Anger sparked her to attention again. “That is outrageous! I have told you my car has not left this spot in three days!”
“So you have,” Parker conceded. “The thing is, I don’t believe you. It matches the description, the plate number, the damage to the car I’m looking for. I’m afraid you’ve got the trifecta there, Madame Chen. A tow truck will come and take your car to be a guest of the LAPD until lab tests can be run.”
“I’m calling my attorney,” she declared.
“You have that right,” Parker said. “I should also tell you that if the results of the tests come back the way I believe they will, there is a chance you could be charged as an accessory.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I’m just letting you know. It’s not up to me. I wouldn’t want to see that happen, Madame Chen. You strike me as a person who takes her responsibilities very seriously.”
“I’m glad you think so highly of me that you would treat me like a common criminal,” she snapped, turning on her heel and marching toward her office.
“I don’t think you common in any way, Madame Chen,” Parker said. “But for future reference, ma’am, Barneys’ parking lot always has an attendant.”
She gave him a look that might have melted lesser men.
Parker smiled. “I’m a regular.”
Unimpressed, she stormed off and disappeared into the building.
Parker sighed and looked around. The Chen family had a nice little business going. Neat as a pin. Everything A-one. He had purchased prawns here once for a quiet dinner with Diane. Excellent quality.
Maybe he would do it again when this case was closed.
He had left Diane asleep in his bed, putting an orange on his vacated pillow and a note that read:
It had been nice to fall asleep with her in his arms, and to wake up with her there. To do that more often seemed like a good idea. Not that he wanted something permanent, or legally binding. Neither of them wanted that. Rules and regulations altered expectations and issues of trust in a relationship, and not for the better, as far as he’d seen. But as he became more settled in his life outside the job, and more content with the reconstructed Kev Parker, stability and normalcy and connection were becoming more attractive to him.
He pulled his cell phone out and called Dispatch to have a black-and-white sent to sit on the Mini Cooper until he could get his warrant.
As he waited, he looked at the buildings across the alley. Plenty of windows overlooking the Chen lot. There were probably more than a few pairs of eyes glancing out even now. As soon as the black-and-white rolled in, the news would be all over Chinatown in a flash—among the Chinese, at least.
If he wanted to canvass the neighbors, he might find someone who had noticed the Mini Cooper missing, or perhaps had seen it leave or return. But Parker had no intention of doing that. He didn’t want Madame Chen as an enemy, or perceiving him to be one. There was no need to air her business with the neighbors and fan the flames of gossip.
The sensation of being watched crept over Parker’s skin. Not from above, but from straight on. His gaze swept the loading dock, the other side of the alley, and came to rest on a stack of wooden pallets sitting at the back of the next building.
Parker stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered—not toward the pallets, but across the alley, where tall bunches of purple irises and yellow sunflowers were being delivered in through the back door of a florist’s shop.
He eased his way down the alley, the pallets in his peripheral vision. When he was just past them, he glanced back.
A small figure shifted position to keep him in sight, wedging between the pallets and the brick building.
Parker turned and looked straight at his little voyeur. A kid. Maybe eight or nine. Swallowed up in a faded black sweatshirt nine sizes too big for him, his face peering out from the depths of the hood, blue eyes that went wide as gaze met gaze.
“Hey, kid—”
The boy bolted before the words were even out of Parker’s mouth, and the chase was on. Quick as a rabbit, the kid zipped past Chen’s lot, heading for the cover of a big blue Dumpster. Parker sprinted full-out after him, hit the brakes as the boy pulled a one-eighty, and skidded another ten feet before he could change directions.
“Kid! Stop! Police!” Parker shouted, sprinting back down the alley, his tie flipped over his shoulder, waving like a flag behind him.
The boy took a hard left into a parking lot wedged between a U of buildings. No way out Parker could see except to go in the back door of the center building. The door was closed.
The cars were parked nose-to-tail, two deep and four wide. Parker walked along behind the cars, his breath coming in hard, quick huffs. He set his hands at his waist and frowned at the fact that he was sweating. His shirt still had creases from the laundry. He hadn’t worn it two hours and he would be sending it back.
A quick glimpse of blond hair and blue jeans caught his eye as the boy dashed between a green Mazda and a white Saturn, crouching down to half his already small size.
“Okay, junior,” Parker said. “Come on out. I promise I won’t arrest you. No handcuffs, no pistol-whipping . . .”
There was a rustling on the fine gravel beneath the cars. A glimpse of pant leg, a black sneaker disappearing under a Volvo.
Parker stayed along the back of the cars, pacing slowly back and forth.
“I just want to ask you a couple of questions,” Parker said. “We could start with why you took off like that, but I’ll give you that one. A freebie. For future reference: If you run, cops will chase. We’re like dogs that way.”
He followed the scuttling sound back to the other side of the lot. He bent over and looked beneath a white BMW X5 with vanity plates that read 2GD4U. Big blue eyes stared back at him over a button nose smudged with dirt.
“Kev Parker,” he said, holding his badge down for the kid to see. “LAPD. And you are . . . ?”
“I have the right to remain silent.”
“You do, but you’re not under arrest. Is there some reason I should arrest you?”
“Anything I say can and will be used against me.”
“How old are you?” Parker asked.
The kid thought about that for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of answering. “Ten,” he said at last.
“You live around here?”
“You can’t make me talk to you,” the kid said. “I know all about my rights against self-in-crim-i-nation as defined by the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution.”
“A legal scholar. I’m impressed. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say. You really might as well not try to trick me,” the boy said. “I watch cop shows all the time.”
“Ah, you’re wise to us.”
“Plus, I’m probably a lot smarter than you are. I don’t say that to make you feel bad or anything,” he said earnestly. “It’s just that I have an IQ of a hundred sixty-eight, and that’s well above the average.”
Parker chuckled. “Kid, you’re a trip. Why don’t you crawl out from under there? You can explain the Pythagorean Theorem to me.”
“The square of the length of the hypotenuse of a right triangle equals the sum of the squares of the lengths of the other two sides. From the doctrines and theories of Pythagoras and the Py-thag-o-reans,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut as he sounded out the clumsy word, “who developed some basic principles of mathematics and astronomy, originated the doctrine of the harmony of the spheres, and believed in me-tem-psy-cho-sis, the eternal recurrence of things, and the mystical significance of numbers.”
Parker just stared at him.
“I read a lot,” the boy said.
“I guess so. Come on, genius,” Parker said, offering his hand. “All my blood is rushing to my head. Get out
