efforts to obtain incriminating information. We are left to believe Mr. Trent or Mr. Wu communicated only in person or using disposable phones. You see? Nothing here hurts him.”
Scott felt himself growing angry.
“Evers, Snell, and Mills make three. Five men hit Beloit.”
“No one in what I’ve seen jumped out at me. Let’s focus on who we have. If we can bust these guys, they’ll give us the other two.”
Scott knew she was right.
“Okay. Are Evers and Snell still on the job?”
“Snell is on the job, but Evers retired six days after the murders.”
“That isn’t smart.”
“I don’t know. He had the years. He’s older than Ian, so it’s not out of line.”
“Old enough to have white hair?”
“Jesus. I don’t know. I’ve never seen either one of these people.”
Scott thought if Evers was old enough to retire, maybe he was the white-haired, blue-eyed driver, and his DNA would match with the hair follicles recovered from the getaway car.
“Evers is the point man here. You have his address?”
Cowly leaned back.
“What do you think you’ll find, the diamonds? The diamonds are gone. The guns are gone. Every piece of that night is gone.”
“We need a direct connection between these people and the robbery, something that puts Evers or Snell or the I-Man there on the scene, right?”
“Yes. If you want this so-called slam-dunk case, that’s what we need.”
“Okay, I’ll nose around. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“Weren’t you paying attention when we lectured you about the watchband? Nothing you find will be admissible. Your testimony about whatever you find will not be admissible. It will do us no good.”
“I heard you. I won’t take anything. If I find something useful, you’ll come up with a work-around.”
Cowly looked disgusted, but dug through her papers, and found George Evers’ address.
“I should have my head examined.”
“Have faith.”
Cowly rolled her eyes, pushed open the door, and hesitated. She looked concerned.
“You have a safe place to stay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Okay.”
Scott watched her get out of the car, and wanted to say more.
“Can I drive you back?”
“I’ll walk. It gives me time to pick off the fur.”
Scott smiled as she walked away, and pulled out of the parking lot. He went to find George Evers.
40.
Cowly cut through the Stanley Mosk parking lot, making her way toward the Boat. She picked away dog hair and brushed at her pants as she walked. That German shepherd was a beauty, but she was also a fur machine.
Cowly reached the end of the parking lot, and stepped over a low chain barrier onto the sidewalk. She didn’t think they were doing this the right way, and now she worried Scott would contaminate the case. Cowly absolutely believed a conspiracy linked Danzer and the murders of Beloit and Pahlasian, and, by extension, Stephanie Anders, but she and Scott weren’t playing it the right way. She knew better, even if he didn’t, and she was irritated with herself for going along.
Criminal police conspiracies had always existed, and always would, even within the finest police department in the world. There were protocols for dealing with such investigations, which often had to be conducted in total secrecy until charges were levied. Cowly had a friend who once worked with the Special Operations Division, and planned to ask her advice.
“Detective Cowly! Joyce Cowly!”
She turned to the voice, and saw a nicely dressed man trotting toward her, waving a hand. Tan sport coat over a medium blue shirt and darker blue tie, jeans; he could have trotted off the pages of a Ralph Lauren catalog. His sport coat flapped as he ran, revealing a gold detective shield clipped to his belt.
He slowed to a stop, smiling.
“I hope you don’t mind. I saw you at the Mosk.”
“Have we met?”
He touched her arm, stepping aside for two women hurrying toward the courthouse.
“I’d like to talk to you about Robbery-Homicide. You going back? I’ll walk with you.”
He touched her arm again, encouraging her to walk, and fell in beside her. He was relaxed, boyish, and totally charming, but he stood too close. Cowly wondered why he assumed she had come
A dark blue sedan slid past them and slowed.
Cowly said, “You work Homicide or Robbery?”
“Robbery. I’m good at it, too.”
He touched her arm again, as if she should know him, and Cowly felt irritated.
“Now isn’t a good time. Give me your card. We can talk another time.”
He flashed the boyish smile, and moved so close she teetered on the curb.
“You don’t remember me?”
“Not a clue. What’s your name?”
The sedan’s rear door swung open in front of them.
“David Snell.”
He gripped her arm hard, and pushed her into the car.
41.
Sunland was a working-class community in the foothills north of Glendale. Down in the flats, it was arid and dry, and deserving of its name. The neighborhood streets between the freeway and the mountains were lined with small stucco ranch homes, but as the land climbed into Tujunga Canyon, eucalyptus and black walnut trees gave the neighborhoods a rural, country feel. George Evers lived in a clapboard house that might have been a converted barn. He had a large rocky yard, a satellite dish, and a metallic blue powerboat parked on the side of his house. The powerboat was covered, and looked as if it hadn’t seen the water in years. Evers had a carport instead of a garage, and the carport was empty.
Scott drove past, turned around, and parked two houses away. Police officers rarely have listed phone numbers, but Scott tried Information, asking for a George Evers in Sunland. Nothing. He studied Evers’ house for a while, wondering if anyone was home. The empty carport meant little, but the alternative was to stare at the house forever.
Scott was glad he was wearing civilian clothes. He tucked his pistol under his shirt, let Maggie out, and didn’t bother with the leash.
He went to the front door, had Maggie sit to the side out of sight, and rang the bell twice. When no one answered, he walked around the side of the house into the backyard. Scott found no alarms, so he broke the pane from a kitchen window and let himself in. Maggie stretched to reach the window, and whined to follow.
