“What changed were your personal circumstances.” Milo jabbed a finger at the gravestone. “You never gave a shit about Janie or the truth. Nailing Coury and the others became important because it was in your best interest, and boy, did you succeed. Bunch of dead guys in Ojai, couple more in S.B., the Cossacks bite it in Inglewood, and there’s no reason to connect any of them. Now you’re free to go about your merry way with Walt Obey’s build-a-city game. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, John? The old man’s money. Fucking Esperanza.”

Broussard stiffened.

“Esperanza, what horseshit,” said Milo. “It means ‘hope’ and you’re hoping it’ll make you filthy-rich because you know you’re a failure as chief, gonna have to leave the department soon under less-than-amiable circumstances, and Uncle Walt just happened to come up with an offer that’ll make your pension seem like chump change. What’s the deal, John? Chief of security for an entire city, maybe augmented by some bullshit corporate vice presidency? Hell, Obey’s probably tossing in preferred shares of the project that could shoot you into a whole new fiscal galaxy. Augmenting what he’s already gifted to your wife and daughter. Man of color as co-owner of a city—ain’t old Walt liberal. Everything was looking rosy until some nasty competition cropped up. Because Obey’s grand scheme includes comprehensive recreational facilities aka finally bringing the NFL back to L.A. The old man pulls that off and Esperanza land values skyrocket and you’re lunching at the country club and pretending the stiffs over there like you. But the Cossacks had other ideas. Wanted to rejuvenate the Coliseum, or some other downtown venue. Had Germ Bacilla and Diamond Jim Horne on their side, brought those two clowns to dinner at that stupid restaurant they own, did the whole private-room thing with Uncle Walt. Trying to convince Uncle Walt to cash in his chips and go along with them. Once upon Uncle Walt mighta blown off bullshit like that, but maybe this time he was willing to listen. The fact that he showed up at Sangre de Leon and didn’t invite you says he was open-minded, and that had to spook you, John. Because even though the Cossacks had never pulled off anything close to that scope, this time they’d lined up decent financing and City Council support. And most important, Obey’s losing steam. Because he’s getting old and his wife’s sick—really sick. Ain’t that a hoot, John? You’ve come this far, and it could all come crumbling down.”

Broussard’s eyes turned to cracks in asphalt. His lower jaw jutted forward, and Milo knew the chief was struggling not to hit him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”