Blood Work

by Michael Connelly

  On the way back after dinner, Raymond walked quickly ahead of them along the seawall, an ice-cream cone in one hand and a flashlight in the other, his blue sweater on, his head bobbing this way and that as he hunted with the light for fiddler crabs scaling the walls. The light was almost gone from the sky now. It would be time for Graciela and Raymond to leave when they got back to the boat. McCaleb felt as though he was already missing them.

  When the boy got far enough in front of them, Graciela brought up the case again.

  “What else can you do at this point?”

  “On the case? For one thing, I have a lead I want to follow, something they might have missed.”

  “What?”

  He explained the geographic cross-referencing he had done and how he came up with Mikail Bolotov. When he saw her getting excited, he quickly cautioned her against it.

  “This guy’s got an alibi. It’s a lead but it may go nowhere.”

  He moved on.

  “I also am thinking about going to the bureau to get them involved in the ballistics.”

  “How so?”

  “This guy could’ve done this elsewhere. He uses a very expensive gun. The fact that he didn’t get rid of it between these two cases means he’s hanging onto it and so he might’ve used it before somewhere else. They have some ballistic evidence-the bullets. The bureau might be able to do something with it if I can get them the material.”

  She didn’t comment and he wondered if her common sense told her that this was a long shot. He moved on.

  “I’m also thinking about going back to a couple of the witnesses and interviewing them a little differently. Especially the man who saw part of the shooting up in the desert. And that’s going to take some finesse. I mean, I don’t want to step on Winston’s toes or make her feel I think she dropped the ball. But I’d like to talk to the guy myself. He’s the best witness. I’d like to talk to him and then maybe a couple of the witnesses to when your sister was… you know.”

  “I didn’t know there were witnesses. There were people in the store?”

  “No, I don’t mean direct witnesses. But there was a woman who drove by and heard shots. There are also a couple of people in the reports that your sister worked with that night over at the Times. I’d just like to talk to all of them myself, see if maybe anything changed in their memories about that night.”

  “I can probably help you set that up. I know most of her friends.”

  “Good.”

  They walked along in silence for a few moments. Raymond was still well ahead of them. Graciela finally spoke.

  “I wonder if you’d do a favor for me.”

  “Sure.”

  “Glory used to go see this lady in our neighborhood. Mrs. Otero. She also would leave Raymond with her if I wasn’t around. But Glory would go by herself sometimes to talk to her about her problems. I was wondering if you would talk to her.”

  “Uh… I don’t… you mean, you think she might know something about this or is this, like, to console her?”

  “It’s possible she might be able to help.”

  “How would she be able to…”

  Then it dawned on him.

  “Are you talking about a psychic?”

  “A spiritualist. Glory trusted Mrs. Otero. She said she was in touch with the angels and Glory believed it. And she’s been calling and saying she wants to talk to me and, I don’t know, I just thought maybe you’d go with me.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really believe in that sort of stuff, Graciela. I don’t know what I’d say to her.”

  She just looked at him and it cut him that he thought he saw disapproval in her eyes.

  “Graciela… I saw too many bad things and bad people to believe in that stuff. How can there be angels out there or up there when people do the kinds of things they do down here?”

  She still didn’t say anything and he knew her silence was a judgment.

  “How ’bout I think about it and let you know?”

  “Fine,” she finally said.

  “Don’t be upset.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I got you involved in this and I know it’s a big intrusion. I don’t know what I thought. I guess I just thought you’d…”

  “Look, don’t worry about it. I’m doing it now for me as much as you. Okay? Just don’t give up hope. Like I said, there’s still a few things I’m going to do and Winston isn’t going to let this drop, either. Give me a few days. If I get stalled out, maybe then we’ll go see Mrs. Otero. Okay?”

  She nodded but he could tell she was disappointed.

  “She was such a good kid,” she said after a while. “Having Raymond changed everything for her. She straightened up, moved in with me and just got her priorities right. She was going to school in the mornings at Cal State. That’s why she had that night job. She was smart. She wanted to get into the other side of the newspaper business. Be a reporter.”

  He nodded and kept silent. He knew it was good for her to keep talking like this.

  “She would have been good at it. I think. She cared about people. I mean, look at her. She was a volunteer. After the riots she went down to South-Central to help clean up. After the earthquake she came into the hospital to just be in the ER and tell people it would be okay. She was an organ donor. She gave blood-anytime any hospital called and said they needed blood, she came in. That rare blood… well, she was rarer. Sometimes I really wish I could’ve traded places and that it was me who went into that store.”

  He reached over and put his arm around her shoulders in a comforting manner.

  “Come on,” he said. “Look at all the people you help at the hospital. And look at Raymond. You’re going to be great for him. You can’t think about who was more worthy or about switching places. What happened to her shouldn’t have happened to anyone.”

  “But all I know is Raymond having his own mother would’ve been better than me.”

  There was no way to argue with her. He moved his arm and put his hand on her neck. She wasn’t crying but she looked like she might start. He wanted to console her but knew there was only one way he could do that.

