Do No Harm

The yellow Buick ran the red light at Broxton and Weyburn and pulled up to Jerry's Deli in downtown Westwood. Ted Yale, a tall, even-featured detective with a clean yacht-club look, stepped out from behind the wheel, snapped his gum, and readjusted the knot on his designer tie. When Dalton got out from the car, a cluster of Chee*tos fell from the folds of his pants to the sidewalk.

Yale entered the deli briskly, and Dalton followed, squinting at the bright lights, the flashy Broadway posters, and the neon signs. Yale's head pivoted like a periscope, locking on two men reclining in a corner booth. One of them, a handsome black man with a broad mustache, was evidently telling a joke. His hands traced gestures in the air.

"Over there," Yale said, gesturing with his chin. "You can always tell 'em by the cheap shoes." He glanced down at Dalton's shoes, then back up at his face. "Sorry."

They crossed the deli and slid into the booth, taking the two outside seats. The men looked up. "What the fuck?" the black detective said.

"You Gaines?" Yale asked. "And Blake? UCLA PD?"

Blake, an older man with a blond mustache and deeply textured face, ignored the two newcomers; his eyes fixed on Gaines. "What's the punch line?" he asked.

Gaines looked nervously from Yale back to his partner. "Hanukah Lewinski." Blake laughed, slapping the table with the palm of his hand and making his water dance in the glass.

"Hey," Dalton said. "I got a joke for you. What's the only thing more boring than a UCLA cop?" He looked from Gaines to Blake. "A retired UCLA cop."

Blake pinched a lemon between his fingers and let it drain into his water glass. "Let me guess. Judging by the demeanor and the sense of general entitlement… LAPD."

"Demeanor," Yale said. "Good word."

"To what do we owe?" Gaines asked.

"We're taking over one of your cases," Yale said. "Sister of someone on the job. The captain-three feels quite strongly, as does our department."

"The Acid Thrower?" Gaines shook his head. "Uh-uh."

"Lye," Dalton said. "It was lye."

"I know the drill," Blake said. "High-profile case. Everyone's gonna try 'n' squirm in and get some, like pups at a tit. No way."

Yale smiled curtly. "Let me remind you-"

" 'UCLA Police will handle all crimes that occur on UCLA property, including nonacademic facilities, and incidents involving UCLA personnel within a mile from campus if they are connected to the victim's association with UCLA.' " Blake wrinkled up his textured face and cocked his head at Gaines. "What's the name of that big hospital again?"

"The UCLA Medical Center," Gaines said. "I believe."

"UCLA Medical Center," Blake said. "That's right." He touched his forehead with his fingertips.

"With the exception of…?" Yale asked.

No one answered.

"With the exception of homicide and rape, which are investigated only by the Los Angeles Police Department." Yale smiled, pleased with himself.

Blake said, "Last I checked, no one got raped or murdered."

"Attempted homicide. Mayhem. Assault with a deadly weapon."

"Attempted homicide is a stretch," Gaines said. "More like attempted plastic surgery."

Dalton came up from his seat hard, his thighs knocking the table. "Don't you fucking joke about this," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare."

Blake mopped up his spilled water with a napkin. With a flick of his eyes, Yale signaled Dalton to sit. Though younger, Yale, a detective-second, outranked him.

"She was a good friend of the department," Yale said calmly. "In addition to being his ex-partner's sister."

Gaines raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. The waitress approached the table and Yale shooed her with a flick of the wrist.

"Veterans services, counseling, fund-raisers for families of men downed in the line of duty," Dalton said, anger still coloring his voice. "She was a good kid." He leveled his eyes on Gaines. "When's the last time you worked a mayhem?"

"Plus it's state property," Blake continued, as if there had been no interruption in his conversation with Yale.

"However," Yale said, "there's a five-hundred-yard jurisdiction overlay. Not to mention the fact that the suspect schemed to commit the crime in the city. Though the actual execution of the crime occurred on state property, in all likelihood, he had to go to and from the city to arrive at the crime scene."

"In all likelihood," Blake repeated. A red bloom appeared beneath the rugged skin of his face, either anger or frustration.

"Did you tighten down the hospital?" Yale asked. "On the off chance it was random?"

Blake nodded. "Warned personnel."

"Your report appeared to be devoid of leads," Yale said.

"We have leads," Gaines said. "We're looking into an ex-husband."

Dalton's elbow flared as he scratched the side of his head. "I think it's fairly safe to say he didn't do it."

"Well," Yale said. "Now that we've run through all your leads.. . "

Gaines fingered the edge of his plate. "She said the guy had a tattoo. Shape of a skull, but she wasn't sure. We're running it."

"This case'll exhaust your resources," Yale said.