Sunset Express

by Robert Crais

  “I don’t have a moment. I’ll pay you twenty bucks if you stop what you’re doing and take care of me now.”

  He eyed me like maybe I was pulling his leg, but he got up and came to the counter. I put the film on the counter between us. “There are only four exposures on the roll. I’ve got to make a call. If they’re done when I get back, you get the twenty.”

  He wet his lips. “What size?”

  “Whatever’s fastest.”

  I used a pay phone in the parking lot to call Angela Rossi at home. She didn’t answer her phone; her machine got it. Screening. “Detective Rossi, it’s Elvis Cole. I think I might have something.”

  She picked up before I finished saying it. She sounded tired, but then she probably hadn’t slept last night.

  I told her where I was and what I was doing and what I had seen. I said, “Do you want a piece of it?”

  “Yes.” She said it without hesitation and without fear, the way someone would say it when they were still in the game.

  “I have to show the pictures to Jonna Lester, first. Call Joe. Have Tomsic call Anna Sherman in the DA’s office. If this is going where I think, everything will begin to happen very quickly.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “I’ll bet you will.”

  I hung up, then called Jonna Lester. She answered on the second ring, and I told her that I was on my way to see her.

  She said, “But me and Dorrie was just goin’ to the mall!”

  “Go to the mall after. This is important, Jonna. Please.” The detective stoops to begging.

  “Oh, all right.” Long and drawn out and whiny. “Dorrie wants to meet you. I told her you were really cute.” Then she giggled.

  I hung up and closed my eyes, thinking that only twenty-four hours ago she’d found her husband impaled on glass. Man. I called the information operator last and asked if they had a listing for Mr. Walter Lawrence. They did not.

  The Persian kid was waiting at the counter when I went back inside. He had the four shots waiting, too. Fast-Foto, all right. He said, “That’s all you wanted?” You could see the Mercedes clearly in three of the four pictures. You could see Kerris clearly enough to recognize him.

  “That’s all.”

  I paid him for the developing, gave him the extra twenty, then drove hard to the freeway and made my way across town to Jonna Lester. She and her friend, Dorrie, were waiting for me in a cloud of hash smoke so thick that I tried not to breathe. Jonna Lester giggled. “Y’see. I tol’ you he was cute.”

  Dorrie giggled, too.

  Dorrie looked so much like Jonna that they might’ve been clones. Same shorts, same top, same clear plastic clogs and dark blue nail polish. Same gum. Dorrie sat on the couch and grinned at me with wide, vacant eyes while I showed the pictures to Jonna. I said, “Have you ever seen this car?”

  She nodded and popped her gum. “Oh, yeah. That’s the guy James went to see.” She didn’t even have to think about it.

  “The man at the Mayfair?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The man who gave James a large paper bag?”

  “Yup.”

  Dorrie said, “You wanna get high an’ fuck?”

  I went to the phone without asking and called Angela Rossi, who answered on the first ring. “A man named Stan Kerris met with James Lester twenty-three days ago, eight days before Lester phoned the hotline. Stan Kerris works for Jonathan Green. I think we can build a case that these guys have fabricated evidence and set you up.”

  Angela Rossi said, “That sonofabitch.”

  “Yes.”

  26

  We agreed to meet on the second floor of Greenblatt’s Delicatessen at the eastern end of the Sunset Strip at three that afternoon.

  Angela Rossi was pacing in the parking lot behind Greenblatt’s when I pulled up at two minutes before three. Rossi was wearing black Levi’s and a blue cotton T-shirt and metallic blue Persol sunglasses. She was pacing with her arms crossed and her head down, and when she stopped to wait for me, she scuffed at the fine gravel on the tarmac with her shoes. I said, “Didn’t you think I’d show?”

  Rossi shook her head. “Too wired to sit. I think I’m going to vomit.”

  “Is Sherman here?”

  “Yeah. She’s not happy about it, and she’s not happy about me being here.”

