Davie didn’t know, but the mention of a funeral made his death seem real in a new way. “I suggest you check with his daughter.”
Davie ended the call and put the water bottle to her temple. It was still cool but it didn’t relieve the pounding in her head or her sense of loss. She punched in Lunds’s cell number.
He didn’t answer so she left a message asking him to contact her as soon as possible. She wrote a report summarizing her conversation with Christina Lunds and filed it in the Murder Book.
Davie stayed at her desk for hours, waiting for a callback that never came. It was late. She was tired and on edge. She had followed all leads, at least for now, so she would go home for a few hours to get some sleep. She locked her desk, grabbed her purse, and headed toward her Camaro.
“Davie?”
She turned to see Jason Vaughn jogging across the parking lot toward her. “Where have you been? I thought you went home already.”
“I had to go out for a while,” he said. “Personal stuff. Going home?”
She fished in her purse for the car keys. “Yeah, I’m going to crash for a couple of hours then come back and start over again.”
He smiled. “The cot room is open. Perez just rolled out of the sack. He worked a double shift so I’m sure he had a shower a couple of days ago, at least.”
“I’d rather sleep in the Jetta,” she said.
“That ride is a breeding ground for drug-resistant hooker bacteria. Your chances of survival are better in the cot room. At least the bugs are cop bugs.”
Vaughn accused her of being a germophobe. She wasn’t, but in police work it was wise to be cautious about what you touched, especially in the Jetta. The car was a junker used by Vice detectives for undercover assignments and was the butt of a lot of jokes at the station.
“You’re probably right.” She turned and walked toward her car. “See you tomorrow.”
“Davie,” he said, matching her stride. “You want to go out for a drink? Some teambuilding. A glass of wine. We can talk about the case or what’s happening in our lives or whatever.”
She opened her mouth to say no, but his expression seemed so earnest. “Okay. One drink. Then I have to go home and get some sleep.”
“How about that place in Malibu you like? Near the beach.”
The beach was a place of refuge for her, but Malibu was too far away. “Let’s go to the Lucky Duck. It’s close by.”
He stared at her, as if uncertain how to respond. “Your dad’s place?”
“It’s a nickname, Jason. He’s not a real bear.”
He rolled his eyes. “I know that. You’ve just never taken me there before.”
“Meet me in the Duck’s parking lot in ten minutes,” she said. “I promise not to mention the B word again tonight. I’ll just call him Dad.”
Bear must have oiled the bar’s front door hinges so they wouldn’t creak, because the only thing she heard as she walked into the bar was the low murmur of voices and the crack of a stick against a billiard ball. The place smelled of popcorn and beer. For luck, she touched the sign at the entrance: was a woman who led me down the road to drink. i never wrote to thank her.
Bear nodded when he saw Davie. She introduced him to Vaughn before settling at the only table available, which was located toward the back of the bar near the restrooms. Hearing toilets flush all night was a small price to pay for privacy. It didn’t take long for PJ to saunter over with two glasses of ice water. Tonight she was dressed in a tight aqua jumpsuit, a holdover from the 1980s.
She set a piece of paper in front of Davie and tapped it with her blood-red acrylic fingernail. It wasn’t a menu. The Duck didn’t serve real food. It was an Avon price list. PJ sold makeup on the side and was always trying to get Davie to buy the latest products. She had on occasion, just to keep the peace, but PJ’s heavy face paint created the wrong sort of testimonial.
PJ patted her bouffant blonde hairdo, which had always reminded Davie of a Jetson’s space helmet. “Hey, sweetie. What can I get for you and your hunky beau?”
PJ could be sharp-tongued when the situation called for it, but she could also turn on the charm. Most customers loved her. At the moment, that didn’t include Davie. “He’s my partner, not my boyfriend.”
“My bad, sweetie.”
Vaughn swept his hand toward Davie in a grand gesture. “You first, dear.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Davie whispered. She planned on returning to work in a few hours, so she decided to forego alcohol. “Club soda on the rocks with a squeeze.”
