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bodyguard. The guy in the middle with the oft-broken nose is Paulie ‘Hatchet’ Caprise. This one is Little Tommy Cosimo. Last but not least, and the real reason I’m here” — he tapped the final picture — “is this sleepy-eyed gent, Pete ‘the Fucking Jew’ Goldblum.”
    Pookie raised his hand. “This guy’s nickname is
the fucking Jew
?”
    “At least it’s better than
the hat
,” Jennifer said.
    “Goldblum is bad news,” Tryon said. “No convictions, but he’s got several hits to his name. If Lanza was behind Ablamowicz’s murder, you can bet Goldblum did the deed.”
    “But why Ablamowicz?” Pookie said. “Taking out an
accountant
? Accountants don’t mean shit. No offense, Chris.”
    “It’s Christopher,” Kearney said.
    Pookie hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Aw, damn. Sorry about that.”
    Kearney looked at Pookie, then used his middle finger to rub his left eye. Pookie laughed.
    “This
accountant
controlled cash flow for several organized crime outfits,” Kearney said. “Ablamowicz worked for the Odessa Mafia, the Wah Ching Triad and Johnny Yee of the Suey Singsa Tong. More recently, Ablamowicz was moving a lot of cash for Fernando Rodriguez, leader of the Norteños.”
    All those gangs were serious business, but Bryan’s role in Homicide brought him face-to-face with the Norteños more than any other outfit. For decades, the gang had spent most of their energy fighting their main rival, the Sureños. Under Fernando’s guidance, however, the Norteños were expanding operations. Fernando was known for his smarts as well as his boldness — he would order a hit on anyone, anywhere, at any time.
    “Ablamowicz controlled money,” Kearney said. “If you want to mess up cash flow in San Francisco, he was a good a place to start.”
    Tryon again tapped on the picture of Frank Lanza. “Maybe Lanza offered Ablamowicz a deal. Maybe Ablamowicz didn’t take the offer.”
    Robertson stood and smoothed his tie. “Thank you, Agent Tryon. That gives us more to look at. Tryon has copies of these photos for all of you, and he’s been kind enough to share addresses and hangouts for Lanza’s people. Brothers Steve, go talk to Paulie Caprise and Little Tommy Cosimo. Clauser and Chang, track down Goldblum and see if he has anything to say.”
    Everyone started to file out, but Pookie hung back. Bryan waited to see what his partner wanted.
    “Hey, Assistant Chief,” Pookie said. “Got a minute?”
    Robertson nodded, then shook Tryon’s hand. Tryon walked out, leaving Robertson with Pookie and Bryan.
    “What’s up, Pooks? You have some thoughts on Lanza?”
    “No,” Pookie said. “We’ve got thoughts on Paul Maloney.”
    Robertson nodded as he pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Ah, I should have seen that coming.”
    Bryan’s throat felt scratchy and dry. He needed some water — hopefully Pookie’s whining wouldn’t take long.
    “We want this one,” Pookie said. “Come on, man. It went down in the middle of the night. It’s
ours
.”
    Robertson shook his head. “Not going to happen, gents. It’s Verde’s case.”
    “Don’t get me wrong,” Pookie said. “I like Rich Verde. I also like my grampa. My grampa drools a lot and tends to shit himself. Not that I’m making any association with Rich’s age, mind you.”
    Robertson laughed. “The fact that Chief Zou wants you guys on the Ablamowicz case is a compliment to your skills. Be happy with that. Now go talk to Goldblum. Find me something.”
    Robertson walked out.
    Pookie shook his head. “I hate this L-I-T-F-A shit.”
    “L-I-T-F-A?”
    “Leave it the fuck alone,”
Pookie said. “The guys who
should
be on the case intentionally kept off it? An ME that hasn’t left the office in half a decade assigned to work the body? Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K, Bri-Bri.”
    Pookie had a point, but a couple of
strange things
didn’t add up to a conspiracy. Sometimes the brass made decisions that