Land of Shadows (18 page)

Luke was already scribbling into his steno pad. “Got it.”

“And,” Lieutenant Rodriguez added, “can you find out where Monique was when she got that late-night call from her mom?”

“Yep,” Luke said.

Lieutenant Rodriguez turned to me. “Think this guy's in the wind?”

“Hell no,” I said. “He's watching us and sipping tea.”

Luke turned back to the board. “I've been filling in our girl's day, including phone calls and text messages, that trip to the pet store, and the last time the Darsons saw and spoke with her. There were five voice mails on Monique's line. Each was left by Angie Darson telling her to call, saying that just because she graduated didn't mean shit,
blah-blah-blah
, typical angry mother stuff.” Luke then played the messages for us.

Hey, Monie. Call me.

Where are you? You need to pick up the phone and call me.

Okay, this isn't funny, Monique.

Monie? Please call me. I'm starting to worry, baby. I'm not mad anymore, okay?

With each call, Angie's voice moved from anger to fear. On the last call, she had said, “Please, sweetheart. Just call me and let me know you're okay.”

No one spoke after Angie hung up that last time. The sound of the dial tone echoed through the room.

Panic and sorrow washed over me—I wanted to
do
something, to save Monique and assure Angie, but I couldn't. It was too late.

Luke cleared his throat, then whispered, “Let's look at the text messages.” Then he handed out more papers. “The usual stuff at first. But then…”

I read aloud Tuesday morning's texts.

My cuz is sooo cute!!! Enjoy:)

Glad u made it home

Will call u and mom when I get home after mall

Thinkin of u makes me soo wet

I looked up from the page.

Joey cooed, “Ooh, Lou, say that again.”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Lieutenant Rodriguez snapped.

At that moment, I was grateful for Joey's stupidity—it had forced back shadows that were trying to seize the squad room.

“That text was sent to Mr. Green Ink,” Luke said.

“I wonder,” Colin said. “Is Mr. Green Ink also Mr. Hankie?”

No one responded but everyone had the same answer: yes.

Back to the log and the Tuesday afternoon texts.

So yeah … He say he dont wanna hurt my feelings. dont believe him at all

Ummm goood LOL

Wahy to end the year with a bang!

So whats up

“Call me when ur alone.” I read that text message aloud twice.

Luke nodded. “Again, sent to Mr. Green Ink, at one thirty on Tuesday afternoon, right before that hour-long phone call to the same number.”

“We need a name, Luke,” I said, still scanning the entries. “Tick tock, my friend.”

“I'm working on it,” Luke said, “but don't plan a banquet around it.”

There were fewer Tuesday evening text messages.

One from Macie at 5:33.
Stuck in traffic Tell mom not to wait for me.

Macie sent another text a little after seven.
Just gonna stay with max CU tomorwo

And then Monique sent a series of texts to Mr. Green Ink at 10:32
P.M.

U ready for me?

He texted back.
Always

She returned his text.
Good

Where r u?

With Renata

Can you handle this dick tonite?

Ya U think Ill give it up 4 nothin? LOL

Its like that?

U know it

U crazy, What this time?

Surprise me LOL

Ltes meet

Same place?

Ya at 11

At 11:18
P.M.
, Angie Darson had left that final voice mail.

At 11:20
P.M.
, Monique had texted Mr. Green Ink one last time.

Im here where u at? LOL

A final text message had been sent from Monique's phone to Angie Darson's phone.

I am ok

But it had been sent at 2:51
A.M.
on Wednesday morning—Monique had been far from okay.

 

24

Colin asked me to take him to choir practice.

In other words, he wanted to hit a bar where off-duty cops hung out, got drunk, talked about hunting, women, and sex. A bar like the Short Stop over on Sunset, a spot now ruined by hipsters wearing ironic T-shirts.

I shook my head. “Sorry, no. Don't do that anymore.”

“Aw, Lou,” he said, as he put his feet on his desk. “Don't be so damn granola.”