PJ never wrote down an order. Her memory was legend. “The usual for Davie. What about you, honey?” she said to Vaughn.
“MGD. No glass.”
She looked toward the bar. “We might be out of Miller. You got a second choice?”
“Anything but lite.”
After PJ left to get the drinks, Vaughn leaned on the table with his hands clasped in front of him. “Your dad seems like a nice guy.”
Davie studied his expression. “You sound surprised.”
“No, not at all.” He hesitated before speaking again. “I saw you talking to Spencer Hall at the station.”
Davie brushed condensation from the water glass. “I was congratulating him on the bust.”
“Is that a good idea? He might think you’re still interested.”
“His desk is fifteen feet from mine. I can’t avoid talking to him. Don’t worry, I’m totally focused on our case.”
Vaughn leaned back and crossed his arms. “Do you ever think about anything but the job?”
Davie stared at the Avon price list to avoid her partner’s scrutiny. “What kind of a question is that? Of course I do.” She gestured toward the brochure. “Don’t you see me thinking about eyeliner?”
“It just seems like you live and breathe work. I don’t feel that way. I want to have a social life, maybe find somebody, get married, have a couple kids.”
Davie was taken aback as she paused to consider his comment. “As long as we’ve known each other, Jason, I’ve never seen you date the same woman longer than six months. You seem happy enough. And by the way, police work and family aren’t mutually exclusive.”
PJ delivered their drinks and a bowl of popcorn. She observed Davie and then Vaughn. Whatever she saw in their expressions made her decide to leave them alone.
Vaughn stared at the popcorn with a skeptical expression. “Maybe I need to mix things up, do something different.”
His words alarmed her. She’d known her share of cops who couldn’t take the stress. The smart ones got out before the department forced them out, but that didn’t apply to her partner. Jason had always used his trademark humor—sometime inappropriately—to get through his day. He didn’t seem to be joking at the moment. He seemed conflicted.
“Mix it up how?” she said. “Personally or professionally?”
He laid a single popcorn kernel onto his tongue. “I’m not sure yet. Just tossing around a few ideas.”
A woman on her way to the restroom bumped against their table, sloshing club soda from Davie’s glass. Vaughn saw the rivulet flowing toward his suit pants and caught it with a napkin.
“What’s wrong, Jason? Is there a problem? What can I do?”
“Nothing right now.”
“You can’t leave the division. You’d miss me too much.” Davie knew that would make him smile and it did.
“You’re right. You were a training nightmare. I wasn’t sure I’d ever survive.”
They talked for a while longer. Davie filled him in on her grandmother’s trip to Ojai. Vaughn confessed that his mother was pressuring him to learn Italian for a planned family vacation to visit her relatives in Milan. Half an hour later the beer bottle was empty. He checked his watch. “I have to go. See you tomorrow.” He rose from the chair and walked toward the d
oor, leaving her to nurse her club soda alone.
Davie wasn’t sure what had just happened. She and Vaughn had gone out for drinks numerous times before. This time was different. Something was off. The only thing that lowered her blood pressure was her belief that Jason would have told her if he was leaving Homicide or Pacific.
Bear must have been watching them, because as soon as Vaughn left, he came out from behind the bar and slipped into the vacant chair. “Your partner seems like a decent guy. Why haven’t you brought him in before?”
Davie swirled the melting ice cubes in her glass. “I know him from the academy, but we’ve only been working together for a few months.”
“It would make me happier if next time you brought a date—but not a cop. Or if you decide to date a cop, pick somebody from another division … or another agency. Better yet, don’t date a cop.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms. “Bear, I’m thirty-one. You don’t get to organize my social life.”
He jabbed his index finger at her to emphasize his point. “I’m your father. That privilege never expires.”
The same woman staggered out of the restroom and careened past the table. Davie noticed she had a piece of toilet paper stuck to her shoe.