  They were almost to his dock. Raymond was waiting at the security gate, which was open a couple of inches as usual. The spring return was rusted and the gate never closed on its own.

  “We should go,” Graciela said when they caught up to the boy. “It’s getting late and you have school.”

  “What about the fishing pole?” Raymond protested.

  “Mr. McCaleb can take care of that. Now thank him for the fishing and the dinner and the ice cream.”

  Raymond put out his little hand and McCaleb shook it again. It was cold and sticky.

  “It’s Terry. And look, we’ll do some real fishing soon. As soon as I get the boat going. We’ll take it out then and we’ll catch you a big one. I know a spot on the other side of Catalina. This time of year, we’ll catch calico bass. Lots of them. We’ll go there, okay?”

  Raymond nodded silently as if he guessed it would never happen. It sent a shiver of sadness through McCaleb. He looked at Graciela.

  “How about Saturday? The boat won’t be ready but you guys could come down in the morning and we could fish off the jetty. You could stay over if you want. Plenty of room.”

  “Yeah!” Raymond cried.

  “Well,” Graciela said, “let’s see how the rest of the week goes.”

  McCaleb nodded, realizing the mistake he had just made. Graciela opened the passenger door of her Rabbit convertible and the boy got in. She came over to McCaleb after closing the door.

  “Sorry about that,” he said in a low voice. “I guess I shouldn’t have suggested that in front of him.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’d like to do it but I might have to juggle some things, so let’s wait and see. Unless you need to know for sure right now.”

  “No, that’s fine. Just let me know.”

  She took a step closer to him and held out her hand to shake.
>
  “Thank you very much for tonight,” she said. “He’s quiet most of the time but I think he enjoyed it and I know I did.”

  McCaleb took her hand and shook it but then she leaned into him, brought her face up and kissed him on the cheek. As she stepped back, she brought her hand to her mouth.

  “Bristly,” she said with a smile. “Are you growing a beard?”

  “Thinking about it.”

  This made her laugh for some reason. She walked around the car and he followed so he could hold open the door. When she was in her seat, she looked up at him.

  “You know, you should believe in them,” she said.

  He looked down at her.

  “You mean angels?”

  She nodded. He nodded back. She started the car and drove off.

  Back at the boat, he went over to the corner of the stern. The fishing pole was still in the slot and the line was still in the water as Raymond had left it. But as he reeled the line in, McCaleb could tell there was no drag on it. When the line finally came out of the water, he saw the hook and weight but no bait. Something down there had cleaned him out.

  13

  ON THURSDAY MORNING McCaleb was up before the port stevedores had anything to do with it. The caffeine of the day before had surged through his veins without ebb and kept him from sleep. It fueled disquieting thoughts of the investigation, of the differences between angles and angels and of Graciela and the boy. Eventually, he gave up on sleep and just waited with eyes open for the first light to filter through the blinds.

  He was showered and finished measuring vital signs and swallowing pills by six o’clock. He took the stack of investigative reports back up to the table in the salon, put on another pot of coffee and ate a bowl of cereal. In between, he constantly checked his watch and thought about whether to call Vernon Carruthers without talking to Jaye Winston first.

  Winston wouldn’t be in yet. But three hours ahead at FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C., McCaleb’s friend Vernon Carruthers would be in his place in the FAT unit of the crime lab. McCaleb knew he shouldn’t talk to Carruthers before getting the go-ahead from Winston. It was Winston’s case. But the three-hour time difference between L.A. and Washington had him anxious. At his core McCaleb was an impatient man. The urge to get something going and not lose the day was pressing him.

  After rinsing out the bowl and leaving it in the sink, he checked his watch once more and decided not to wait. He got out his phone book and called Carruthers on his direct line. He picked up on one ring.

  “ Vernon, it’s Terry.”

  “Terrell McCaleb! You here in the city?”

  “Nah, still in L.A. How are you, man?”

  “How are you ? I mean, like long time, no hear.”

  “I know, I know. But I’m doing okay. Thanks for the cards you sent to the hospital. Tell Marie I said thanks, too. It meant a lot. I know I should’ve called or written. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, we tried calling you but you’re unlisted and nobody in the FO seemed to have the new number. Talked to Kate and she didn’t even know. All she knew was you gave up your apartment in Westwood. Somebody else in the FO said you were livin’ on a boat now. You really cut yourself off from everybody.”

  “Well, I just thought it would be best for a while. You know, until I was mobile and everything. But everything’s good. How about you?”

  “Can’t complain. You coming out here anytime soon? You know you still have the room. Haven’t rented it out to anybody from Quantico yet. Wouldn’t dare.”

  McCaleb laughed and told him that unfortunately there were no immediate plans for a trip east. He had known Carruthers for nearly twelve years. McCaleb had worked out of Quantico and Carruthers had worked out of Firearms and Toolmarks in the crime lab up in D.C. but it seemed that the two were often working the same cases. Whenever Carruthers came down to Quantico for meetings, McCaleb and his then wife, Kate, had put him up in their spare bedroom. It beat the spare accommodations of a room in an academy dorm. In return, whenever McCaleb was in D.C., Carruthers and his wife, Marie, had let him bunk in the room that had belonged to their son. He had died years earlier of leukemia when he was twelve. Carruthers had insisted on the trade-off, even though it meant McCaleb was giving up a decent FBI-paid room at the Hilton near Dupont Circle. At first McCaleb felt like an intruder sleeping in the boy’s room. But Vernon and Marie made him feel welcome. And the southern cooking and the good company couldn’t be touched by the Hilton.

