"I'm saying he received a payoff, then shot Valdez when he came up short."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's what he told me."

"There has to be a mistake."

"There may be. I can't be sure Brand's story was true. That's what we need to find out. Tell me about the shooting."

A waitress interrupted them, delivering menus. Wolper gave back the menus, unexamined, and ordered two cheeseburgers, two Cokes. "You're not a vegetarian, are you?" he asked Robin belatedly.

"Cheeseburger is fine."

"Okay. The shooting. Sergeant Brand was riding in his unit, alone"

"Shouldn't he ride with a partner?"

"Sergeants don't have partners. They function in a supervisory capacity. As a matter of fact, Brand was on his way back from supervising a crime scene."

"Isn't that the watch commander's job?"

"Brand had the watch that night. The lieutenantnot mewas off."

"All right. So he's heading back to the station amp;"

"When he sees Valdez enter a parking garage on foot, going down the ramp. Right away Brand is suspicious. Valdez is known in the neighborhood. He's been picked up for ripping off car stereos, boosting vehicles, and being an all-around pain in the ass."

"Was he a member of the San Pedro Street Gangstas?"

"Good question. We never made him as a G, and the coroner didn't find any gang tats on him."

"So he wasn't?"

"He could've been a wanna-be, or someone they used as an errand boy. But he had no gang ties we know of, and there was no gang presence at his funeral. Far as we know, he was just a small-time street criminal."

"And Brand saw him going into a parking garage. What time was this?"

"Two hundred hours. Two a.m., I mean."

"I can translate. What happened next?"

"Brand calls it in on his radio. Says he's checking out a five-oh-threepossible auto theft."

"Did he request backup?"

"No."

"Isn't that unusual? Especially considering he was alone?"

"He may not have shown the best judgment. Like I told you yesterday, Brand is a street cop. He figures he gets paid to take chances. He's not one of these guys who sit behind a desk waiting to go twenty and out."

"So he's a cowboy."

"Christ, you're like a goddamned reporter putting words in my mouth." He shook his head. "Sorry, but I get tired of hearing good men called cowboys or vigilantes whenever they show any balls. Let's put it this way. When you call nine-one-one to report a hot prowl, do you want the cop who responds to wait around for backup or to suck it up and do his job?"

"I'm not trying to be confrontational, Lieutenant."

"Right. Whatever. Anyway, not calling for backup isn't cowboy stuff. It's Sergeant Brand's assessment of the threat level. He knows Valdez. He has him pegged as a knuckle-head, a troublemaker, but not violent. If he catches Valdez boosting a tape deck, he can handle the arrest on his own."

"All right. Now Brand is in the garage."

"And he looks around for Valdez, but the assholesorrythe kid isn't visible. Brand thinks maybe Valdez has already gone to another level of the garageit's one of those multistory things. Then he sees movement in a corner, and he heads toward it. He thinks Valdez is trying to bust into an SUV. He's wrong. Valdez heard Brand come down the ramp and he's waiting for Brand with a thirty-eight Special."

"A three-eighty wheel gun?"

"I'm surprised you know that term."

"Brand said that was the kind of gun he planted on Valdez after the fact."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"Did Valdez use a gun in any of his earlier crimes?"

"No, but it's not hard to believe he'd be carrying. Hell, everybody in Newton is carrying. Shootin' Newton, we call it. So Valdez makes a move on Brandthey struggleBrand pops him at close range. Calls in a nine-ninety-eight. Requests the captain, the coroner, and a shooting teamall by the book. When units respond, they find Valdez dead of a single gunshot to the head, and Valdez's thirty-eight on the floor by his body."

"Case closed."

"No. Not case closed."

The waitress returned with their orders. They said nothing until she was gone. Then Wolper leaned forward, elbows on the table, his left hand furiously squeezing the rubber ball.

"There was a thorough investigation. Brand was put on leave, sent to Behavioral Sciences for trauma counseling. Ballistics came back clean. Tapes of his two radio calls were consistent with his story. He's a decorated veteran officer, and Eddie Valdez was street scum. There was no reason to doubt that it went down exactly like Brand said."

Robin sampled her cheeseburger. It was good. "And the gun? Did it belong to Valdez?"

"It couldn't be traced."

"Then Brand could have planted it, just as he said. It could have been a throwaway."

"Throwdown," Wolper corrected through a mouthful of burger. "Police officers don't carry those."

"Oh, come on."

"Not in my jurisdiction."

"How can anyone believe that, after Rampart?"

"We cleaned up the department since Rampart. We don't tolerate rogue cops. Even if we did, Al Brand isn't one of them."

"Then why did he say what he said in session?"

"I don't know. But I sure wouldn't convict a man on the basis of something he said while he was undergoing some kind of experimental therapy."

"Fair enough. And I admit there are legitimate questions. That's why I came to you."

"To me?"

"As opposed to Deputy Chief Wagner. He's the one I probably should be talking to, but I didn't want to do anything rash. I didn't want to risk damaging Sergeant Brand's career unnecessarily."

"You bring this to the top brass, you'd better know what the hell you're getting into. Brand can't be a bad cop. This stuff he said amp; it's gotta be a glitch or something. Faulty wiring, maybe. You had the thing set on high when it should've been medium."

"It's not a toaster, Lieutenant."

Wolper took a long, thoughtful swallow of soda. "Valdez was a righteous shooting. Had to be."

"I hope you're right," Robin said. "I really do."

"How's this? I'll take a look at the file on the Valdez shooting and see if there are any loose ends."

"You have access to the file?"

"I have access to somebody who can get me a copy. What do you say we meet tomorrow and go over it?"

"All right."

"Your office? Afternoon?"

"My last session is at three P.M. Should be over by four."

He looked worried. "Not Brand again?"

"No, you don't have to worry about that. It's just a nice, safe inmate from County."

"Okay."

"If you're so sure Brand is innocent, why were you afraid I'd be seeing him again?"

"In my line of work, you learn never to trust anybody one hundred percent. That may be why my wife left me. Lack of trust. It's that whole stupid intuition thing."

"Intuition?"

"My ex was always going on about that. How I didn't have any. Intuition, that is. How I think everything through in a straight line, A to B to C. No imagination. No feel for people or situations. That's what she said. What the hell, she was right."

"Do you think so?"

"Probably. Hell, I took the detective exam twice. Didn't pass. My opinion was that it was goddamned affirmative action. When you're a white male, it's not enough to score well. You've got to ace the test. But Cindy, my ex, said a detective needs to be intuitive, and I'm not."

"And you think she's right?"

"She could be. To be honest, I don't even know what she's talking about. Intuitionwhat the hell is that, anyway? It's just another word for guessing. Police work shouldn't be guesswork."

"Intuition involves more than"

He waved her off and picked up the rubber ball again. "Yeah, yeah, I know. That's your thing, right? Look at a patient and just kind of sense what makes him tick. It's all head games."