Why a shrink for bait?
How had Danny and Sturgis put it all together?
He'd find out tomorrow. Tonight his job was to keep an eye on the house. If something looked treacherous for the shrink, pull some kind of distraction.
More, if necessary.
He made it to Rondo Vista nearly out of breath, wanting to clear his throat but the street was too silent for that kind of noise so he lived with the phlegm.
He'd made sure to eat an orange before leaving, keep the old blood sugar steady, he should probably test more often, but sticking himself was such a hassle.
As he stood there, searching for the house, he became aware of pounding in his ears. Like a fast tide, the high blood pressure. Luanne had died of a stroke- no, stupid to think about that… Lord, it was quiet up here.
Manson Family terrain; you could dismember someone in the middle of the road, no one would notice til sunrise… There was the house, small place, white with dark trim, gray or blue.
He studied the layout, examined nearby cars.
One in front, the Karmann Ghia Danny had given the shrink, and an old pink T-bird in the driveway that had to be the girl's.
Nothing else except the few vehicles he'd passed on the way up. Couple of compacts and one honey, a white Porsche 928, no doubt some hill-house guy's toy. Porsches and hill-houses went together, the old L.A. lifestyle he'd never much tasted…
Danny had said look out for three things: a Chevy van, it could be in the garage, Baker's Saab, and a Mercedes sedan owned by some other shrink named Lehmann.
What the hell was this all about?
He looked carefully. None of those were around. Maybe in the garage.
If he'd been official, he'd have run a make on every vehicle within a half-mile radius, the compacts, the white Porsche, but now…
Retirement.
He realized he was breathing fine, felt good, great, no more pounding, no clammy skin or other warning signs of impending hypoglycemia.
Revolver in his shoulder holster, nine-millimeter tucked in his waistband at the small of his back.
This was good. A send-off before he died a slow death in Arizona.
Ten more minutes of silent watching from behind a tree, and he decided to get a closer look at the house.
A narrow space ran between the crazy girl's place and its southern neighbor and Gene could see lights- more hill-houses way across a canyon.
From what he could tell, the ground sloped down sharply, probably not much backyard.
Danny'd said that if Sturgis was there, that's where he'd probably be stationed, but he had a feeling Sturgis wouldn't make it.
Cold, quiet anger in the Israeli's voice. Unusual…
Sturgis. Gene didn't know the guy, had only seen him from a distance and he didn't look in any better shape than Gene. Usually you thought of those gay guys being obsessed with their bodies. Luanne had once remarked that they seemed to be the best-looking guys, probably because they didn't have families, plenty of time for the gym-
The conversation in his head came to an abrupt halt; had he heard something?
A rustling?
No, just silence. And nothing around the house had changed.
He examined the place some more. Not much in the way of front windows, and the way the structure was stuck into the hillside, the entire bottom floor was below street level. Probably lots of windows in back, to catch the view. How to get back there- was there some foothold? Had to be for someone like Sturgis to obtain a position.
Enough idle curiosity. The idea was to stay here, on the chance- the less-than-unlikely, minuscule off-chance- that his old bones would see some action.
If Luanne were alive she'd say something like,
That night, finding her on the kitchen floor… stop. Don't even think her name, don't visualize her face.
God, he missed her-
He decided to go past the house, check out the northern edge of the girl's property.
As he took a step, something pressed against his left mastoid and a voice whispered, “Don't move, don't even blink. Hands up, very slowly- behind the head, grab the head.”
A hand took hold of his shoulder and turned him around.
Suppressing
It was Sturgis and he looked furious. His eyes were green- God, they were bright, even in the darkness. The guy stank of exertion and stress.
They stared at each other. Sturgis's shirt had a button missing. Something black and plastic, probably one of those German Glocks, was a foot from Gene's nose.
“Hey,” whispered Gene. “I'm a civilian now, but shouldn't rank count for something, Detective?”
Sturgis kept staring.
“Can I drop the damn hands, Detective Sturgis?”
The Glock lowered. “What're you doing here, Captain?”
Gene told him about the bathroom call. The guy didn't look surprised, just angrier.
The disheveled appearance. They'd tried to keep
Gene said, “You, too?”
Half a nod.
“The Israelis actually grabbed you?”
Sturgis's lips pulled back, showing teeth- something out of a horror movie, and Gene was glad the guy was a cop.
Then the realization hit him.
“The department?” said Gene.
Sturgis didn't answer.
“Damn… and you escaped.”
“Yeah, I'm a fucking Houdini.”
“And now you're in deep manure.”
Sturgis shrugged and lowered the black gun to his side. “Keeps life interesting.” He guided Gene back behind the tree.
“How long you been up here?” said Gene.
“Got here right before you.”
“How far down did you park?”
Sturgis hooked a thumb. “The Porsche.”
Hill-house guy; so much for his powers of detection, thought Gene. It was good they were putting him out to pasture.
“You and Daniel had a two-man plan,” he said. “He was going behind the house. You figuring to do it now?”
Sturgis didn't answer.
Wasn't
“He was supposed to go back there with a microphone and a tape recorder,” said Milo. “I'll go back there but if the drapes are drawn, I won't be able to see anything. I don't like it, but Dr. Delaware's in there already.”
“See what you mean,” said Gene. “Daniel also said it would probably turn out to be nothing.”
