by Steve Garcia
“Run-ins?”
“Word is that you two were more than rivals.”
“That hound won’t hunt, detective. Pearl and I are in competition in the business of construction, and that’s all.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday?”
Davey scooted forward in his chair. “I know what you two are thinking, but I didn’t burn down that construction site. I was home all night last night.”
“Came here straight from work did you? No stops?”
“No stops. Right home.”
“How long did it take you to get here from your office?”
“I’d say under twenty minutes last night.”
“And you left work at what, five?”
“Yes. Right around five.”
“The fire began sometime between five and eight, Mr. Davey.”
Davey tensed. He clenched his teeth, a streak of red flashed from his temple through his cheeks. “It appears to me like you’ve made up your mind about some things and the implications are sounding pretty nasty. I don’t like it. No, sir, not one bit.”
Wallace followed. “We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr. Davey. Since your name came up though, we do have to get a few details of your whereabouts. It’s standard procedure, nothing more.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
“I thought you said your wife was the nervous one.”
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my life, but murder has never made the list. Or arson. It’s a bit unsettling.”
“Let’s try to wrap this up calmly. You were home last night, you said. What time did you get here?”
Davey opened his pack of cigarettes again, took one out, and lit it. “Detective, I’m not comfortable answering any more questions. Really. I think I had better call my attorney before I say anything else.”
“If you think that’s necessary, it certainly is one of the options open to you.”
“What are the other ones?”
“If you have nothing to hide, answering our questions gets everything wrapped up and we can move on to the next person.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah. Well, I’m going to wait until my attorney is present and you can think what you want.”
“We can take this up at another time, then.” Wallace put her notebook into her pocket. “Thanks for your time.” She turned to Reyes. “Partner, we’re heading out. Mr. Davey has declined further comment.”
Reyes walked straight to the door.” He paused long enough to say, “Thank your wife for the coffee.”
“I will.”
The detectives stepped outside. Davey closed the door. Wallace and Reyes climbed into the car. “What’s up? You got something?” Reyes asked.
“I’m not sure. Both of them were nervous but they seemed willing to answer our questions up to a point.”
“I think it was when you suggested murder and arson.”
“That did kind of put a damper on things, didn’t it?”
A red Cadillac CTS backed down the Daveys’s driveway.
“Check it out,” Reyes said. “It’s the wife.”
“I wonder where she’s going?”
“What d’ya think? Should we follow her?”
“Nah, let her go.”
The dispatcher’s voice belched from the radio, a call to all units. Wallace paused midway through opening the door. “Let’s see what this is first.”
“All units. Be on the lookout for Bartholomew Pearl. White male. Five foot ten inches. One hundred sixty pounds. Pearl failed to report for a standard parole meeting with the DA.”
The report went on, giving Pearl’s home address on North Formosa and the business address of Pearl Construction on North La Jolla in West Hollywood.
“Well, now, what the hell do you think that’s about? I thought he was in jail.”
“And now he’s missing.”
Reyes got on the radio to Brooks.
“What can I do for you, Sal?”
“Any luck on the ID of our John Doe?”
Brooks chuckled.
“You’re kidding, right? Hackett’s probably not outa bed yet.”
“Well, tell him he could save time. Have him compare with the records of one Bartholomew Pearl, recently inside.”
Brooks didn’t reply. Wallace gave Reyes a quizzical expression.
“Sarge, you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here, Sal. You said Bart Pearl, right?”
“Yep. That name mean something to you?”
“You could say that. He’s the lowlife who shot Cresner.”
“And he’s out?”
“He shouldn’t be.”
Wallace tapped Reyes on the shoulder and pointed toward the garage, where Samuel Davey was backing out of the driveway in a dark-blue Continental. Reyes drew his hand across his throat and Wallace walked over to the bottom of the driveway, her hand on her gun.
“Hold it, Mr. Davey,” she shouted, then rapped on the rear windshield. The car juddered to a halt and the side window hummed down.
From his position, Reyes could see Davey thump the steering column as Wallace motioned for him to get out. It was a long shot, but the only one they had.
8
Reyes led Davey into interview room one while Wallace held open the door. “Have a seat, Mr. Davey. We’ll be right with you.”
Davey hitched his pants up and reached into his pockets, probably for the cigarettes they’d already taken off him, along with his wallet, keys, and loose change. “We could have done this at my house. You didn’t have to drag me down here.”
“Uh-huh. I seem to remember you saying you didn’t want to talk at your house.”
“Can I smoke?”
“Of course you can’t smoke,” said Reyes.
He closed the door and followed Wallace down the hall to the break room. The coffeepot had a small glob of brown liquid at the bottom that resembled crude oil. Wallace dumped the brew in the sink and started a fresh pot. An approximate dental comparison, featuring a distinctive chip to the upper left lateral, had all but confirmed yesterday’s corpse as that of Bartholomew Pearl.
