the Forgotten Man (2005) (24 page)

"It's not for me. A witness at the motel told me he crossed the street for a mocha. I was wondering where he got it."

"I get you. He could have come here. We got mocha, vanilla, and hazelnut - they're bullshit instant mixes, but we sell it. You know that stuff is mostly sand? You mix it with hot water."

The clerk's eyebrows suddenly arched with interest.

"Hey, was that the black dude?"

Just like that. You interview people, you never know what they're going to say, or why; sometimes, you kick over a stone like the thousand other stones you've kicked, and something glitters in the soil.

I said, "I don't know. Describe him."

"It was -"

His lips moved soundlessly as he counted on his fingers.

"- five nights ago. Big guy, buffed out and kinda fierce, with his hair high and tight?"

Five nights ago was the night Dana had prayed with Herbert Faustina.

"You remember every mocha you sell?"

He made a self-conscious smile.

"Not hardly. I remember this guy because of his chick. Dude, she was hot -"

He cupped his fingers to indicate the size of her breasts. Thomas hadn't said anything about Dana having a mocha.

"Did she have a mocha, too?"

"He came in alone. The Lakers were playing, and he's killing time, but he keeps looking outside. I'm thinking, what's this dude looking for, is he going to rob me? But then he says, shit, there's my chick, and turned so fast his drink splashed all over his hand. Ouch."

"Ouch."

"Right. This chick was smoking. I would've spilled my coffee, too."

"Un-huh."

"Anyway, he beat it back across the street. I just stared at the chick. She had a serious case of the floppies when she ran. It made my night."

He cupped his hands over his chest again, and bounced them up and down.

"Why was she running?"

"They got into his car, but then she got out again. She ran over to see some guy -"

Thomas hadn't said anything about Dana getting out of the car. No flopping had been described.

The door chimed as an Armenian couple with a small baby came in. The woman was sultry, and beautiful. The clerk stared at her and lost his train of thought. I touched his arm.

"Describe the man she ran to see."

"I wasn't looking at the dude, bro - I was watching her bags; they were hopping."

"An older man? Thin, with badly dyed hair?"

"You mean the guy in the picture?"

"You tell me."

The clerk glanced at the woman again, watching her walk, then sighed when he turned back to me. Fantasy interruptus.

"I didn't see the dude's face. I guess he was kinda old, but I couldn't swear to any of this. She almost knocked him over when she hugged him."

It had to be Reinnike. Reinnike had come outside, and Dana had gone to see him. Thomas hadn't mentioned that part, and now I wondered why.

"What about the black guy? Did he go see the guy, too?"

"He kinda ducked down like he was hiding. I thought that was weird. I think he took a picture."

"Why do you think he took a picture?"

"I saw his camera -"

He lifted his hands to either side of his face as if he was aiming a camera. As he demonstrated, the Armenian man asked if they had concentrated milk. The clerk told him to check the last aisle.

I said, "You sure it was a camera? Maybe it was a cell phone."

"Dude, I know a camera. Not one of those dinky little things, either; a real camera with a long lens."

He pointed out a white car on the street-side row of cars in the Home Away parking lot.

"See the white sedan ... four, five, six spots from the entrance, right here by the street? They were parked where that white sedan is. I saw the camera."

"How long was she with the other man?"

"Coupla minutes. Maybe not that long."

"Then what happened?"

"They left."

"Did they follow the other man?"

The clerk was beginning to look annoyed.

"Dude, I don't know if they followed him. They just left."

The Armenian family brought two cans of condensed milk and a jar of applesauce to the counter.

The clerk said, "I gotta get back to work."

"Me, too."

I thanked him for his help, then ducked under the counter and went out to my car. The air was cold, but I didn't feel it. It was ten fifty-three when I called Joe Pike.

I said, "I need you to meet me."

Pike didn't ask why; he only asked where. I gave him Dana's address.

Ken Wilson was right. Dead ends don't exist. Lucy had gone, but she would return.

Chapter 35

P eople lie. Half the people in jail were arrested because they lied even though they hadn't done anything wrong. A cop asked where they were Tuesday night, and they didn't say they were having a beer at the Starlite Lounge; they said they were in Bakersfield. Next thing they knew, they were popped for a Bakersfield stickup because they matched a description. They suddenly remembered they were at the Starlite, but then it was too late. They had lied, been arrested and booked, and by the time the detectives figured out they were telling the truth about the Starlite, the detectives had also found an outstanding warrant for failure to pay child support or skipping a court appearance. All because they lied about having a beer. Many people are like that. Lying is their automatic reaction. Thomas and Dana probably lied because they had something to hide. I didn't see how their lies had anything to do with Reinnike's murder, but I wanted to see their pictures.

Dana's street was well lit in a small-town way, with gold light softening the cheap stucco buildings to make everything seem nicer than it was. Cars lined both curbs like too many puppies crowding their mother. It was after eleven as I crept past Dana's building; the neighborhood had settled for the night.

Pike's Jeep was blocking a drive two buildings beyond Dana's. Pike was a motionless black smudge masked by black shadows. His window was down.

Pike's low voice came quietly from the darkness.

"I couldn't tell if they're home. The drapes are pulled and everything's quiet."

"You could've kicked in the door."

"Waiting for you."

"Okay. Let's see."

I told Pike how I wanted to play it, then walked down the drive to Dana's apartment. Behind me, Pike slipped from the Jeep. The interior light did not come on when his door opened.