  I followed Rossi in past the deli counter and up the stairs to the dining room. This late in the afternoon Greenblatt’s was mostly empty. Earlier, the upstairs dining room had probably been filled with wannabe television writers and ninety-year-old regulars and Sunset Strip habitués, but not now. Now, the only civilians were a couple of young guys with mushroom cuts and an African-American woman sitting alone with People magazine. Everybody else was cops.

  Linc Gibbs, Pete Bishop, Dan Tomsic, and Anna Sherman were sitting at a table as far from everyone else as possible. Gibbs had coffee, and Bishop and Tomsic had iced tea. Anna Sherman didn’t have anything, and she was seated with her back to the restaurant, probably because she was concerned about being recognized. Tomsic said, “Here they are.”

  Gibbs and Bishop turned, but Anna Sherman didn’t. I hadn’t met Gibbs and Bishop before. Tomsic introduced us, but before he was finished, Anna Sherman said, “I want to make it clear that the only reason I’m here is because Linc and I have a history, and he’s asked me to listen. I make no claims that anything said here is off the record. Is that clear?”

  Tomsic scowled. “It’s great you’re on the right side in this.”

  Linc said, “Dan.”

  Tomsic crossed his arms and leaned back, his mouth a hard slash. Nothing like having everyone work to the same end.

  Linc Gibbs hooked a thumb toward me. “As I understand it, we’re here to discuss possible criminal wrongdoing on the part of the attorneys involved in Teddy Martin’s defense. Is that it?”

  “Yes. I believe that Jonathan Green or agents working on his behalf fabricated the James Lester evidence. I believe that Lester was in on it. I suspect that they also coerced Louise Earle into changing her story, but that’s only a suspicion. I haven’t been able to locate Mrs. Earle to ask her about it.”

  Anna Sherman pooched her lips into a knot. She was leaning forward on her elbows, arms crossed.

  Gibbs said, “I thought you were working for these people.”

  “I quit yesterday.”

  Anna Sherman raised her eyebrows, saying let’s hear it.

  I said, “James Lester’s real name was Stuart Langolier. Eight years ago, he was represented on a grand theft beef in Santa Barbara by Elliot Truly. That’s prior association.”

  Sherman looked impatient. “Green’s office notified us about that. It’s even been on the news.”

  “James Lester’s original call to Green’s hotline was logged eleven days ago. Eighteen days ago, Jonna Lester followed James to a Mayfair Market where she saw him meet this man.” I handed her the three snapshots that I’d taken of the black Mercedes. She looked at them.

  Linc Gibbs frowned. “Looks familiar.”

  “Stan Kerris. He’s the chief investigator for Green’s office. She saw Kerris and Lester speak, then Kerris passed a shopping bag to Lester, who drove away.”

  Tomsic said, “Man.”

  Anna Sherman glanced at me, and Pete Bishop made a tiny smile. Gibbs held out a hand, and Sherman passed him the first of the three pictures, then the second. She stared at the third. “Jonna Lester identified him?”

  “Yes. Green hired me to check out the allegations against Detective Rossi, then run down a series of tips he’d received via the reward hotline, one of which was from James Lester. I checked out Louise Earle and the allegations, and Rossi came up clean. I reported that to Jonathan Green, and he seemed to accept it.”

  Sherman chewed at the inside of her cheek as if she was thinking about leaving.

  I tapped the photo she was still holding. “I took these photographs this morning outside Louise Earle’s home. A neighbor saw Kerris visit Loui
se Earle’s home three times yesterday, and I saw him there today. When I spoke with Mrs. Earle a week ago, everything she told me confirmed Rossi’s version of her son’s arrest and the subsequent LAPD investigation. Now she’s suddenly changed her story and Kerris is living on her porch. First Lester, now Louise Earle. I think there’s a connection.”

  Sherman passed the final photograph to Lincoln Gibbs and began ticking her right index fingernail on the table. “All right. What else do you have?”

  “When the James Lester story hit the news, I wanted to stay after Pritzik and Richards, which would’ve been the natural thing to do, but Green had me work a dog and pony with the press. I now believe that it was a media manipulation to make Louise Earle’s changing her story more credible to the public.”

  Bishop said, “I thought you were the guy who got her to change her story.”

