by Robert Crais
There was a long silence before Melon answered.
“Guess it depends. How’re you doing?”
“I’d like to come see you, if it’s okay?”
“Uh-huh. And why is that?”
“I want to apologize. Face-to-face.”
Melon chuckled, and Scott felt a wave of relief.
“I’m retired, partner. If you want to drive all the way out here, come ahead.”
Scott copied Melon’s address, clipped Maggie’s lead, and drove up to the Simi Valley.
33.
Melon tipped his lawn chair back, and gazed up into the leaves.
“You see this tree? This tree wasn’t eight feet tall when my wife and I bought this place.”
Scott and Melon sat beneath the broad spread of an avocado tree in Melon’s backyard, sipping Diet Cokes with lemon wedges. Rotting avocados dotted the ground like poop, drawing clouds of swirling gnats. A few gnats circled Maggie, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Scott admired the tree.
“All the guac you can eat, forever. I love it.”
“I’ll tell you, some years, the best avocados you could want. Other years, they have these little threads all through them. I have to figure that out.”
Melon was a big fleshy man with thinning gray hair and wrinkled, sun-dark skin. He and his wife owned a small ranch house on an acre of land in the Santa Susana foothills, so far from Los Angeles they were west of the San Fernando Valley. It was a long commute to downtown L.A., but the affordable home prices and small-town lifestyle more than made up for the drive. A lot of police officers lived there.
Melon had answered the door wearing shorts, flip-flops, and a faded Harley-Davidson T-shirt. He was friendly, and told Scott to take Maggie around the side of the house, and he would meet them in back. When Melon joined them a few minutes later, he brought Diet Cokes and a tennis ball. He showed Scott to the chairs, waved the ball in Maggie’s face, and sidearmed it across his yard.
Maggie ignored it.
Scott said, “She doesn’t chase balls.”
Melon looked disappointed.
“That’s a shame. I had a Lab, man, she’d chase balls all day. You like K-9?”
“I like it a lot.”
“Good. I know you had your heart set on SWAT. It’s good you found something else.”
As they settled under the tree, Scott remembered a joke Leland loved to tell.
“There’s only one difference between SWAT and K-9. Dogs don’t negotiate.”
Melon burst out laughing. When his laughter faded, Scott faced him.
“Listen, Detective Melon—”
Melon stopped him.
“I’m retired. Call me Chris or Bwana.”
“I was an asshole. I was rude and abusive, and wrong. I’m ashamed of the way I acted. I apologize.”
Melon stared for a moment, and tipped his glass.
“Unnecessary, but thank you.”
Scott clinked his glass to Melon’s, and Melon settled back.
“Just so you know, you were all that and then some, but, hell, man, I get it. Damn, but I wanted to close that case. Despite what you may think, I broke my ass, me and Stengler, shit, everyone involved.”
“I know you did. I’m reading the file.”
“Bud let you in?”
Scott nodded, and Melon tipped his glass again.
“Bud’s a good man.”
“I was blown away when I saw all the paperwork you guys generated.”
“Too many late nights. I’m surprised I’m still married.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Whatever you like.”
“I met Ian Mills—”
Melon’s laughter interrupted him.
“The I-Man! Bud tell you why they call him the I-Man?”
Scott found himself enjoying Melon’s company. On the job, he had been humorless and distant.
“Because his name is Ian?”
“Not even close, though that’s what everyone says to his face. Now don’t get me wrong, the man is a fine detective. He truly is, and he’s had a scrapbook career, but every time Ian is interviewed, it’s always, I discovered, I located, I apprehended, I take all the credit. Jesus, the I-Man? The ego.”
Melon laughed again, and Scott felt encouraged. Melon enjoyed talking about the I-Man and seemed willing to discuss the case, but Scott cautioned himself to tread carefully.
“Were you pissed at him?”
Melon appeared surprised.
“For what?”
“The business with Beloit. Chasing the diamond connection.”
“Him being hooked up with Arnaud Clouzot, the fence? Nah, Ian’s the guy who straightened it out. Interpol had a list of Clouzot associates, and Beloit was on the list. It was bogus. Clouzot’s business manager invested in a couple of Beloit’s projects along with a hundred fifty other people. That’s not a connection.”
“That’s what I mean. Seems he should’ve checked it out first. Save everyone the trouble.”
“Nah, he had to bring it. He had Danzer.”
Scott thought for a moment, but didn’t recognize the name.
“I don’t know it. What’s Danzer?”
“You know it. Danzer Armored Cars. Three or four weeks before Pahlasian, a Danzer car on its way from LAX to Beverly Hills was hit. The driver and two guards were killed. Bad guys got twenty-eight million in uncut diamonds, though you didn’t hear it on the news. Remember now?”
Scott was quiet for a long time. Pressure built in his temples as he thought about the velvet pouch in his pocket.
“Yeah, vaguely.”
