C is for CORPSE

by Sue Grafton

“A mere .22, which hardly counts. I got beat up too, and that’s what hurt. I don’t know how guys put up with that shit,” I said. I rubbed at the bridge of my nose ruefully. “Broke my schnoz.”

  He reached out impulsively and ran a finger down my nose. “Looks O.K. to me.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It still blows pretty good.”

  We endured one of those awkward pauses that had always punctuated our relationship.

  I shifted my bag from one shoulder to the other, just for something to do. “What’d you bring?” I said, indicating the paper sack he held.

  He glanced down. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. Uh, subs and Pepsis and Famous Amos cookies.”

  “We could even eat,” I said.

  He didn’t move. He shook his head. “Kinsey, I don’t remember going through this before,” he said. “Why don’t we fuckin’ skip lunch and go over there behind that bush?”

  I laughed, because I’d just had this quick flash of something hot and nasty that I don’t care to repeat. I tucked my hand through his arm. “You’re cute.”

  “I don’t want to hear about cute.”

  We went down the wide stone steps and headed toward the far side of the courthouse lawn, where shaggy evergreens shade the grass. We sat down, distracted by the business of eating lunch. Pepsis were opened and lettuce fell out of sandwiches and we exchanged paper napkins and murmured about how good it all was. By the time we finished eating, we’d recovered some professional composure and conducted most, of our remaining conversation like adults instead of sex-starved kids.

  He shoved his empty Pepsi can in the sack. “I’ll tell you the scuttlebutt on that Costigan shooting. The guy I talked to used to work Homicide and he says he always thought it was the wife. It was one of those situations where the whole story stank, you know? She claimed some guy broke in, husband gets a gun, big struggle, boom! The gun goes off and hubby’s dead. Intruder runs away and she calls the cops, distraught victim of a random burglary attempt. Well, it didn’t look right, but she stuck to her guns. Hired some hotshot lawyer right off the bat and wouldn’t say a word until he got there. You know how it goes. ‘Sorry my client can’t answer this.’ ‘Sorry I won’t let her respond to that.’ Nobody believed a word she said, but she never broke down and in the end there wasn’t any proof! No evidence, no informant, no weapon, no witness. End of tale. I hope you’re not working for her because if you are, you’re screwed.”

  I shook my head. “I’m looking into Bobby Callahan’s death,” I said. “I think he was murdered and I think it connects back to Dwight Costigan.” I sketched the whole story out for him, avoiding his gaze. We were stretched out in the grass by then and I kept having these images of sexual misbehavior that I didn’t think would serve. I plowed right ahead, talking more than I should have just to create a diversion.

  “God, you come up with something on the Costigan killing and Lieutenant Dolans gonna’ crochet you a watch,” he said.

  “What about Lila Sams?”

  He held a finger up. “I was saving the best for last,” he said. “I ran a field check on her and came up with a hit. This lady has a string of wants and warrants as long as your arm. Priors going back to 1968.”

  “What for?”

  “Fraud, obtaining property by false pretenses, larceny by trick and device. She’s been passing bad paper, too. She’s got six outstanding warrants on her even as we speak. Well, wait. Take a look for yourself. I brought the print-out.”

  He held out the computer print-out and I took it. Why didn’t I feel more elated at the notion of nailing her? Because it would break Henry’s heart and I didn’t want to take responsibility for that. I ran an eye down the sheet. “Can I keep this?”

  “Sure, but don’t jump up and down like that. Calm yourself,” he said. “I take it you know where she is.”

  I looked over at him with a weak smile. “Probably sitting in my backyard drinking iced tea,” I said. “My landlord is head over heels in love with her and I suspect she’s on the verge of taking him for everything he’s worth.”

  “Talk to Whiteside in Fraud and he’ll have her picked up.”

  “I think I better talk to Rosie first.”

  “That old bag who runs the dive down the street from you? What’s she got to do with it?”