  I shook my head. “That’s part of the big lie. I saw her one time, and at that time everything she said confirmed Rossi’s story. Three days later Stan Kerris pays her a visit and everything changes, and the next thing I know Green holds a press conference and says that I’ve turned up evidence to prove Rossi rotten. The wonder boy who showed up the cops and found James Lester now ferrets out the truth from the intimidated mother. You see?”

  Anna Sherman continued ticking the nail. She stared at the table and made her mouth the small knot again. Then she looked up and shook her head. “All of you must be out of your minds.”

  Tomsic threw up his hands. “What does that mean?”

  The two kids with the mushroom cuts and the African-American woman looked over, and Lincoln Gibbs zapped Tomsic with a look that must’ve come from the days before he started affecting the professor image, flashing street eyes, mess-with-me-and-I’ll-choke-your-eyes out.

  Tomsic settled back.

  Sherman said, “It means that if my office or the LAPD launched an investigation into Jonathan Green at this time based on this kind of bullshit evidence it would be a public relations nightmare.”

  Gibbs said, “This is worth something, Anna. You know it is. You can’t just ignore it.”

  She leaned toward him, ticking off the points. “I spoke with Jonna Lester and I know her to be a hash head. Jonna Lester doesn’t know if it was eighteen days ago or twenty-eight or just eight, which is exactly what Stan Kerris would say if he admitted to having met James Lester, which he almost certainly won’t.” She ticked another point. “Then, if he did admit to such a meeting, he would say that it was a preliminary interview conducted prior to Mr. Cole’s being assigned the follow-up, and, in case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Lester isn’t around to dispute that statement.”

  I said, “Did you review Lester’s autopsy report?”

  “There was no sign of foul play.”

  “That isn’t quite correct. Someone who was good could’ve choked out Lester, then put him through the glass.”

  Sherman’s nostrils flared and she closed her eyes. “Could have.”

  “I know you can’t go to court with that one, Sherman, but it fits with the theory. You really think Lester just happened to cut his own throat?”

  Tomsic said, “Subpoena Lester’s phone records, and pull Green’s records, too. See who was calling who and when they were talking.”

  Sherman made a hissing sound.

  Angela Rossi said, “No one’s forgotten about Pritzik and Richards, either.”

  Anna Sherman shook her head. “You people are talking about accusing an attorney of Jonathan Green’s stature of fabricating evidence without any substantive proof to back it up. With even less proof, you want me to accuse him of murder. Ask yourself this: why would Jonathan Green risk his career and his reputation and his freedom to falsify evidence for one client? The press is going to ask that, and you don’t have an answer because it doesn’t make sense.” She glanced from cop to cop, finally coming back to me. It was exactly what I had asked Pike. “All you have are some unseemly coincidences and the testimony of a hash head. Jonathan Green will charge us with harassment, and he will bring us before the state bar, and I, for one, am tired of getting my ass handed to me in the L. A. Times every day.”

  I said, “Is that it?”

  She nodded.

  I looked at Rossi. I looked back at Anna Sherman. I said, “Getting our asses kicked in the press is how we define truth in the American legal system?”

  Anna Sherman stood. “My boss is being pressured to drop the charges against Teddy Martin. I’ve been fighting him on it because I want to see this through, but I don’t think he has the balls. I think he’ll give in because he has arrived at his own personal definition of justice. He defines it as political survival.” Anna Sherman didn’t say anything more for a time, then she looked directly at Rossi. “I’m sorry, but this meeting is now over.” She tucked her purse under her arm and walked out.

  Tomsic slapped the Formica hard, and Bishop made a soft whistling sound through his teeth. Angela Rossi had pushed her fists between her legs onto her chair and gently rocked. Finally, Bishop said, “So where are we, Linc?”

  Lincoln Gibbs took a breath. “You heard her. The district attorney’s office is not interested in pursuing this investigation.”

  Tomsic said, “That’s bullshit.” He jabbed the finger at me. “Cole’s onto something! These bastards are over the line!”

  Gibbs made his voice harder. “They will not pursue this line, Sergeant. That’s the end of it.”

