Page 101

CHAPTER 99

“AND THERE’S MORE,” Bao Wong continued, pulling out more photos. “Too bad the angle on these shots is off-center and unfocused, but maybe someone in the room can identify the police officers in these photos.”

Cappy McNeil and Paul Chi both leaned forward to examine the FBI’s set of photo enlargements. They had spent the most time in the SFPD’s Southern Division, and while Cappy knew all the cops at 850 Bryant and on the street, Chi had an encyclopedic mind for cases and events.

Cappy said, “I recognize a couple of them. But I can think of a dozen reasons why cops talking to criminals is job one. I don’t concede that these cops are dirty based on photos of them speaking with Tiago Garza. But anyway. I knew them for about a year a long while ago.” Cappy stabbed one of the photos with his forefinger. “This guy in the Giants windbreaker, that’s Mike Randall. He’s maybe about fifty now. He worked in Drugs and Organized Crime with the Chicago PD. Jacobi hired him when he first moved here.

“At about the same time, Jacobi hired a patrolman from West Boondocks, New Jersey. Doug Bernardi. The Doug I remember was smart, had good instincts, kind of intense, and he was a seriously good cop. He followed the rules. Right, Paul?”

Chi said, “A hundred percent. I partnered with Bernardi on patrol for about a year. He was a straight arrow. Didn’t make or even really get jokes. He was promoted from uniform to investigator just like that.”

Cappy asked his partner, “You got anything else?”

I stared at Chi, kept looking at him. Unblinking. He said, “Boxer. I have a cat that stares at me like that. Cut it out. I’m thinking.”

I laughed and closed my eyes.

Chi said, “Here’s the thing. Both Randall and Bernardi ended up transferred to what was eventually called ‘Swanson’s criminal enterprise.’ But Ted Swanson flunked them both at their performance reviews. He called them insubordinate, pushed for their dismissal. Jacobi was new as chief and he took Swanson’s word. He let them go.”

Cappy said, “I remember now. Those two must’ve been on to Swanson before anyone. Point is, they were both good cops on the way up. Then they were disgraced. Just saying, Boxer, I wouldn’t hold it against them, them getting transferred to work for Swanson.”

Bao asked, “Where can we find them now?”

Chi said, “I’ll get their last known addresses for you.”

Bao picked up one of the enlarged photos in both hands and said, “The guy these officers are talking to … Can we get these images even more enlarged?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I walked to the far end of the war room, where Swanson’s desk had been pushed against the wall, drawers facing into the room. I opened a drawer, rummaged around in a litter of pens and bulldog clips and whatnot, and found what I was looking for. I marched back to the conference table and positioned the magnifying glass over the photo, moved it in and out for a couple of seconds. Then I ID’d the person talking to Randall and Bernardi.

“That’s Warren Jacobi.”