  “Oh, neither one of us can stand Lila. Rosie wanted me to do the background check for the aggravation if nothing else. We needed to know where she was coming from.”

  “So now you know. What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels crummy somehow, but I’ll figure it out. I don’t want to rush into anything I’ll regret.”

  There was a momentary silence and then Jonah gave my shirt a tug. “You been up to the shooting range lately?”

  “Not since we were there together,” I said.

  “You want to go up there sometime?”

  “Jonah, we can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it might feel like a date and confuse us both.”

  “Come on. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are. We just can’t hang out together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re too good-looking and I’m too smart,” I said tartly.

  “We’re back to Camilla again, right?”

  “Right. I’m not going to interfere with that. You’ve been with her a long time.”

  “I tell you something. I’m still kicking myself. I could have gone to the other junior high school, you know? Seventh grade. How did I know I was making a decision that would haunt me in middle-age?”

  I laughed. “Life is full of that stuff. You had to choose between metal or woodshop, right? You could have turned out to be an auto mechanic. Instead you’re a cop. You know what my choices were? Child psychology or home ec. I didn’t give a shit about either one.”

  “I wish I hadn’t seen you again.”

  I could feel my smile fade. “Well, I’m sorry for that. It was my fault.” I could tell we’d been looking at each other too long, so I got up, brushing grass off my jeans. “I have to

  go.”

  He got up too and we said some good-bye things. We parted company shortly thereafter. I walked backward for a few steps, watching him head back to the station. Then I continued on toward my office, turning my attention back to the matter of Henry Pitts. I realized then that there wasn’t any point in talking to Rosie about it. Of course I’d have to tell the cops where Lila was. She’d been a con for nearly twenty years and she wasn’t going to reform and make Henry a happy man in the twilight of their days. She was going to cheat him silly, thus breaking his heart anyway. What difference did it make how she got caught or who turned her in? Better to do it now before she took every cent he had.

  I’d been walking rapidly, head down, but when I got to the corner of Floresta and Anaconda, I did an abrupt left and headed for the police station.

  Chapter 24

  *

  I was at the police station for an hour and forty-five minutes. Fortunately, the Missing Persons Department and Fraud were nowhere near each other so I didn’t have to worry about running into Jonah again. First, Whiteside was at lunch and then he had a quick meeting to attend. Then when I explained the situation to him, he had to place a call to a county in northern New Mexico where three of the warrants had been issued. While he was waiting for a response to that inquiry, he contacted the county sheriff in some little town up near San Francisco, trying to get confirmation on a no-bail warrant that originated in Marin. The charge on the fifth warrant in Boise, Idaho, turned out to be a misdemeanor and the fraud detective said he couldn’t afford to come get her in any event. The sixth warrant, in Twin Falls, had been recalled for reasons unspecified. So far, Lila Sams was home free.

  At 3:20, Marin County finally returned Whiteside’s call, confirming the no-bail warrant and indicating that they’d have someone pick her up once they knew she was actually in custody. Their cooperation was largely due to
the fact that one of their deputies was vacationing in Santa Teresa anyway and had agreed to accompany her back to Marin. Whiteside said as soon as a telexed “copy of the warrant came through, he’d send the beat officer over to make the arrest. He didn’t really have to have the warrant in hand, but I think he d sensed by now that she was slippery. I gave him Moza’s address, my address, and a thorough description of Lila Sams.

  It was 3:40 by the time I got home. Henry was sitting on a chaise in the backyard, surrounded by books. He looked up from his legal pad as I came around the corner.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I thought it might be Lila. She said she’d stop in and say good-bye before she took off.”

  That caught me by surprise. “She’s leaving?”

  “Well, she’s not really ‘leaving.’ She’s going to Las Cruces for a few days, but she hopes to be back by the end of the week. I guess a little problem came up on some property she owns and she has to get things squared away. It’s a darn nuisance, but what can you do?”

  “She’s not gone already, though, is she?”