  Tomsic wasn’t letting it go. Now he was waving both hands. “So Green can do whatever? He can murder people? He can rob banks? We just say, oh, we’ll look bad if we do something?”

  Lincoln Gibbs’s nostrils were wide and hard and you could hear him breathe. But then the breathing calmed and he looked at Rossi. Sad. “Sometimes we have the worst job in the world. High-priced, sleazebag shysters make millions getting off murderers and dope dealers and the dregs of this society, but they are wrong, and we are right. And if we have to take some bullets along the way, then we take’m.” He reached across the table and squeezed Angie’s arm. “Goes with the job.”

  Tomsic said, “That’s bullshit.”

  Linc Gibbs nodded. “Of course it’s bullshit, Sergeant, but it’s where we are.” He looked at me. “Thanks, Cole. It didn’t pan out, but we owe you for the effort.”

  Bishop got up, then Gibbs. Gibbs told Tomsic to come with them, and he told Angela Rossi he thought she should probably go home. He told her not to worry. He said that they weren’t going to let it go, and that they would keep digging into the LeCedrick Earle thing and that they wouldn’t abandon her. She nodded and got up and went with them, but she looked abandoned to me. Of course, maybe it was just my imagination.

  I sat alone at the empty table for another three minutes, wondering what to do next and having no great surges of inspiration. I think I was feeling abandoned, too, but I probably wasn’t feeling as abandoned as Angela Rossi.

  I went down the stairs and out the back of Greenblatt’s

  to my car. Anna Sherman was sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for me. A bead of sweat worked its way down along her temple and her cheek. She said, “It’s hotter than hell out here.”

  I stared at her. “Yes. It is.”

  She ran her fingers along the dash. She tapped the shift lever. “This is a classic, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a Corvette?”

  “Yeah. A Stingray.” I looked where she was looking. I touched where she was touching. “I wanted one when I was a kid, and a few years ago I had the opportunity to buy this one, so I did. I couldn’t afford it, but I bought it anyway.”

  She nodded. “I should do something like that. Something crazy.” She ran her fingers along the console. “When was it made?”

  “Nineteen sixty-six.”

  “God. I was ten years old.” She looked older.

  I wanted to start the engine and turn on the air conditioner, but I didn’t.

  Anna Sherman said, “Three months ago a
n attorney named Lucas Worley was arrested in a drug sting in Santa Monica. He wasn’t the target. He just happened to be there.” She tapped my glove box. “I put his address in here.”

  I waited.

  “Worley has a heroin problem. He’ll buy a kilo every now and then, then cut it and sell it to his friends to cover his costs. Worley was a junior litigator in Green’s office.”

  I smiled. “Was.”

  “Green had the case handled to minimize bad publicity for his firm, so Worley was able to cop a first offense probation plea.”

  “Is Worley still with the firm?”

  She shook her head. “Resigned. I guess that was part of the deal.” She finally looked at me. It was the first time she’d looked at me since I got into the car. “Worley was a tort litigator. That means he worked in Green’s contract department. He would’ve had access to retainer agreements and to the contracts that Green had with his clients.”

  “Is he employed?”

  She made a little dismissive shrug. “Probably dealing full time, but I don’t know.”

  “So you think there’s something to this.”

  She touched the dash again, watching her fingers move along the gentle lines. “You always follow the money.” She shook her head and made a little smile. “I’ve been doing this for twelve years. I’ve prosecuted hundreds of cases, and I have learned that people do crime for only two reasons: sex and money. There are no other motives.”

  “What about power and revenge?”

  “That’s just sex and money under aliases.” The tiny smile again. “If you’re right, and if Jonathan Green is willing to break the law, then he’s doing it for sex or money.”

  I was starting to like Anna Sherman. I was starting to like her just fine. “Do you think Worley will cooperate?”

  She shrugged. “Lucas Worley is a piece of shit. He sells dope because he likes it. He likes the people, he likes the scene. He says that it’s a step up from practicing law.” She looked tired. “Maybe he’s right.”

  I said, “Hey.”

  She looked at me.

  “I’ll tell you what I told Rossi. Don’t give up. The good part of the system outweighs the bad. We just have to fix the bad.”