Gordon grabbed a clean shirt. Alice stood in the bedroom doorway. Downstairs, Barbara and Junior peppered Bullock with questions.
Alice straightened his collar, then kissed his cheek. "Be careful."
"I will," he said, stuffing the envelope into his bag.
Outside, Rusty and Chen sat in an unmarked tan Plymouth. Gordon gave them a nod, then looked past them to the dark green 78' Bronco. Pollack was behind the wheel, Mendez riding shotgun. In the back, half a dozen plainclothes guys from the precinct sat shoulder to shoulder, too many faces for one ride.
A cruiser idled at the curb, empty. The two uniforms who should've been inside were bent by Pollack's window, mid-conversation. They went quiet when they saw Gordon, watching him like a question they were still working out.
Once inside Bullock's car, Gordon said, "What's this about?"
"We'll talk at the precinct."
"Should I be worried?"
"Maybe. I don't know," Bullock said.
"Do I need a lawyer?"
"Dent's there," Bullock muttered. "One's enough."
Gordon didn't say anything. Bullock gunned the engine and took the corner sharp. To distract himself from both the driving and what waited at the precinct, Gordon tore open the envelope and pulled the thick file.
The standard typed cover sheet. He skimmed, reading about Jordan Lock, a.k.a Daze, but his eyes snagged on a name.
Officer Liu Pham. No definitive link yet, but it's highly likely he is Bayli.
The report detailed the search of Pham's townhome. When Gordon hit the part about the carving on the headboard, he unzipped his bag, dug out Sophea's Polaroid, and held it beside the image in the file.
A perfect match.
He exhaled long and heavy.
Bullock's glance slid off the road. "What?"
Gordon didn't answer. He kept reading. More names jumped out. Captain Robert Iverson. William Westcox. Both seen removing something from beneath the floorboards in Pham's upstairs office. Contents unknown. A single vial had been left behind. He gave a list of tests used and the results.
Poison of human origin. Tests are conclusive.
In a plastic bag: swabs from the liquid. Gordon stuffed it and report back into the envelope then glanced out the windshield. The streets blurred past, then his eyes caught his reflection in the window. His left eye not swollen shut but nearly. A thick bruise laid across his right jaw.
But none of that mattered, right now he had to focus on Pham who wasn't just a lead, but a link. And Iverson and Westcox weren't just dirty cops from his precinct. They were now his suspects.
He touched his mustache, thinking of the mess this will create, wishing he made that call to Nebraska. "Shit," he said quietly.
Bullock snapped, "Alright, what the fuck?"
"We've got a complication."
"Of course we fucking do."
At the precinct, a knot of reporters still loitered near the entrance. They shouted questions as Gordon and the others walked past, hoping to provoke a reaction, or get a good sound bite.
"Sources say more were involved. Care to comment?"
"Is GCPD just another gang?"
"Can you confirm the I.A. probe?"
No one answered.
Inside, the first floor was nearly empty, and the few officers who spotted him ducked into the back rooms. Gordon stopped mid-step, concerned by what it meant.
He climbed to the fifth floor. Voices filtered down the stairwell, tense but too muffled to catch.
At the landing, Gordon took in the scene. Officers in uniforms and plainclothes gathered on the floor. Clustered in the center: Dent, Chief Bronson, Captain Gillis, and Desk Sergeant Lou Diamond, who glanced over with something unreadable in his face.
All eyes fell on Gordon, followed by a collective silence. He stepped to an emptied desk. The rest of the guys filed in behind, taking whatever seats were free. Gordon set down his bag. Even through the crowd, he noticed that several desks had been cleared of ashtrays and typewriters. He made note of it.
"Do you know, Jim?" asked Dent.
"Know what?"
They turned to Bullock, who scratched his neck. "Figured he oughta hear it from someone else."
Chairs squeaked and someone let out a scoff.
"Lorenzo, Fulman, and Mazzocchi were taken to the ER last night," said Dent.
Gordon didn't need to hear the rest. He guessed it. But Dent continued.
"Mazzocchi's knee was caved in. Lorenzo's forearm snapped. Fulman had fingers bent backward and a shattered wrist. All of them received black eyes, and broken noses."
Gordon folded his arms. Swallowed. The questions came, but he didn't let them show. His voice was cold, but calm, and a bit too familiar. "Anything else?"
"Yes. They each had a molar removed," Dent said.
Gordon's tongue touched the hole where his tooth had been.
"Perez mentioned he got to Brandon too," said Chen. "She said the freak shoved the teeth into Brandon's mouth."
"He told each of them, Eye for an eye,'" said Dent, trying to keep a grin at bay.
Arms shifted from pockets to crossed at the chest, throats cleared. He'd seen those expressions, the pursed brows and wide eyes. Fear igniting in real time.
Johnson spoke first, breaking the silence. His calm voice was almost a relief.
"The guys want to know if we're all on the list. I told them probably not. We all know how he operates. We've lived with him in the city longer."
