He kept his face expressionless. “Gee, I don’t know. Is there?”
The expression “saved by the bell” didn’t quite cover the sudden ringing of a cell phone, coming from the spacious closet near the bathroom, but it was in the ballpark.
“That would be yours,” Shannon said, walking over to the closet and retrieving the jangling instrument from his pants pocket, “as my sister has hers with her.” She flipped it open. “JR’s phone,” she said. “Who is this, please?… No, I’m her sister. And you are?… Oh?… Yes, he is.” She walked over to JR and handed him the phone. “Someone named Mac.”
He spoke into the mouthpiece. “Good morning.”
“Where the hell are you, Counselor? I’ve had two guys outside your place all night and they said you two never showed up.”
“I’m sorry, Mac. I should have called you. I forgot. We’re at a hotel. Any news?”
“No, but I thought I might drop by, discuss a couple of things. So which hotel?”
“We’re downtown, at the New Kyoto.”
Mac whistled. “Nice. I’m over in Ladera Heights, which is about fifteen minutes away. You gonna be there for a while?”
“Sure. We have lox and bagels.”
“At a Japanese hotel?”
“Don’t ask.” Smiling, JR hung up.
Shannon sat on the edge of the bed. “Who’s Mac?”
“The detective working on the case.”
“You and he sounded pretty friendly.”
“He’s okay. He’s coming over.”
“That’s nice. Now back to the previous discussion. About where my sister spent the night.”
This time he was saved by the sound of a door opening and Carmen walked in, carrying a couple of pale blue shopping bags. When she saw JR, she smiled. “Oh, good, you’re up. Better?”
It was an okay smile, he noted, just a little on the tentative side. Which made sense, because he was feeling pretty tentative himself.
This morning, postlovemaking, she’d been insecure and difficult to pin down, sure. But he’d been an ass. He’d leaped on her, practically proposed to her after one night together. The opposite of smooth. Clumsy. Awkward. Insensitive. JR knew Carmen so well, he should have predicted she’d be thrown by the change in their relationship, should have given her time to adjust.
Of course, it was entirely possible that it wasn’t that she needed time to adjust, but that while she found sex with him satisfactory—mind-blowing was, he believed, one of the expressions she’d used—she didn’t return his feelings. In fact—and this was really depressing, but it had to be faced—it was more than possible. The sex had been spectacular, but that might have been because they knew each other so well, were comfortable with each other as people, didn’t have to worry about impressing each other or looking good—the way it was when relative strangers connected.
Idiot, he called himself. Jumping to conclusions, forecasting a romantic happy ending with no real evidence that one was in the cards. Didn’t he owe his best friend better treatment than that?
“Hey, Carm, thanks for making me take that pill. I needed the rest.”
Her smile was broader now, happier. “Yeah, you were pretty grumpy. But then you’ve always been a bad patient.”
“I just hate being fussed over.”
Shannon was watching them, studying them, looking for hints. But as though they’d gotten together and planned it, neither he nor Carmen acted like morning-after lovers. Reaching into one of the bags, Carmen presented him with a toothbrush and toothpaste, a throwaway razor and an extremely colorful Hawaiian shirt.
“What’s this for?”
“Do I have to have an excuse to buy you a present?”
“No. But I don’t wear those. They’re a little loud for my taste.”
“It’s loose and will be easier to wear with your sling. Shannon and I will turn our backs while you head for the bathroom. Put on the shirt. By the time you come out, we’ll have the food set out. Room service is bringing coffee. I’ll help you with the buttons. Okay?”
“When did you get so pushy?” he grumbled.
“It’s pretty recent.” She laughed. “And it feels great.”
By the time Mac arrived, for once not wearing a suit jacket, but dressed instead in a pair of old chinos, loafers and a faded Just Say No sweatshirt, brunch was spread across the table. After he and Shannon were introduced to each other, he sat down and helped himself to a healthy serving of thick cream cheese and lox, and generous slices of red onion and tomato piled on a garlic bagel.