“I'm not—I just don't enjoy hanging out with assholes after my shift ends. Maybe Pepe or Luke will take you.”

He rubbed his neck and glanced over to Luke at the coffeepot, who was now telling Lieutenant Rodriguez a foul-mouthed story about chasing a one-legged pimp down the Los Angeles River.

“Not that they would,” I said, shouldering my purse. “You haven't been here long enough—no one trusts you.”

“Is that a joke?” he asked, his ears and neck crimson.

“Nope.”

“What are you about to do?”

“Eat,” I said, and headed to the door.

“Mind if I come along?”

I minded—it had taken me almost my entire career to move from being alone all the time to being kinda accepted into the fraternity. I had combated sexism, racism, classism, and jerkwadism, and had finally earned my stripes. So, I had no sympathy for a new fish who had an up on me in three of those four categories.

“I'll buy you a beer.” Then, he added, “Hell, I'll buy you dinner. You deserve it.”

“Well, thanks.” Payday was fourteen hours away and I had just paid car insurance. “Fine. I hate beer, though. A margarita and Jerry's Deli up the street from my condo.”

Twenty minutes later, we had parked our cars in the shopping center's lot. The glow of the mai tai–colored sun had tinted fast-moving fog rolling off the Pacific. The sunset made you think life was one big Hallmark store. If you ignored the bereavement, divorce, and “get well” sections, then, yeah, it was.

The air inside the restaurant smelled of pickles, French fries, and fresh-brewed coffee, and almost every table was occupied by customers. The hostess led us to our very own red Naugahyde booth and both Colin and I darted for the east-facing side. We both wanted the view of the entrance, but I won because this was my city.

“I've heard about this place,” Colin said, taking in the movie posters, black-and-white-tiled floors, and that drunken sunset beyond the windows. “Movie stars come here, right?”

I said, “Sure,” and focused on the television monitor and the closed caption text scrolling at the bottom of the screen—Greta Glick was “live on location” in Baldwin Hills.
Breaking news. Police have found evidence that suggests that seventeen-year-old Monique Darson was murdered here, in this trailer …
The camera zoomed in on the construction trailer still wrapped in yellow tape.

Colin said, “Lieutenant Rodriguez told me—”

“I'm off the clock, and I leave work at work,” I muttered, even though my attention was turned to my work now being featured on the news.

Colin grunted, then said, “My ex-fiancée—”

“A woman actually agreed to marry you?”

“Best thing that ever happened to her.”

“Who
was
this lady?”

He flipped through the pages of the menu. “Police chief's daughter. We'd been together for a while—I'd break up with her, screw around some, make up again, break up again, that kinda thing. Dakota was all right—her teeth kinda drove me crazy.”

“Why? They kept scraping against your ego?”

He winked at me. “You think my ego's big, I got somethin' bigger than
that
.” He grinned, pleased with his massive … wit. “Anyway, it ended when I got caught with my pants down.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Literally? Or…”

“So there was this girl I'd been seein' on the side, just talkin' to, really. She was
hot
. I mean…” He flung his hand as though it had caught fire. “And so, you know, she wanted me, I wanted her, one thing led to the next, and we went to Cheyenne State Park. And we're there, on the hood of my Crown Vic, going at it, and man … Security cameras caught it all.”

I was gawking at him now.

“
Technically
I didn't break any laws, but I needed to get the hell out of Colorado before the chief drop-kicked my ass off the side of Pikes Peak.”

I laughed. “And then you came
here
? Neptune is more like Colorado than South Los Angeles.”

The ancient waitress—her name tag read
ALMA
—tore my attention away from Colin's tale with glasses of iced water. Great timing, since I had started to shake from hunger and from that boxed-in feeling that everyone in the restaurant was watching me, judging me for stopping for the day, laughing, and having dinner.

“So what'll you have, sweetie?” Alma asked.

I ordered a pastrami sandwich and a pomegranate margarita.