I went to Dana's door, listened, then rang the bell. Her apartment was dark. The windows were cheap aluminum sliders with spring-loaded handles serving as clip locks. I tried to slide the glass, but the latches held firm. I padded the muzzle of my gun with my handkerchief, pressed the muzzle to the glass alongside the handle, then smacked the butt hard with the heel of my hand. The muzzle popped through the glass, leaving a jagged hole the size of a tennis ball. I opened the window, hoisted myself inside, then closed the drapes.

"Hello?"

I flipped on the lights, then checked the bedroom and bath to be sure no one was hidden. Like lying, people often hide, and then you don't see them coming. It can ruin your whole day.

When I visited their apartment two days ago, a camera with a big lens was on the dining room table beside the computer. Now, the camera was gone. The desk was cluttered with papers, a cordless phone, and dust bunnies, but a clean new LAPD business card stood out. Detective Jeff Pardy. I smiled when I saw the card. Pardy might be a flathead, but he was doing his job. It made me feel better about him.

I went back to the living room, sat on the couch, and waited. It was eleven twenty-six when I started waiting. At twelve-seventeen, voices approached. I went back to the dining room, turned the chair to face the front door, and made myself comfortable.

A key ground into the deadbolt lock.

Outside, Dana said, "But I turned off the lights."

Thomas stepped inside, not seeing me because he was looking at Dana. He was carrying the camera. He didn't see me until Dana stepped inside past him, but by then it was too late.

Thomas said, "You -"

Pike came in behind Thomas fast, and hooked his left arm tight around Thomas's neck. He turned Thomas's right hand high behind his back and lifted him inside. Thomas made a gurgling sound, and the camera hit the floor with a clunk.

Dana said, "Hey! What are you doing? Stop it!"

Pike let Thomas's weight ride the bent arm. Thomas tried to reach Pike with his free hand, but Pike was out of reach. Thomas kicked and twisted, but Pike lifted higher and cut off Thomas's air. You can't get much leverage when you're hanging by your neck with your tongue turning purple.

I closed the door behind them, then brought Dana to the couch.

"He's okay. You sit here and don't get up."

I picked up the camera and sat beside Dana. It was a professional-grade Sony digital with ports for extra memory chips and buttons I didn't understand. I gave the card and phone to Dana.

"Here, hold these, okay?"

"What do you want? Why do I have to hold this?"

"Pike, you good?"

"Perfect."

"Okay."

The camera had a view screen for reviewing shots. I turned it on, then pressed a button labeled REVIEW. The screen filled with the picture of an ordinary street. It was the picture Thomas had most recently taken. A bright yellow bar across the top of the picture showed the number 18. Eighteen pictures were stored in the memory. I pressed the review button again to see the seventeenth picture, and clicked back through the remaining pictures one by one. The first four pictures were ordinary shots of ordinary things, but the fourteenth picture showed a dimly lit room through what might have been partially closed curtains. The image was small and orange, but I made out what seemed to be a woman's back and a man's legs. They were stretched out on a bed, and the woman was hunched over the legs. The only clear shot of Dana was when she first entered the room and was still on her feet. The angle showed a clear view of her face. None of the shots showed the Home Away Suites or George Reinnike, aka Herbert Faustina, but as soon as I saw them I knew what Thomas and Dana were hiding.

I said, "This is sweet. Thomas here takes pictures of Dana with her johns. Why do you suppose he does that?"

Pike said, "Blackmail?"

Thomas thrashed as he kicked at Pike's legs, but Pike did something to the bent arm, and the thrashing stopped. Dana didn't try to get up. She seemed embarrassed.

I said, "You and Mr. Three Strikes left something out of your story the other day. Herbert Faustina's real name is Reinnike. An eyewitness saw Thomas take a picture of you and Reinnike outside the Home Away Suites. I want to see it."

Dana said, "We didn't take any pictures. Whoever said that was lying."

"Tell you what, I want you to call Detective Pardy for me. You have his card and the phone. Let's see how it works for Thomas when he's booked for blackmail, extortion, and suspicion of murder."

Thomas stiffened again, and his eyes widened. Dana held the phone.

"Dana isn't helping, Thomas, so I'll have to dial. We'll tell Pardy you don't just pimp tricks for your girlfriend, you take pictures to blackmail her johns. Then we'll see if Stephen rats you out to save himself."

Pike said, "Oops. Strike three."

Dana suddenly pushed up from the couch, and dropped the phone.

"It's Stephen. It isn't us. We don't blackmail anyone - it's Stephen!"

Thomas made a grunting sound to warn her to shut up, but she shouted at him.

"I'm not the one who told him about the car! I wasn't gonna say anything, but you had to say about the car!"

I waited for Thomas, and watched the resignation settle into his eyes.

"You going to talk to me if he lets go?"

Thomas croaked a sound like a yes. Pike released the pressure, and Thomas staggered sideways, coughing, with his right arm hanging limp. Dana kept shouting.

"You hadda say! You hadda tell him about the car!"

Thomas glared at Dana, but there was more hurt in his eyes than anger.

"It was my ass with the three strikes! Stephen already told him we were there. That bastard gave'm our names. I hadda give the man somethin', else they'd think we were holdin' out!"

I said, "Show me Reinnike's picture."

"I can't. I sent those pictures to Stephen."

Those pictures. More than one picture of George Reinnike. More than one chance to see his license number.

I picked up the phone and punched in Pardy's number.

"Listen, I'm telling you the truth. I sent'm to Stephen. After I sent them, I deleted them. He has them. I don't keep incriminating shit like that on my computer."

I lowered the phone. I studied him, then glanced at his computer. Thomas was probably telling the truth, but I couldn't be sure.