After the first bite, he moaned with pleasure. “When I was first on the force, I worked the Fairfax area, and that was when I was introduced to lox and bagels. Fine, fine food.”
“You’re dressed like it’s your day off,” Carmen observed between bites of her own creation. “Why are you here?”
“Because this case is bugging me. You might say I’ve taken a personal interest in it.”
Shannon raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He nodded. “Maybe it’s because I’m two months away from retirement and I should be working a desk job, but I’m too restless to sit still. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of people being victimized by guns and crazy people.”
“Wow,” Shannon said. “A cop who actually cares.”
Instead of rising to the bait, he said, mildly, “There are others, trust me. And I’m pissed off because we got diddly on this damn thing.”
“Thanks, Mac,” Carmen said, making a face. “It makes me feel all warm and toasty.”
“Wish it could be different. But, here’s the thing. We need more digging, but our resources—LAPD’s, I mean—well, they’re stretched kind of thin at the moment. I met this kid a few years ago, one of those computer-whiz types. The kid could hack into anything. I busted him for petty theft, stealing parts at a computer store. Kid was broke, hungry, no dad, mom working three jobs, never home. You know the drill.”
Shannon nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“The kid—Ben, his name is—had built himself a first-rate computer from stuff he salvaged. Anyhow, I busted him and he served some time in juvie. Then again, after he was eighteen, he served six months, this time for illegal computer hacking. I read him the riot act and I’ve kind of kept an eye on him since. I’m pretty sure his life as a career criminal is over. He found out he can make a lot more money obeying the law and fingering other hackers.
“Now, he ought to be earning six figures with some huge firm—and he’s had offers, trust me, even with his record. But the damn kid loves to surf and he can’t stand heights, so working in one of those huge office buildings freaks him out, and he won’t be separated from the ocean. Anyhow, long story short, he lives in Redondo Beach, surfs the waves morning and evening and does freelance investigative work on the computer in between.”
“And you think we should talk to him?” JR asked.
“I already did. He’s expecting your call.” He handed them a slip of paper with an address and phone number written on it. “If there’s anything in Carmen’s background, associations, whatever, that might shed some light on this whole thing, the kid’ll find it. And after he does, I want you to let me know what he found. I’ll take it from there. Okay?”
“Got it, Mac,” Carmen said. “And thanks.”
“One more thing,” Mac said, holding up his index finger. “This is all off the record. Are we clear on that, Counselor? Both counselors? If you want to hassle me with invasion of privacy issues, then this conversation never happened and I never gave you anyone’s phone number. It’s my ass, not to mention my pension, if anyone gets wind that I’m using a felon to hack into the system.”
Shannon gave Mac a thumbs-up gesture. “It’s our asses, too, you know, as members of the bar. And this is about my sister’s life, so your secret is safe with us.”
“And, again, thanks,” JR added.
Shannon glanced at her watch. “Oops,” she said, and rose. “Gotta get out of here. I’m meet
ing a friend in Griffith Park for a power walk. So, we’re agreed, Carmen, we don’t tell Mom about this latest development? Until we have something concrete to give her?”
“Agreed.”
“Where are you going to be today?” She shifted her gaze from Carmen to JR. “Both of you?”
“My place?” JR said. “If the police protection is still there.”
Mac nodded. “It is.”
“Okay, Carm?”
She looked at him, indecision in her eyes. “Well, for today, yes.”
“I stopped by your place and got you some stuff,” Shannon said, jerking a thumb toward the suitcase in the corner. “I figured you wouldn’t be safe at home, in the near future, at least.”
Mac nodded approvingly. “Good thinking.”
“Okay then,” Shannon said, walking toward the door. “I’ll call you later, Carmen. And when I do—” she shot both Carmen and JR pointed looks “—I want some answers to the questions I’ve been asking. We clear?”
Neither of them answered her, so she said, in a mock-German spy accent, “Ve haf vays of making you talk. Coming, Detective?”