Colin ordered corn beef and a Sam Adams. After Alma left us, he said, “You look lovely tonight.”

I snorted. “You're an idiot.”

He flushed. “I'm … I'm a little nervous, believe it or not.”

“This isn't a date.”

His flush deepened. “People don't know that. I mean, I'm attractive and you're—”

“And you're an idiot. Just shut up, Colin. Drink your water. Chew some ice.”

“Not that you're my type.”

I faked a sad face. “Color me disappointed.”

He broke into a wide grin. “Don't get me wrong. You're cute and everything. You just wouldn't give a damn about pleasing me.”

“Wow,” I said, eyes back on the television, “it's like you've known me my entire life.”

He leaned forward. “Has Greg—?”

“Change the subject.”

“Why so serious?”

“Why is Greg any of your business?” I asked, the indifference now evaporating.

He rolled up his shirtsleeves—there was a tattoo of the Cracker Jack sailor boy and his dog on the inside of his left arm. “We can't talk about work. We can't talk about your husband. What's on Elouise's approved topics list?”

I twisted my lips as I thought, then said, “
American Idol
and … that's about it.”

Alma brought over a bowl of pickles and green tomatoes.

“These are good.” I speared a pickle, bit into it, and shivered as my mouth tingled from brine and cold vinegar. “Add pickles to my approved topics list.”

“So your old partner?” Colin asked.

“He was a good guy.”

“Yeah?”

“Took me in when nobody wanted to partner with me cuz I was a girl.”

“Cuz girls be fuckin' up,” he said.

I flipped him the bird and continued. “He was funny. An Italian-American Southerner. Bruno Abbiati. Dude was a hard-ass and he pushed me when all I wanted was to take the bar exam again. He'd say”—I dropped my voice an octave—“‘Lou, you need to embrace bein' a gal. Perps think with their dicks and most men could fuck up a one-car funeral because of that, so you better take advantage of that stupidity.'”

“Ha,” Colin said. “A one-car funeral.”

I stabbed another pickle and bit off a chunk. “Bruno was a dinosaur, but he was a good guy.”

“He die?”

“Nope. Parkinson's. The shakes made him turn in his badge.”

“Back in the Springs,” Colin said, “my partner was ultrareligious. I mean, when we weren't talking about the case he was tryin' to baptize me or read me these fuckin' pamphlets and…” He shook his head as he remembered. “I don't miss that guy. He creeped me out. You, though. I don't know
what
you believe, and I'm sure with us workin' together, I'll find out, but you seem…”

“Godless?” I asked.

He snickered, then plucked a tomato wedge from the bowl. “How does it feel? With your sister's case being similar to Monique's? With the Crase connection, I mean.”

I sang, “‘I don't think I can take it, cuz it took so long to bake it'…”

“So … you feel sad?” he said.

Someone somewhere aimed a remote control at the television and switched to
TMZ
.

“I love this show,” Colin said. “I'm thinking of taking that bus tour. You know, to get my bearings.”

I held my chin in my hand. “That's a different Los Angeles. Lindsay Lohan and Justin Bieber don't drive south of Pico. But don't let me stop you: take the tour. Just don't try to expense it as education.”

“Your friend,” he said, “the reporter. What's her name again?”

I smirked. “You really forgot her name?”

He did his squinty-eye flirty thing, thought about it, and added work-the-jaw-this-way-and-that.

“Just ask the question, Colin,” I said.

“She go out with white boys?”

“Why? Know any cute ones?”

“Can you put in a good word for me?”

“Sure. When I have something good to say.”

He laughed, then speared a pickle. “So was your sister like Monique?”

“You mean, living the double-life thing?” I nodded. “Except Tori didn't really hide it toward the end. Didn't have to since my mother worked all the time and was never home. By then, my father had been gone for a few years.”

“The similarities are kinda spooky,” he said. “Same age, same race, found in the same spot of town, the scent of Napoleon Crase's cologne in both scenarios.”