  He checked his watch. “I can’t imagine she would be. Her plane takes off about five. She said she had to go to the title company and then she’d toss a few things in a suitcase. Did you want to talk to her?”

  I shook my head, unable to say yet what needed to be said. I could see that he was mapping out a new crossword puzzle, jotting down preliminary notes. At the top of the page, he’d written two titles, “Elementary, Dear Watson!” and “Home Sweet Holmes.”

  He smiled shyly when he saw me take note. “This one’s for the Sherlockeans in the crowd,” he said. He set the legal pad aside, as though self-conscious at having someone watch him work. “Well, now, how are things with you?”

  He seemed so innocent, nothing more on his mind than his passion for words. How could she deceive a man like that?

  “Something’s come up I think you ought to know about,” I said. I unfolded the computer print-out and handed it to him.

  He looked down at it. “What’s this?”

  Lila’s name apparently caught his eye then, because his gaze settled on the page. His face lost animation as he assimilated the facts. When he finished reading, he gestured aimlessly. He was silent for a moment and then he glanced up at me. “Well. Makes me look like a fool, doesn’t it?”

  “Come on, Henry. Don’t talk like that. I don’t think so at all. You took a risk and she brought you some happiness. Hey, so later it turns out she’s a crook. That’s not your fault.”

  He stared at the paper like a kid just learning to sound out words. “What made you check into it?”

  I thought there might be a tactful explanation, but nothing occurred to me. “I didn’t like her much, to tell you the truth. I guess I felt protective, especially when you talked about doing business with her. I just didn’t think she was on the level and it turns out she’s not. You haven’t given her any money, have you?”

  He folded the print-out. “I closed out one of my accounts this morning.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty thousand in cash,” he said. “Lila said she’d deposit it to an escrow account at the title company. The bank manager urged me to reconsider, but I thought he was simply being conservative. I see now, he was not.” His manner had become very formal and it nearly broke my heart.

  “I’m going down to Moza’s to see if I can intercept her before she takes off. You want to come?”

  He shook his head, his eyes bright. I turned on my heel and moved off at a quick clip.

  I trotted the half-block to Moza’s. A taxicab was cruising at half speed, the driver scanning house numbers. The two of us reached Moza’s at just about the same time. He pulled over to the curb. I crossed to the passenger side, peering into the open window. He had a face like a beachball made of flesh.

  “You the one wanted a cab?”

  “Uh, sure. Lila Sams?”

  He checked his trip sheet. “Right. You got any bags you need help with?”

  “Actually, I don’t need the cab. A neighbor said she’d run me out to the airport. I called back, but I guess the dispatcher didn’t head you off in time. Sorry.”

  He gave me a look, then heaved an exasperated sigh, making a big display of crossing the address off his sheet. He shifted gears with annoyance, pulling away from the curb with a shake of his head. God, he could go on stage with an act like that.

  I crossed Moza’s yard at an angle and took the porch steps two at a time. She was holding the screen door open, looking out anxiously at the departing taxi. “What did you say to him? That was Lila’s cab. She has to get to the airport.”

  “Really? He told me he had the wrong address. He was looking for Zollinger, one street over, I think.”

  I better try another company. She ordered a cab thirty minutes ago. She’s going to miss her plane.”

  “Maybe I can help,” I said. “Is she in here?”

  “You’re not going to cause any trouble, Kinsey. I won’t have that.”

  “I’m not causing trouble,” I said. I moved through the living room and into the hall. The door to Lila’s room was open.

  The place had been stripped of personal possessions. One of the drawers where she’d concealed a phony I. D. was sitting on top of the chest of drawers, its back panel bare. She’d left the masking tape in a wad like a hunk of chewing gum. One suitcase was packed and sat near the door. Another was open on the bed, half filled, and beside it was a white plastic purse.

  Lila had her back to me, bending over to remove a stack of folded clothes from one of the dressing-table drawers. The polyester pantsuit she wore was not very flattering. From the rear, her ass looked like two hanging foam-rubber hams. She caught sight of me as she turned. “Oh! You scared me. I thought it was Moza. What can I do for you?”