Bear frowned as he used his hand as a fender. “By the way, what did you do about that cat?”
The cat.
18
Davie raced home and bolted through the door of the guesthouse. She jogged into her bedroom, threw open the door to the bathroom, and got slammed by a wave of toxic air. Hootch’s food bowl was empty, his cat box was full, and he’d splashed water from his bowl all over the tile floor. He’d also pulled a bath towel from the rack and was curled up in a ball, eying her with distrust.
She cleaned the box, but when she bent down to pet him, he bolted through the door and disappeared into the living room. She was too exhausted to chase after him now. After cleaning the bathroom, she moved the food and water bowls into the kitchen and resettled the cat box near the front door. If Hootch got hungry enough, he’d find the bowl. She just hoped he’d find the box.
The poor little guy had been marooned alone in the bathroom for hours and she was overwhelmed with guilt. She’d have to do better by him. After her shower she dropped into bed and counted to one hundred at least six times, until she eventually drifted off. At some point during the night, Davie heard rumbling in her ear. She opened one eye and found Hootch curled up next to her, purring. Too groggy to shoo him away, she fell back into a restless sleep.
The next morning the cat was gone from the bed. When she stumbled into the kitchen for coffee, she found him sitting on the counter near the sink, looking out the window at a squirrel leaping between branches of a sycamore tree.
She didn’t have time to think about finding him a permanent home at the moment, so he’d have to stay for at least another day. After a thorough search of the cottage, she found no damage to any of the rugs or furniture. Pangs of conscience kept her from locking him in the bathroom again. This time she left him out to explore the house. Her place was small. What could go wrong?
As she walked out the door for work, she heard a scratching sound, like mice in the attic. But when she turned to look, it was only Hootch batting a paperclip across the hardwood floor like a star forward on a kitty soccer team.
When Davie arrived at her desk in the squad room, the message button on her phone was flashing. Harlan Cormack had called. He didn’t mention anything about Alden Brink, only that he’d picked up her letter that morning at his mailbox and wanted to know more about Zeke Woodrow’s death. He left no telephone number but she found it anyway, in the phone’s call history. She pressed the numbers on the keypad and waited.
A man answered, “Yo,” in a voice that was craggy and hoarse.
“Mr. Cormack. It’s Detective Richards from the Los Angeles Police Department.”
“Yeah. I got your letter. How’d Zeke die?”
She opened her notebook and jotted down the date and time of the call. “He was shot. His body was found at LAX. But I’m afraid that’s not all. Juno Karst was also found dead several days ago on the side of a highway in Nevada. The local sheriff ruled it a suicide.”
“Juno would never kill himself. It’s not in his nature.” His tone was low and stripped of emotion.
She heard the static of the dispatcher broadcasting a 459 Burglary and plugged her ear to block the sound. “My partner and I are doing everything in our power to solve this case, but we need your help. Can you come to the station for an interview?”
“My back’s screwed up from a motorcycle accident. I can hardly walk. Sitting isn’t much easier. I can’t drive to L.A. for a thirty-minute chat, even for Zeke.” There was another long silence. “Look, I don’t like talking on the phone. I’ll answer your questions, but you’ll have to drive out my way.”
The chair hinges creaked as she leaned back. “Be glad to. What’s your address?”
“There’s no address. It’s in the Mojave Desert, so you’ll need a full tank of gas. Use a civilian car, nothing that calls attention to itself. I don’t want the neighbors knowing my business.” He gave her directions. “I’ll leave the gate unlocked for you.”
The conversation went dead.
She found Vaughn sitting at a circular table in the second-floor lunchroom, watching a morning news program and drinking coffee. She cleared the table of newspapers and food containers and threw them in the trash before sitting in the chair across from him. The door to the deck was open and a crisp breeze cooled the room. She filled him in on her chat with Cormack and told him she’d already signed out the keys to a car.