“These big heists always end up with Special. Ian heard the rocks were going to France, so he asked Interpol for likely buyers. This was all weeks before Beloit was murdered, so his name meant nothing. But once he gets blown up, if you put Danzer in a world where Beloit is connected to Clouzot, you have to go with it. When you find out they’re not connected, Beloit’s just another Frenchman who got off the plane that night.”
Scott watched gnats circling the avocados. The I-Man was like a gnat circling Beloit. Scott felt the pouch through his pants, and ran his finger over the stones.
Melon swatted the air at a gnat. He checked his hand to see if he had the gnat.
“I hate these damned things.”
Scott wanted to ask Melon about the missing disc, but knew he had to be careful. Melon seemed fine with shooting the shit, but if he sensed Scott was investigating the investigation, he might pick up the phone.
“I get it, but I’m curious about something.”
“Don’t blame you. So am I.”
Scott smiled.
“You guys tracked Pahlasian and Beloit from LAX pretty much all the way to the kill zone. Where’d he pick up the diamonds?”
“He didn’t.”
“I meant before you cleared him. Where did you think he picked them up?”
“I knew what you meant. He didn’t. You know what happens when people steal diamonds?”
Melon didn’t wait for Scott to answer.
“They find a buyer. Sometimes it’s an insurance company, sometimes a fence like Clouzot. If a fence buys them, you know what the fence has to do? He has to find a buyer, too. We believed Clouzot bought the diamonds earlier, had them in France, and resold them to a buyer here in L.A.”
“Meaning Beloit was his delivery boy.”
“We had LAX video, baggage claim, parking structure, the restaurant, the bar. Unless somebody tossed him the rocks at a red light—which I considered—it was more likely he carried them in. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t in business with Clouzot, so the whole diamond thing was a mirage. You watch. Bud’s going to find out one or both of th
ese people borrowed from the wrong guy and couldn’t hide behind Chapter Eleven.”
Scott felt he had pushed enough. He wanted to learn about Danzer, and decided to wind up his visit with Melon.
“Listen, Chris, thanks for letting me visit. Reading the file is an eye-opener. You did a great job.”
Melon nodded, and gave Scott a tiny smile.
“Appreciate it, but all I can say is, if you’re reading that file, you must be getting a lot of sleep.”
Melon laughed, and Scott laughed with him, but then Melon sobered and leaned toward him.
“Why are you here?”
Maggie looked up.
Melon’s eyes were webbed with lines, but clear and thoughtful. Melon had retired with thirty-four years on the job, and almost twenty in Robbery-Homicide. He had probably interviewed two thousand suspects, and put most of them in prison.
Scott knew he had crossed the line, but he wondered what Melon was thinking.
“What if Beloit had diamonds?”
“I’d find that interesting.”
“Danzer unsolved?”
Melon’s clear eyes never moved.
“Solved. Case closed.”
Scott was surprised, but read nothing in Melon’s eyes other than a thoughtful detachment.
“Did you talk to them?”
“Too late.”
Scott read something in the unmoving eyes.
“Why?”
“They were found shot to death in Fawnskin thirty-two days after you were shot. They’d been dead at least ten days.”
Fawnskin was a small resort town in the San Bernardino Mountains, two hours east of L.A.
“The crew who took Danzer? Positive IDs?”
“Positive. Professional takeover bandits. Long records.”
“That isn’t positive.”
“A gun matching the weapon used to kill the Danzer driver was found. Two uncut rocks were also found. Insurance company confirmed the rocks were part of the Danzer shipment. Positive enough?”
Scott slowly nodded.
“I guess it’s supposed to be.”
“Regardless, if I had to bet, I would bet they did it.”
“Were the diamonds recovered?”
“Not so far as I know.”
Scott found this an odd comment.
“Who killed them?”
“They were in a crappy cabin on the side of a mountain with no other cabins near by. The theory is, they hid out up there after the robbery, shopped for a buyer, and got ripped off.”
“Two months after the robbery?”
“Two months after the robbery.”
“You buy it?”
“Not sure. I’m trying to decide.”
Scott searched Melon’s eyes, and wondered if the man was giving him permission to ask more.
“Thirty-two days. You blew off Beloit before they were found.”
“This is true, but closing Danzer was a nice capper. It put the knife in any lingering doubts.”
“Who closed it?”
“San Bernardino Sheriffs.”
“Danzer was our case. Who closed it for us?”
“Ian.”
Melon pushed slowly to his feet, groaning like an old man.
“Sitting makes me stiff. C’mon, let’s get you on your way. It’s a longer drive than you think.”
Scott once more debated showing the diamonds to Melon as they walked to his car. Melon had obviously been thinking about these things, but only offered cryptic answers requiring Scott to read between the lines. This meant Melon was still on the fence, afraid, or playing Scott to learn what he knew. Scott decided the diamonds would stay in his pocket. He could not reveal the diamonds or Amelia to anyone he didn’t trust.
Scott let Maggie hop into the car, and turned back to Melon when a last question occurred to him.
“Did you watch the videos yourself?”
“Ha. Maybe Ian does everything himself, but I’m not the I-Man. A case this size, you delegate.”
“Meaning someone else checked them.”