As the door closed on them, Shannon was saying, “So, you’re two months away from retirement, huh? Ever thought about what you’re going to do with the rest of your life?”
JR smiled at Carmen. “It looks like your sister is lining up some more volunteers for the storefront.”
Ben was actually Benjamin D’Annunzio, although Carmen couldn’t see a trace of traditional Italian features in the man—more of a boy, really—who greeted them at the door. He was a classic Southern California surfing dude—tall, lean and tan. His hair was sun-streaked blond and worn long, tied at the nape with a piece of leather. He had light-green eyes and a smile that could have posed for a toothpaste ad. He wore cutoff jeans and a T-shirt that said Surfers Do It Standing Up, and had an overall air of both innocence and enthusiasm. It was hard to think of him as an ex-con.
“Hey, guys,” he said when he opened the door. “Welcome to my lair.”
Lair was right. Carmen was instantly reminded of one of the sets on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the room where those three creepy nerds invented all kinds of weird gadgets and plotted Buffy’s demise. There were two rooms, a small one for sleeping, and a much larger one that was, indeed, a cave. It was dark, lit only by one weak overhead fixture and the glow from Ben’s various machines. A huge U-shaped desk-and-table combination held computers, monitors, shelves of CDs, books and odd pieces of electronic equipment. One high-backed office chair on wheels was used to navigate the whole thing without having to get up.
On the console next to his computer screen was a half-eaten sandwich and an open jar of peanut butter with a knife across the top.
Ben retrieved two canvas director’s chairs from a dark corner, opened them up and told Carmen and JR to sit. And then he got right down to business, asking all kinds of questions, similar to the ones Rutherford had asked—was it only yesterday morning?—but without the threat or judgment behind them. To most everything Carmen said, Ben answered with either “Cool” or “Awesome.”
He took notes on his computer, including Carmen’s full name, birth date, social security number. Names of parents and siblings. Schools attended. Names of other boyfriends. Jobs held. Names of coworkers. Names of friends.
She even mentioned Gidget. “She’s a homeless woman who lives in the alleyway near my house.”
“Alcoholic, schizophrenic, post-traumatic stress, or just a lost soul?”
It was a perceptive question—those were the main categories of those who lived on the streets, for sure—and Carmen really didn’t know the answer because all of her efforts to find out had met with blank stares and avoidance. “She has a real sweet tooth,” she said thoughtfully, “so it’s possible she used to be an alcoholic. She’s able to hold conversations, to find food for herself and her dog, but has a huge fear of being inside.”
“Cool. And how do you spell that name?”
“G-I-D-G-E-T,” Carmen told him, adding, “I guess. I don’t know why she’s called that. Maybe something to do with the movie, you know, the one from the late nineteen fifties, early sixties, with Sandra Dee?”
“Sandra who?”
“You’ve never heard of Gidget? You should rent it. It’s all about surfing.”
“Yeah? Awesome.”
She turned to JR. “Is there anything I’m leaving out? About me?”
He’d been quiet the whole time, but she’d been comforted by his solid presence next to her. Now he shook his head. “I think you’ve covered pretty much everything. Ben? Any more questions?”
“Nope. I’m cool. I’ll get right on it.”
Carmen stood. “How much do you charge?”
Ben grinned. “Nah, this is for Mac. I owe him.” Still seated, he made a waving gesture with his hand. “Go. I have all your phone numbers. I’ll get back to you.”
“Do you have any idea when?”
Another huge, white grin. “When I got something.”
He had something two hours later. He showed up at JR’s door, dressed in a wet suit, one arm around an eight-foot surfboard, holding it like he would a date. “I’m heading up to Malibu after this. Can I bring my board in? If I leave it in my car, it’ll be gone before I get back.”
JR let him prop it in the corner, then he and Carmen sat on the couch while Ben, refusing refreshments because he didn’t want to miss the “humongous” waves, sat in an adjacent armchair and read from his notes.