“You don’t think he killed Pearl, do you?” Reyes said. He slid a dollar into the Coke machine and pushed the button. The dispenser sounded like a bowling alley as it ejected the can and change. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
“If I told you what I’m thinking, you’d think that I was crazy.”
“Try me.”
“It’s almost as though Davey is guilty, but I think someone is trying to frame him.”
“Shall we go see what we can find out?”
“It’ll do his soul good to sweat a bit. Has he asked for his attorney?”
“Funny, as soon as his wife was out of the way, he went quiet about that.”
Brooks walked into the coffee room with the look of a gargoyle—gray, stone-faced. “Is there any coffee?”
“Almost ready,” Wallace said. “Are you okay?”
Brooks slid his cup down the counter and took a seat at the small table. “It doesn’t make sense. Pearl was supposed to be in jail, awaiting trial. How the hell did he get out?”
“Damned if I know,” Wallace said. “I’ll bet he wishes he hadn’t.”
“Looks like justice might have been served, though.” Reyes took a gulp of Coke.
“Justice? Hardly,” Brooks said. “I’ve called the Los Angeles Police Protective League. They said they would issue a statement denouncing his release. You saw Jerry last night. He looked damn awful. How can they let the guy who was responsible for that walk?”
“Actually, Phil and I left before Cresner showed. He looked bad, did he?”
“That’s an understatement. Maybe it’s the Marine in him, but any other guy would still be in bed. Not Jerry, though. No. He’s up and trying to return to the fight, but he had to have been in a lot of pain. Jesus, I wish you had seen him.”
Wallace poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Brooks.
“Thanks. Yeah. I swear, I’m going to find out. Somebody either screwed up or some sleazy judge got paid his pound of flesh.”
“You think a judge might be on the take?” Reyes considered that possibility. A crooked judge was almost as bad as finding out your mama was a hooker. It happened, of course, but he sure hoped it wasn’t true now.
“Can you think of any other way Pearl got out while waiting trial on attempted murder?”
“Maybe some lawyer found a loophole,” Reyes said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’m going to rectify the situation,” Brooks said.
Wallace blew on her coffee and took a sip. “Tread lightly.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The DA’s office would have to have authorized the release. You should proceed with caution.”
Brooks clutched his mug. “I’m nearing my thirty—I haven’t got anything to worry about.”
“Yeah, but we have. All I’m saying is, you’re a detective. Nose around a little bit.”
Silence filled the room.
“Yeah, you’re right, of course.” He placed the mug on the table. “A thousand more cups until retirement.” Brooks rose and walked out.
Wallace turned to Reyes. “Let’s go see a man about a murder.”
Reyes led the way back to the IR.
“Well, it’s about damned time,” Davey said.
“How about you hear us out first? Maybe we can save a lot of time and trouble. We only have a few things we have to get cleared up.” Reyes took a seat across from Davey.
Davey sighed. “Okay. Okay. But if it sounds like you’re trying to railroad me, I’m asking for my lawyer.”
“Fair enough. Let’s get started. Our investigators determined that the fire was intentionally set, and it looks fairly likely that Mr. Crispy once went by the name of Bartholomew Pearl.”
“I don’t care if they determined that men from Mars had a weenie roast. It has nothing to do with me. And I had nothing to do with Pearl’s death. He was always a little red in the face. Maybe he…what do you call it…spontaneously combusted.”
Reyes sniggered.
“This isn’t a joke, Mr. Davey,” said Wallace. “Ignore my partner.”
Davey gave her a bored look and waved his hand.
“My condolences to anyone who gave a shit about that lowlife.”
The cuss word sounded strange coming from Davey’s mouth. With his wife away from his side, he was a bit cockier.
“Mr. Davey,” continued Wallace, “we have a body and a motive.”
“Well, you ain’t got me. You think I’m the only guy in the world who has ever had an argument with that son of a bitch?”
“Do you want to tell us what happened?”
“This is insane. It’s beyond insane.” His eyes rolled to the ceiling, then focused on Wallace. He set his jaw, clasped his hands in front of him, resting them on the table. “Look, detectives, I keep saying this over and over again. I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t set the fire. I didn’t kill Pearl. I heard he was in jail. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
“When was the last time you saw Bartholomew Pearl?” Wallace asked.
“I don’t know. Sometime before he was arrested.”
“Your wife said you were home all night.”
“I told you that I was.”
“We checked with your secretary.” He looked at the notebook again. “Miss Bridget McGuire?”
“And what did Bridget have to say?”
“She said she was sure you were there except…”
Davey let out a huge sigh. “Spit it out, detective.”
“She ran some errands for the company. She was gone yesterday from about one thirty until four.”
“So what? She runs errands all the time.”
“The fire could have been started during the time she was out.”
“You think she set the fire?” said Davey, a smirk creeping across his face. “God knows if she was running errands or burning down buildings. If you see her, let her know that if she was out killing people on company time, I’m docking her pay.”
Reyes leaned back. “You think this is a joke?” he asked. “What it means is that Miss McGuire is unable to provide you with an alibi.”