"Yeah, but Gordon talks to him," said one of the worried faces.
Silence closed in strong, tightening around Gordon's chest. They wanted answers, something that would ease their nerves. But admitting anything could come back to bite him. He'd have to toe the line between a lie and the truth.
"You want assurances? Don't be dirty," he said it with conviction that felt stronger than he expected. To Lou Diamond he said, "The shaved head from last night, what happened to him?"
Lou chewed on his lip a second like he was debating whether to answer, then said, "He vanished."
"I need him brought in, his name is Jordan Lock, goes by Daze. We need his statement asap," Gordon said to Gillis.
"I'll get someone from day shift on it."
"I'll go," said Fritzy.
Everyone turned to him. His swollen eye was still vivid.
"You're in no shape to bring anyone in," Lou said. "What if he bolts?"
"He won't," Gordon said. "But I need him now."
"I can do it," said Fritzy.
"Go on then," said Bronson, "the rest of you, downstairs in the conference room."
Lou squinted. "How'd you get the guy's name? He refused to give us one."
Gordon said nothing.
Bronson nudged Lou toward the stairs. Pollack grabbed Fritzy by the elbow, telling him he wasn't going alone. They argued down the stairs and out of sight.
Gordon was left with Bullock, Dent, Johnson, Rusty, and Chen. They all looked like they had a million questions and worries. When the room cleared, Gordon had one.
"How'd he know who to go after?"
Bullock cleared his throat. "I told him."
"How?"
"I know someone who's in touch with him," Dent said. "And this might look bad but it works to our advantage."
"How's that?" said Bullock with a scoff.
"They'll back off."
"It'll only rile Loeb's guys up," said Rusty.
"Yeah, they'll be cracking more heads," said Chen.
"I don't think so, the rules are changing," said Dent almost with a smile.
Gordon listened while reaching into his bag, pulling out the envelope. "The warrant on Pham's place—is it still active?"
"Yes," Dent said, watching him.
"I need to search his place and the other three officers who committed suicide."
"What are we looking for?" said Dent.
Gordon rummaged through his bag, setting the Sophea's journal on the table along with the manila envelope, until he found the photo showing the carving. He laid it out in front of them. "We pulled this from the journal and it was likely taken at Pham's home."
"What the fuck?" said Bullock.
"How do you know?" said Rusty.
"Pham and someone else, maybe a cop, drugged Jordan and his friends. That's what he'll tell us. They also might have taken a girl named Ann. Could be Annh Le, but we don't know for sure yet."
"And who is this Jordan guy?" said Bullock.
"A junkie. But that's not all. Last night, Iverson and Westcox went to Pham's and dragged something out of the floorboards. My gut says maybe the others have something hidden."
"We'll need to get a new warrant," said Dent. "We had permission to look for items related to Carter and the Crime Alley Boyz, but not about this."
"If we get Jordan to ID Pham and the girl?" said Gordon.
"I'll get you a warrant, probably for the four that offed themselves. But Judge Hawkley will be hesitant to approve one for the guys in Vice. A junkie's testimony isn't enough, we need a solid link."
"Evidence locker still has stuff," Chen said. "Books and paperwork, too. Forensics took pictures of the homes."
"Pull everything. We'll comb through it all," said Gordon.
Rusty flipped through the thick file filled with over a dozen missing persons, each with the same profile. Same type of girl. Same personalities. Quiet with families don't speak English. Gordon felt almost protective of it, like just its contents might reveal something about his partner. But he let Rusty read through it.
"When did Pham enter the force?" said Rusty.
"'79," said Johnson who was glancing at the photograph of the symbol.
"Fuck," said Rusty, slapping the file down. "The dates on the missing persons files go as far back as '77."
The room seemed to exhale a dread.
"The symbol on Pham's headboard," said Johnson, "Any idea what it means?"
"Not sure yet," said Gordon, checking his watch. "When's Lee in?"
"Three. Why?" said Johnson.
Gordon held up a plastic bag with a swab inside. "I need certain tests run on this."
"Paulie's a solid forensic tech, we used him on Ferguson," said Rusty.
Surprise rippled across the room at Rusty. Gordon registered everyone's surprise but wasn't sure what it meant.
"I'll drop it with him."
A small meek voice interrupted. From the stairwell, a short young kid about nineteen, with thick black hair and a jean jacket.
"I'm looking for a Detective Bullock? I was told he's on this floor?"
"What the fuck you want?"
Johnson cleared his throat.
"I mean, how can I help you?" said Bullock, correcting himself.
"I was told you need me to translate something from Khmer into English?"
"Fuck, right," said Bullock, waving the kid over.
Gordon spelled out the orders, "Until we get the statement from Jordan Lock, we go through everything," said Gordon to the team. "Look for a name, a symbol—anything that might connect the guys in Vice."
The guys nodded, falling in line. It all felt familiar, like with the guys back in Chicago. He shoved the thought down, refusing to let it surface.