He grinned. “Try one
I did. At least it was hot.
“Very good,” I lied. “Please thank Mrs. Tomlinson.”
“I will,” he said. “So you are a detective now.”
“Yes. Perhaps it was inevitable.”
“How’s that working out?”
I shrugged. The cold from the concrete porch was seeping up through my jeans, numbing my buttocks. “It’s still a new agency. I like what I do. I seem to be good at it.”
“You’ve got the instincts, then.”
“I suppose.”
“So you waited before looking into your mother’s murder.”
I nodded. “I wanted to know what I was doing before I looked into it. Didn’t want to screw things up. Just wasn’t ready yet, I suppose.”
“So do you know what you’re doing now?”
“Yes.”
I took a deep breath and told him about the day my father arrived with the pictures. Bert listened without comment, sipping from his coffee, which he cradled in both hands.
When I finished, Bert frowned. “I know about your parent’s last day. Went over it in some detail with your father. However, he never mentioned the pictures.”
“My father had them developed and forgot about them.”
Bert set his coffee cup down, put his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers in front of his face. He contemplated his steepled fingers.
“Your father admitted to having numerous affairs. Would have been high on our suspect list had he not been out with you at the time of her death. Excuse me if I offend, but I didn’t like him. There was always something different about your dad, something off. Something cold and calculating. Everything added up to him being the killer.”
“Except for the fact that he was with me.”
Bert nodded. “Except for that.”
I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs to their max, and just held it. How could my father keep those pictures from me? How could he not care? My father, I knew, was a different sort of killer. He had been a sniper in the military, with many confirmed kills to his credit. A hair’s breadth away from being a sociopath, he held little regard for things living, and even less regard for things dead. In my opinion, he was a hell of a dangerous man to have loose in our streets. But there he was, out in LA, running one of the biggest detective firms in the city, and making a shit load of money at it, as well.
Bert was no slouch. “Obviously something was in the pictures.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Tell me about them.”
I described them in detail, especially the three photographs of the young man.
Bert was looking at me. “Sounds like he took an interest in your mother.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not much,” said Bert. “But it’s something.”
“Yes.”
“Any idea who the young man is?”
“No, but I will.”
“The picture’s twenty years old. Might be hard to find him.”
“For a lesser human being maybe,” I said.
“But not you.”
“Nope.”
“You’re going to bring her killer to justice if you find him?”
“No. I’m going to kill him the same way he killed my mother.”
“Slit his throat?”
“From ear to ear.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Good.”
He looked at me from over his steaming cup of joe. “I did my best to find him,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “I read the police report. You worked your ass off.”
“There were no leads. No clues. Forensics was in its early stages back then. Your mother had no enemies, and no friends for that matter. Your father had no motive for wanting her dead by hiring a killer-hell, they were even working on their relationship at the time of her death. She left behind no money. She wasn’t seeing anybody on the side. She wasn’t pregnant. From all accounts, she was a sweet woman.”
“She was beautiful,” I said. “She had that.”
“Yes, she was.”
“And someone could have wanted that. Wanted her physically, and then slaughtered her when they were done with her.”
“Yes,” said Bert. He looked away. “It’s the most likely scenario.”
“A random rape and murder,” I said.
Bert Tomlinson nodded. He looked at me again and set his big hand on my knee. He inhaled deeply and patted me once.
“Go find him, son. Find him for me, too.”
A black SUV pulled in behind my Mustang. Like a prison break, three young children spilled out of the back seat and up the walkway and into their grandfather’s arms. Bert laughed and fell back as the children swarmed over him like a litter of puppies.
“Who are you kids?” he asked, chuckling, completely succumbing to the unconditional love.
“Your grandkids!” they all chimed in at once. Now they were trying to tickle him. There were two girls and one boy. All were within a few years apart. The girls, I think, were twins.
“It’s like this every time,” said a male voice in front of me. “They love him more than anyone on the face of the earth. Definitely more than me.”
I looked up. The middle-age man in front of me was handsome. Tan and in good shape. Blond and blue-eyed. He gave me a winning smile, full of white teeth. His face was weathered and he looked a little older than he was, probably due to the fact he spent a lot of time in the sun, which was easy to do in Huntington Beach. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I stood. He held out his hand and I shook it.
“Walt Tomlinson,” he said, introducing himself.
“Jim Knighthorse.”
He held my gaze a moment, and then nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Knighthorse.” He turned to his father, who was buried somewhere under all the grandchildren. “I have to get running, dad. I’ll see you tonight.”
Bert raised a hand and waved. “See you, son.”
Gary left, and I wasn’t too far behind. Bert waved to me from the porch even while his grandson swung from his arm.
Chapter Thirty-four
The morning haze hadn’t yet burned off, and the sun was still hiding up there, somewhere. I considered getting some donuts, but didn’t want to overdo it, as I had already had breakfast and something that resembled a cinnamon roll.
At least it was made with love.
I passed a donut shop. Then another. I came upon a third.
My willpower shattered, I hung a U-turn and made my way back to the third donut shop, and left a few
