'How's the armored car case coming?' Alexa asked.
'We have a person of interest. Two, if you count Stender Sheedy Sr.'
She looked at me and raised an eyebrow, so I brought her up to date. I also filled her in on the few things I'd just learned about Diego San Diego.
'Sheedy is the nexus,' she said, cutting to the bottom line, like she always did. 'He touches both cases. He was making noise in the eighties and he's still barking.'
'Yeah.'
Alexa sat for a moment thinking about the case. Then she turned and looked directly at me.
'You know, for two smart guys, there's one thing here you and Hitch aren't dealing with, but you should because it makes absolutely no sense.'
'The abandoned gold.'
'Exactly. You've got this guy, Diego San Diego, who you think may be a big-time Colombian money launderer, making him a time-sensitive cash broker, yet he leaves fifteen million in gold bullion parked in that well house for over twenty-five years?'
'I know, but Jose said…'
'I don't care what Jose said. Jose seems a little flaky to me anyway. Something this out of whack has to be wrong.'
'You think it's counterfeit?'
'It's gotta be counterfeit,' she said, and set her beer down. 'Look, it's not my case, it's yours. But I was one of the primary responders on the triple that got this whole thing started. My opinion is, get a second assay opinion.'
I took another sip of Corona and thought about it. She was right.
'Hang on a minute,' Alexa said. Then she got up, went into her office, and returned a moment later with a slip of paper. There was a name and number written on it.
'Who's Materon Smith?' I asked.
'She's the contact person I talked to at the Jewelry Mart. She gave us Jose Del Cristo. I took him because he was immediately available. That doesn't mean he's necessarily the best. There are others who do gold assays down there. She said I could call her anytime, day or night.'
I was still holding the slip of paper when Alexa pulled her cell out of its holster and handed it to me. I dialed and got Mrs. Smith. She sounded like she'd been asleep, but after I told her who I was, she said it was okay, she was used to taking midnight calls from their brokerage contacts in Europe.
'I think we need another assay done for the purpose of legal verification,' I told her somewhat vaguely.
'I have three more firms I can call for you.'
She read off the names. One was the Latimer Commodities Exchange in downtown L. A. She told me they just went into that business a few years ago. I put Materon Smith on hold and looked over at Alexa.
'Latimer just started doing assays.'
'Go for it,' Alexa said. 'Might tell us something.'
'Can you set me up an appointment with Latimer first thing in the morning?' I said into the phone.
'They open at seven. How's seven fifteen? I can meet you there.'
'Perfect.' I hung up, then handed the cell back to Alexa. 'Seven fifteen tomorrow morning,' I told her.
'Good. You should probably call Jeb and have an armed patrol officer get one of the gold bricks out of the evidence room and meet you there.'
I made the call, waking Jeb up too. But he wasn't ticked off either because this case was now weighing down on all of us.
After I hung up, Alexa looked at me and said, 'I'd like to come up with something else, but my mind is putty.'
'Mine too.'
'Race you to the bedroom.'
I didn't know what she had in mind, but I got up and headed that way. I was going about as fast as a man who'd only had five hours of sleep in seventy-two could go.
Naturally, she beat me.
We made love in our big queen-sized bed. It calmed my nerves and raised my spirits, lightening my mood. When we finished we lay in each other's arms. She didn't speak and a few minutes later I realized the reason. She was already asleep.
I looked up at the ceiling, then pushed my thoughts about the case into a cupboard in the back of my head and slammed the door shut to wait for morning.
As I often did before sleep, I lapsed into a confusing personal inventory of my assets and liabilities. It was something I'd been doing since I was in the Huntington House group home as a child. Back then, I would sit on the toilet in the big, shared bathroom in Sharon Cross Hall with the door locked and my meager collection of stolen treasures on my lap.
I would look at my money, most of it lifted from the purses of social workers at the group home. I would count it, then stuff it in my pocket. Each time I examined the broken gold watch that I'd filched off some guy's towel at the beach I'd wonder if I got it fixed what it might be worth. A few rings and trinkets completed the stash. It was a collection of questionable worth, because I had paid for most of it with my own loss of self-esteem.
Lately these bedtime inventories tended to be more psychological than material, but now, all these years later, I again found myself fantasizing about wealth. It felt like lost ground. Was I still building my castles too close to the water?
As I lay in my bed listening to Alexa's rhythmic breathing I suddenly realized that I was having a midlife crisis. I was nearing the end of my police career and had very little set aside. As a child, my life had only been about me. I was the most important part of every equation. As I got older, I felt smaller and smaller inside my surroundings. This whole movie deal seemed to have kicked these hidden insecurities into overdrive. Now I tried to put things into a better perspective.
Sure, it would be nice to be wealthy, to drive a Carrera and have a huge house with a city view. But I knew if I wanted to have true happiness, I needed to rein all that bullshit in. It just wasn't me. At least not anymore. I had built this castle in exactly the right place.
It wasn't on Mount Olympus. It was in Venice Beach, California. That was my reality. And you know what? That reality was pretty damn good.
There were no angels singing, but I got to hold one in my arms.
As I fell asleep I was thinking not many guys got to do that.
Chapter 48
Alexa was out of the house early. I left a few minutes behind her so I could make it to Latimer Commodities Exchange by seven fifteen. I also wanted to start the spade and shovel work on Diego San Diego's background.
I was on the freeway by six forty-five, heading into town, when I finally got through to Barry Matthews, my contact on the white-collar squad who handled business and financial crime. He swung on better vines inside of L. A.'s complex financial jungle. I thought if anyone could pierce Diego's aversion to the press and get me some dirt, Barry was the one.
Once he was on the line I said, 'I need a deep background check, state and federal, on Diego San Diego.' I told him what little information I'd found horse breeder, polo player, commodities broker, film financier. 'Also, anything you can give me on his financial and banking affairs.'
'Point me in a direction. What, exactly, are you looking for?'
'I think there's a decent chance he used to be a Colombian money launderer in the eighties. That hunch is supported by the fact he dealt in easy-to-move, high-value international commerce, like gemstones and gold bullion.
'He might have a connection to a Swiss jewelry company called Farvagny-le-Grand in Geneva. I'd also like you