  “I heard you were leaving. I thought maybe I could help.”

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. Her abrupt departure was probably at the urging of her cohorts in Las Cruces, alerted by my phone call of the night before. She might have suspected it was me, but she couldn’t be sure. For my part, I was just hoping to stall until the cops showed up. I had no intention of confronting her. For all I knew, she might whip out a little two-shot Derringer or fly at me with some kind of old-lady karate-type move that would take me right out.

  She checked her watch. It was now almost 4:00. It took twenty minutes to get to the airport and she’d have to be there by 4:30 or risk losing her seat. That gave her ten minutes. “Oh dear. Well, I don’t know why my taxi isn’t here. I might need a ride to the airport, if you could do that,” she said.

  “No problem,” I said. “My car’s right down the street. Henry said you’d be stopping by his place anyway to say good-bye.”

  “Of course I am, if I have time. He’s such a sweetie.” She finished laying in the armload of clothes and I could see her look around the room to see if she’d missed anything.

  “Did you leave anything in the bathroom? Shampoo? Hand laundry?”

  “Oh, I believe I did. I’ll be right back.” She moved past me, heading for the bathroom.

  I waited until she rounded the corner and then reached over and opened her purse. Inside was a fat manila envelope with Henry’s name penciled on the front. I took off the rubber band and checked the contents. Cash. I closed her purse again and tucked the envelope into the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back. I figured Henry was never going to press charges and I hated to see his savings confiscated and itemized as police property. No telling when he’d get it back. I was just adjusting my T-shirt over the bulge when she returned, toting shampoo, shower cap, hand lotion. She tucked them in around the sides of her folded clothes and closed up the suitcase, snapping the locks shut.

  “Here, I’ll get it,” I said. I hauled that suitcase off the bed and picked up the other one, moving out into the hall like a pack mule. Moza was standing there, wringing out an imaginary dish towel in her anxiety.

  “I ca
n take one of those,” she said.

  “I got it.”

  I headed for the door, with Moza and Lila bringing up the rear. I certainly hoped the cops would show. Lila and Moza were saying those last-minute things to one another, Lila faking it out the whole time. She was taking off. She was gone. She had no intention of coming back.

  As we reached the front, Moza moved ahead so she could hold the screen door open for me. A black-and-white patrol car had just pulled up in front. I was afraid if Lila spotted them too soon, she’d bolt for the rear.

  “Did you get that pair of shoes under the bed?” I asked over my shoulder. I paused in the doorway, blocking her view.

  “I don’t know. I just looked and I didn’t see any.”

  “You probably got them, then,” I said.

  “No, no. I better check.” She hurried toward the bedroom while I set the two suitcases on the porch.

  Moza, meanwhile, was staring at the street with puzzlement. Two uniformed officers were coming up the walk, one male, one female, both bareheaded, in short-sleeved shirts. In Santa Teresa, there’s been a move afoot to divest the police of their authoritarian images, but these two managed to seem ominous anyway. Moza probably thought she’d violated some civil code-grass too long, TV too loud.

  I left her to have a little conversation with them while I herded Lila up this way, so she wouldn’t spot the cops and try slipping out the back. “Lila, your ride’s here,” I called.

  “Well thank heaven for that,” she said, as she came through the living room. “I didn’t find anything under the bed, but I’d left my ticket right up on the chest, so it’s lucky I went back.”

  As she reached the front door, I eased behind her. She glanced up, catching sight of the officers.

  The guy, according to his name tag, was G. Pettigrew. He was black, maybe in his thirties, with big arms and a barrel chest. His partner, M. Gutierrez, looked almost as hefty as he.

  Pettigrew’s eyes settled on Lila. “Are you Lila Sams?”

  “Yes.” She loaded that one syllable with puzzlement, blinking at him. Her body seemed to change so that she looked older and more squat.