know is Gavin, and I already told you about him. Who’s Jerry, the kid’s brother?”

I already told you about him.

Recounting it coldly. Gavin snooping around the building after hours, seeing scruffy men filing in and out for five-minute visits, overhearing things. Conversations about billing.

Gavin, the brain-injured would-be investigative reporter, stumbling upon a real story. And dying because of it.

“Crazy idiot,” said Hacker.

“Crazy idiot because he snooped,” said Milo.

“And opened up his big yap. He went and told Koppel about his suspicions. During therapy. He’d never seen her with the cons, so I guess he assumed she wasn’t in on it. She told Larsen, said she’d handle it. Larsen didn’t believe her, had Ray handle it.”

Confidentiality.

Milo said, “Who did Gavin see with the cons?”

“Ray and Larsen.”

“Aren’t you leaving something out?” said Dwight Zevonsky.

Hacker smoked and nodded. “I was occasionally there. Mostly, my job was getting names, making sure the cons were stable.”

“Passing out bribes,” said Zevonsky.

“Whatever.”

Milo said, “Did Koppel know Gavin was going to be whacked?”

“No,” said Hacker. “Like I said, she thought she could handle it.”

“Larsen didn’t believe her.”

“Larsen didn’t want to wait.”

“So he called Ray.”

“Ray had done it before.”

“Killed for Larsen?”

“No, for himself.”

“Who?”

“Guys in prison.”

“What about another woman?”

Pause. “Maybe that, too.”

“Maybe?” said Milo.

“I don’t know for sure. Ray implied it. Said when women put him down they were go

“Get stuck. He used those words.”

“It was a… figure of speech with him. When someone went down they were stuck with the tab. Ray could be generous. When we partied, he’d give women whatever they wanted. Long as they didn’t disappoint him.”

“Disappoint him, how?”

“By not doing what he wanted.”

“Bossy fellow,” said Milo.

“He could be,” said Hacker.

“So Koppel wasn’t in on Gavin’s murder.”

“I told you. No. When she found out, figured out what happened, she went nuts. Threatened to shut the whole thing down. Larsen tried to calm her down, but she was pretty upset. I think what bugged her the most was that one of her patients had been whacked. She took that personally.”

“So Ray whacked her, too.”

Hacker nodded.

“He told you he was go