“You want to go now?” he said. “It’ll take at least three hours to get there.”
“Cormack may be the key to solving this case, Jason. And he’s willing to talk. I don’t want to wait for him to change his mind.“
He picked up the remote and clicked off the TV. “I can’t leave now. I’ve been subpoenaed for court this morning on an old Autos case from back in the day. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll just go alone.”
“No way, Davie. You don’t know shit about Cormack. He could have killed both Zeke and Juno.”
“I doubt that. Brink said TidePool let him go because of a motorcycle accident. Cormack told me on the phone he was disabled and couldn’t drive to L.A. The person who killed Zeke and Juno had to be mobile. If it makes you feel better, I’ll run it by Giordano. Let him know the plan. He’ll have to notify the Bureau anyway.”
“Wait till tomorrow.”
She grinned. “Are you worried I’ll solve the case without you?”
Vaughn’s fingers fussed with his silk pocket square. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just worried you’ll take the only decent ride in the lot and I’ll get stuck with the germ-mobile.”
“Don’t worry,” she said as she headed toward the door. “I’m taking the Jetta. Maybe the desert heat will kill some of the bacteria.”
The Jetta had carried some questionable cargo, but she was confident it satisfied Cormack’s request for a ride that didn’t call attention to itself. Just to be safe, she slipped a bottle of hand sanitizer into her pocket. Before getting into the car, she squeezed some gel onto a tissue and swabbed the steering wheel and the gearshift. Then she filled the car with gas at the pump adjacent to Pacific’s garage.
Gray smog shrouded the San Gabriel Mountains as Davie left Los Angeles. She reached Giordano on her cell just as he was due at a meeting with the captain. He peppered her with questions about Cormack but finally told her he’d notify the Detective Bureau downtown that she was leaving the county and cautioned her to keep in frequent contact with her partner. Her handheld radio wouldn’t work that far away from the station, but she brought it along anyway. She had her cell, but didn’t know how strong the reception wou
ld be. Adequate, she guessed, at least for a while.
She drove east on the 10 Freeway before transitioning onto the 15. She hadn’t been out that way since she was eleven and her father took her to Las Vegas with a bunch of his cop friends and their kids. On the long drive, he’d given her a history lecture about Route 66. He called it “The Mother Road” because it had been the main thoroughfare between Chicago and Los Angeles and a major route for migrants escaping the dustbowl of the 1930s.
Bear had always been the fun parent. That trip was no exception. It had been a blast, even though her mother was furious with Bear and his friends when she found out they’d left the children unsupervised in the swimming pool while the adults drank in the bar. Neither Bear nor Davie understood the problem. It was daytime and she wasn’t alone. Besides, she knew how to swim. It was much later when she realized her parents’ marriage had been falling apart even then.
Harlan Cormack had told her he lived in a red trailer in the Mohave Desert, so she left the 15 for the I-40 near Barstow. Civilization disappeared as she drove farther into the low brush. The dry expanse of land seemed as wide as the ocean and reminded Davie how little of the West was inhabited or even habitable.
Just past Ludlow, a few derelict buildings broke the long expanse of nothing—the shell of a garage, a house, a gas station, and a series of small cottages that had once offered travelers a reprieve from the long straight road and the unrelenting heat.
Traffic was sparse. An eerie solitude surrounded her as she raced down the open road past those broken-down buildings. If she hadn’t been monitoring the mileage, she would have missed the turnoff. It wasn’t marked but it had to be the correct road, so she made a right turn.
The tires of the Jetta kicked up a rooster tail of dust and gravel that could be seen for miles in the flat terrain. She kept driving but didn’t see Cormack’s place. In the distance was a rusted-out trailer but it was silver, not red. As she got closer, she noticed a crude sign on what looked like a flap cut from a cardboard box that read tattoo studio. She felt a flicker of concern. Before she drove farther into the desert, she had to know if she was going in the right direction.
Outside the Wire Page 11