“No, I don’t think this is a joke,” Davey said.
“Wait a minute.” Reyes turned slightly and froze. “Listen.”
Though muffled, the sound of shouting came from somewhere in the station—close to the interview room. Wallace tensed. “Sit right there, Mr. Davey.”
Reyes stood. “Let me take a look.”
“Hey,” Davey said, rising from his seat. “That sounds like my wife.”
“Stay put.” Reyes held up his hand.
“It’s bad enough you dragged me down here. I don’t want you nailing my wife as well.”
“You’re not giving orders here, Davey.” Wallace moved toward him. “Sit!”
“I’ll look.” Reyes pulled open the door. Mrs. Davey was screaming at Brooks and Captain Siley at the top of her lungs.
“…so how the heck could he have been somewhere else? You can’t be in two places at one time. Not even the great Sam Davey can pull that one off. My God, he was sitting in his living room watching Deal or No Deal.”
“Mrs. Davey, we are simply asking your husband some questions—”
“Oh, sure. My husband is an honest man, trying to earn an honest living.”
Davey ploughed past Wallace. Reyes moved to stop him, but Wallace shook her head. Davey trotted the fifteen feet to where his wife stood. “Janet, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
“It’s not right, Sam. You jump through all their hoops, you—”
“Shut up, Janet!” Davey said.
He hugged her and looked at Brooks, then the other three officers. “Could I have a minute, please? Then we can finish up in there.”
Wallace nodded yes. “Go ahead.” She looked at Siley and Brooks. “We’ve got it.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Siley.
Brooks hesitated. “Do you think he had something to do with it?”
Wallace checked over her shoulder. Davey and his wife had walked into the hallway outside the Pit, far enough away that they couldn’t be overheard. “Honestly,” Wallace said, “I’m not sure.”
“He comes across as a solid enough citizen, but I’m not buying it,” Reyes said. “I don’t know that he killed Pearl, but I don’t think he’s as innocent as he appears.”
Davey returned to the group. Reyes gestured for him to enter the interview room, as Siley showed Mrs. Davey down the hall, toward the front door.
Back in IR one, the three sat quietly for a second or two.
“Thanks,” Davey said. “You know, for letting me talk with Janet. She’s a little high-strung sometimes. She was trying to protect me, but she knows nothing about how the business works.”
“So what was that she was saying about you jumping through hoops?” asked Reyes.
“It was nothing. She just sees all the forms from the city, y’know, procedural stuff. Licenses, registrations, inspections, standard bullshit…”
He’s hiding something, thought Reyes. He silenced his wife quickly, like he was scared she was going to say too much.
“You weren’t having any problems with the business other than paperwork?”
“That’s it. Like I said, she doesn’t understand. I’d come home bitching about the paperwork and she took it wrong. That’s part of the reason I moved into film builds. Less restrictions.”
“All right,” said Reyes. “Would you care to submit to a gunshot residue test?”
“What’s that, detective?”
“It will ascertain if you’ve fired a weapon in the last forty-eight hours.”
“Sure, of course. Anything to h
elp.”
“Great, you hang tight for a minute,” said Reyes. “My partner and I have to consult on a few things.”
Davey folded his hands in front of him. “If you’re going to be a long time, how about I go outside and have a smoke?”
“Sit tight,” Reyes said. They stepped from the room and closed the door, leaving Davey alone with his thoughts.
“I want to hold him for a bit yet,” Reyes said.
“Really? Why?”
“I think there’s something he’s keeping from us. I’d like a bit more time to figure out what.”
“The GSR won’t be worth shit. He’s a heavy smoker. He’s changed his clothes, washed.”
“I just wanted to rattle him some more.”
Siley came back into the corridor. “Talk to El Capitano,” she said.
“The wife’s pretty angry,” he said, “but I calmed her down.”
“Must be all the practice with Mrs. Siley,” joked Wallace.
“You got that right.”
“Captain,” Reyes said. “Do you have a problem with us holding Davey? I want to check him out a little more.”
“You charging him?”
“No. But I think if we hold him in connection he might give up something. I’d like to give him a GSR.”
Siley looked at Wallace, then back to Reyes. “If the test comes back negative, cut him loose. If you need to, bring him back in.”
“Aw, come on, Captain…”
“What’s the point, Sal? He’ll lawyer up and then it’ll make things even harder in the long term.”
Reyes nodded. Siley was right. “Whatever you say, boss.”
“Anyway,” said Siley, “I have a hot one and no one else is available. Can you two handle it?”
“What about Kahn and Wagner?” Wallace asked.
Siley shook his head. “You didn’t hear? They’ve busted some juvenile’s arm.”
“Harlen’s a liability,” said Reyes.
“This was Don, as a matter of fact,” said the Captain.
“Well, you can bet Wagner was involved somehow,” said Wallace, rolling her eyes. “Joanna and Emilio?”
“Wrapping up a drugstore stabbing.”
“Looks like it’s ours, then,” Reyes said. “What’s the headline?”