“You trust what your people tell you.”
“Who checked them?”
“Different people. You might find something in the file or the evidence log.”
Scott expected this answer, but Melon also appeared to be giving him a direction. Then Melon added more.
“The I-Man makes out he’s a one-man show, but don’t you believe it. He has help. And you can bet they are people he trusts.”
Scott searched the clear, thoughtful eyes, and realized he would find only what Melon allowed him to find.
“Thanks for letting me come out. The apology was overdue.”
Scott slid in behind the wheel, started the engine, and rolled down the window. Melon looked past him to Maggie, who was already perched on the console.
“She doesn’t get in your way, riding like that?”
“I’m used to it.”
Melon shifted his gaze to Scott.
“I may be retired, but I’d still like to see this case closed. Take your time driving home. Stay safe.”
Scott backed out the long drive, and turned toward the freeway, wondering if Melon meant this as a warning or a threat.
Scott adjusted the mirror until he saw Melon, still on his driveway, watching.
34.
Scott climbed onto the Ronald Reagan Freeway, his stomach knotted and sour. He didn’t believe Melon would give him up, but Melon had walked him in circles, giving only enough to get. Melon was good, better than Scott had ever imagined, but Melon had given him Danzer.
The Danzer Armored Car robbery had been just another news story to Scott when it happened, of no more importance than any other, and quickly forgotten. During his weeks in the hospital, Scott had no knowledge of the Danzer case, and had not known an overlapping investigation into an armored-car robbery was having a major impact on his own. He had now read a five-inch stack of reports and interviews about Eric Pahlasian, but Pahlasian had no connection with diamonds, so Danzer had not been mentioned. Danzer Armored Car felt like a secret that had been hiding in the file. When Scott realized the total case file was four or five feet thick, he wondered how many more secrets were hiding.
The Santa Susana Pass was directly ahead, with the San Fernando Valley beyond it. After a while, Maggie left the console, stretched out across the back seat, and closed her eyes. After all the effort to make her sit in back, he missed having her next to him.
Scott rolled up his window, and checked his cell. His K-9 Platoon Lieutenant, the Metro Commander, and a woman who identified herself as an Internal Affairs Group detective named Nigella Rivers had left messages. Scott deleted them without listening. Budress had not called, and neither had Richard Levin. Joyce Cowly hadn’t called, either.
Scott wanted to call her. He wanted to hear her voice, and he wanted her to be on his side, but he didn’t know if he could trust her. He wanted to tell her everything, and show her the diamonds, but he could not put Amelia and her baby at risk. He had done this to Daryl. He had painted a target on Daryl’s back, and someone had pulled the trigger.
Scott drove on in silence, holding the phone in his lap. He glanced in the mirror. Maggie still slept. He touched the pouch through his pants to make sure it was real. He didn’t know what to do next or where to go, so he drove the lonely miles across the top of the Valley, thinking. He could start with the Internet. Search old news stories about Danzer and the dead men found on the mountain. See if the I-Man was mentioned. Search the stories for someone named Snell.
Sooner or later, he would go back to Cowly, and he needed something to back up Amelia’s story. He needed something that would convince her to help him without risking Amelia’s life.
Scott’s phone rang as he approached the I-5 interchange. He didn’t recognize the number, so he let the call go to voice mail. When the phone told him a message was waiting, he played back the message, and heard a bright male voice he didn’t recognize.
“Oh, hey, Detective James, this is Rich Levin, returning your call. Sure, whatever you want. I’m happy to answer your questions or help however I can. You have the number, but here it is again.”
Scott didn’t wait for the number. He hit the call back button. Rich Levin answered on the first ring.
“Hi, this is Rich.”
“Scott James. Sorry, I was on another call.”
“Oh, hey, no problem. We didn’t meet before, did we? I don’t remember your name.”
“No, sir, we didn’t. I’ve only been with the investigation for a couple of weeks.”
“Uh-huh, okay, I see.”
“You recall being interviewed by Detectives Melon and Stengler?”
“Oh, for sure. You bet.”
“Regarding customers named Pahlasian and Beloit?”
“The men who were murdered. Absolutely. I felt so bad. I mean, here they were enjoying themselves—well, not here, but at the club—and five minutes later this terrible thing happens.”
Levin liked to talk, which was good. More importantly, he was one of those people who liked to talk to police officers, which was better. Scott had met many such people. Levin enjoyed the interaction, and he would bend over backwards to help.
“The casebook here indicates you provided two video disc recordings from the night Pahlasian and Beloit were at the club.”
“Uh-huh. That’s right.”
“Did you deliver them personally to Detective Melon?”
“No, I don’t think he was there. I left them with an officer there in the lobby. At that desk. He said that was fine.”
“Ah, okay. And this was two discs, not one.”
“That’s right. Two.”
“Two different discs, or two copies of the same disc?”
“No, no, they were different. I explained this to Detective Melon.”
“He retired, so he isn’t here. I’m trying to make sense of these files and log entries, and between me and you, I’m lost.”