  “Well, anytime,” Carruthers said with a returning laugh. “Anytime.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “So by my estimate, it’s gotta be barely the crack a’ dawn out there. What’re you calling so early for?”

  “Well, I’m calling on a bit of business.”

  “You? Business? I was about to ask you how the wonderful world of retirement was treating you. Are you really living on a goddamned boat?”

  “Yeah, I’m on a boat. But I’m not quite into the pasture yet.”

  “Well, what’s up then?”

  McCaleb told him the story, including the part about his receiving Gloria Torres’s heart. McCaleb wanted Carruthers to know everything, unlike the others involved. He knew he could trust him with it and knew he would understand the bond McCaleb had to the victim. Carruthers had a strong empathy for victims, especially the young ones. The trauma of watching his son die over time in front of him had manifested itself in a dedication to his job that surpassed that of even the best field agents McCaleb had known.

  Halfway through the telling, the booming sound of a cargo ship being unloaded began echoing across the marina. Carruthers asked what the hell it was and McCaleb told him as he took the phone down into the forward stateroom and closed the door to get away as much as possible from the noise.

  “So what you want is for me to take a look at a slug from this?” Carruthers asked when McCaleb was finished. “I don’t know. That Sheriff’s Department out there, they’ve got good people.”

  “I know that. I’m not doubting that. I just want a fresh look and, mostly, I want you to put a laser profile through your computer, if you can. You never know. We might hit something. I’ve got a feeling about this one.”

  “You and your feelings. I remember those. All right, then who am I getting the package from? Them or you?”

  “I’m going to try to finesse it. Get the Sheriff’s Department out here to send in the package. I don’t want you doing this off the books. But if you can, I’d like to put some grease on it. This shooter’s a repeater. We might save somebody’s life if we can get a line on him.”

  Carruthers was silent a few moments and McCaleb guessed he was running his schedule through his head.

  “This is the thing. Today’s Thursday. I need it by Tuesday morning latest and preferably Monday so I have time to do it justice. Next Wednesday I’m flying out to Kansas City to testify. Mob case. They think I’ll be out there the rest of the week. So if you want it expedited, you’ve got to expedite it to me. If you do, I’ll give it my immediate attention.”

  “That’s not going to cause major problems?”

  “ ’Course it is. I’m backed up two months here, what else is new? But just get me the package and I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’ll get it to you. One way or the other by Monday latest.”

  “Okay, buddy.”

  “Oh, one last thing. Take my number. Like I said, I’m not acting in any official capacity on this thing. By rights, you should communicate with the Sheriff’s Department, but I’d appreciate a heads-up if you come up with anything unusual.”

  “You got it,” he said without hesitation. “Give me the number. And the address. Marie will want that for Christmas cards.”

  After McCaleb gave him the information, Carruthers cleared his throat.

  “So, you talk to Kate lately?” he asked.

  “She called the hospital a couple days after the transplant. But I was still out of it. We didn’t talk long.”


  “Hmmm. Well, you ought to call her just to let her know you’re okay.”

  “I don’t know. How is she doing?”

  “Fine, I guess. Haven’t heard anything to the contrary. You should call her.”

  “It’s better just to leave it alone, I think. We’re divorced, remember?”

  “Whatever. You’re the boss. I’ll send her an E-mail just to let her know you’re still breathing out there.”

  After a few more minutes of catching up, McCaleb clicked off the phone and went back up to the salon for more coffee. He was out of milk so he took it black. It was hair of the dog that bit him but he had to keep the momentum. If things went as he hoped, he would be on the road most of the day.

  It was now near seven and almost time to call Winston. He went out onto the deck to take a look at the morning. The marine layer had come in strong and thick and the other boats looked ghostlike in the mist. It would be a few hours before it burned off and anybody got a look at the sun. He looked over at Buddy Lockridge’s boat and saw no activity yet.

  At 7:10 he sat at the salon table with his legal pad and punched Jaye Winston’s number into the cordless phone. He caught her just as she was sitting down at her desk.

  “I just walked in,” she said. “And I didn’t expect to hear from you for a couple of days. That was a lot of paper I gave you.”

  “Yeah, well, once I got into it, I couldn’t put it down, I guess.”

  “What did you think?”

  McCaleb knew she was asking what he thought of her investigation, asking him to make a judgment.

  “I think you run a tight show but I already knew that from before. I liked all the moves you made on this one, Jaye. No complaints from me.”

  “But?”

  “But I’ve got a few questions I wrote down here if you’ve got a few minutes. Maybe a couple of suggestions if you want ’em. A lead or two maybe.”

  Winston laughed good-naturedly.

  “You federal guys always have questions, always have suggestions, always have new leads.”