“Okay, here we go. I ran down previous boyfriends. One, Douglas Ripley, is in jail, doing time for trying to rob a 7-Eleven, which didn’t work out because a cop happened to be in that particular store, buying a lottery ticket.” He shook his head. “Dude had some bad karma.”
Carmen nodded. “Poor Doug. Stuff like that was always happening to him.”
“Two others are married, one with a kid up north in Portland, the other here in the Valley, North Hollywood. Works at a gas station, goes off-roading on the weekends. No records, either of them.” He looked up from his readout. “Your pal Tio,” he said, directing it to Carmen, “is a piece of work. Seventeen addresses in the past four years, five outstanding warrants in four states, one for unpaid parking tickets, one for credit card theft, two for drug dealing—one here, one in Montana—and one for failure to pay child support.”
“Child support? Tio has a child?” Carmen felt as though all the air had gone out of her. “How did I let that one get past me?”
Ben shrugged. “Hey, some of these guys are real good at the con. They lie as easy as breathing. It would take an expert to see through it.”
His words comforted her just a little. “Thanks.”
He offered that toothpaste grin again. “No prob.” In the next instant, the smile was gone. “Now, there’s one kind of hinky thing I did find, but I’m not sure how much you already know about your background.”
“My background?”
“I mean, some people want to hear the truth, no matter what. But some people don’t.”
Uh-oh, Carmen thought. “The truth about what?”
JR reached for her hand and held it tight. “Tell us, Ben. Whatever it is, Carmen’s strong.”
She turned to stare at him. “I am?”
“You are.”
Their eyes met, and in his she saw support and strength and years and years of being the best friend a person could have. Whatever had happened between them last night and this morning, he was still her rock.
Fortified, she turned back to Ben. “Okay, then. Let me have it. Is it about me? I mean, am I…sick or something?” She followed that question with a weak smile.
“No, you’re cool. It’s not about you. It’s about who your folks are.”
“Mom and Dad? What about them?”
He blew out a breath. “So you don’t know.”
“What don’t I know?” She squeezed JR’s hand. She had a bad feeling, and wanted to stop the clock.
�
��See, the thing is, you’re adopted. Sort of. Kinda half-adopted.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your dad is your dad, but, well, your mom isn’t. Your mom, I mean.”
None of this was making sense. “What are you talking about?”
“Biologically. You were born in Tempe, Arizona, to a woman named Phoebe Kurtz. Gerald Coyle is listed on the birth certificate as the father. Phoebe died in childbirth. Grace Coyle adopted you when you were three months old. So you’re, like, not her child.”
Chapter 8
“Oh, my God,” Carmen whispered.
“Hey,” Ben said, “I’m not saying this has anything to do with what’s happening now, you know, with being shot at and all, but—” he shrugged “—I was asked to find out everything, and I did. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s all right,” JR said, looking worriedly at Carmen.
“You sure?” Ben’s gaze shifted from one to the other.
“Yes,” JR assured him. “Carmen’s just shocked.”
“See, apart from all that—” again, he shrugged apologetically “—it’s all pretty straight ahead. Carmen has a pretty clean life, all in all.” He handed him the print-out of all he’d gathered, rose and said, “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure.”
JR kneeled in front of Carmen. “Hey, are you okay?”
All she could do was shake her head. “I can’t believe it.”
“I know, it kind of came out of left field.”
“Kind of?” She looked utterly lost. “I mean, just the other day I told my mother that I spent my childhood feeling like I must have been adopted. And that it was hard for me because I was so different from the rest of the family. But I knew that didn’t make sense because I look so much like my dad, you know, the way Shannon looks like Mom. So I figured it was just my imagination, and I knew that a lot of kids go through that stage of feeling, you know, separate from their families and wondering if they were adopted but that they grow out of it. And when I was talking to Mom, she seemed…stressed by what I was saying. I thought it was just, you know, worrying. The way moms do.”
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