She seemed skeptical as she got into her car. I leaned down and looked in at her.
'Listen, Vicki. I think Diamond is in way over her head. She's the new executive director of the home, but she told me she has to give up the secretary-treasurer job because the state says she can't hold both positions at once. She doesn't seem to be able to get anybody to take over that job. You're a CPA, I was thinking you should volunteer to take the position.'
She was digging in her purse for her keys but suddenly stopped and was now holding my gaze with hard hazel eyes. I wondered if the hand in her purse had that Bulldog pointing at my crotch.
'Really?'
'Yeah. It would really help Diamond and it would be good to have somebody on the inside, going through the books, trying to figure out what the hell was really going on in that place.'
She gave me a slow devious smile. 'You re a tricky bastard, aren't you?'
I didn't answer that one.
'I could certainly do that,' she said thoughtfully. 'Matter of fact, it's something I'd really enjoy. They got anything left to look at? The building was completely torched.'
'Diamond said they're rebuilding the files somehow. I don't know how they're doing it.'
'Probably calling around to everyone they wrote checks to, getting all their accounts receivable to send them copies of old invoices and billing records, reconciling those against the bank statements. There'd be some holes, but it would be generally accurate.'
'See you in the morning. Don't shoot anybody on your way out of here.'
She smiled at me, then pulled her keys out of the purse, started the Camry, and left.
As I was driving out of the hood, my cell phone rang. When I picked up, Sally Quinn was on the line. 'Just got your message, Hoss. What's up?'
'Sally, I need a little favor…'
'I've learned there're no little favors when it comes to you, buddy.' She had a smile in her voice, so I knew she was just playing with me.
'I need a records run on a guy named Rick O'Shea. He drives a new maroon Escalade, license number one- Victor-May-Ida-three-six-six. I also need his sheet if he has one, along with his DM V and any current wants or warrants.'
'Hang on a minute, gotta turn my computer back on.'
While she worked on the information, I drove out of East L. A., heading west toward Venice.
'Got him,' she said. 'Twenty-nine years old. Lives at 3859 Lupine Lane in Calabasas. I think thats a pretty good neighborhood. I've got an aunt who lives out there, off Pine. He had some write-ups for violent assaults. Mostly ticky-tack-bar fights, stuff like that. Nothing that ever went to trial.' She hesitated then added, 'He could have a record from somewhere else. Want me to start a federal run, see what I get?'
'Yeah, that might help. And listen, can you check with the prosecutors office and give me some info on an attorney named Sabas Vargas? His office is in Boyle Heights.'
'Done! Talk to you tomorrow,' she said quickly. 'I gotta run, Jeb's calling.' She hung up before I could ask her to run Vicki Lavicki and Jack Straw.
When I got home, Alexa was waiting. She had on a cocktail dress and heels.
'We going somewhere?' I asked.
'Not unless you get rid of that long face,' she teased. 'Then I thought we'd go to the Tiki Hut restaurant for dinner. Closest thing to Hawaii I can come up with.'
'Let's have a drink here first. It's been a long day.'
We poured two scotches, then went outside and sat on the porch chairs. Alexa told me about a conversation she'd had that afternoon with our son, Chooch, who was in spring training for USC football and had just suffered a mild hamstring pull. He was on the bench carrying a clipboard, stressing that it could get him knocked down the list in the Trojan quarterback derby.
So Chooch was bummed about that, I was bummed about Walt, and Alexa and I were both bummed about not going to Hawaii. Scully family karma was low.
I told Alexa about the cremation and what we were planning to do if the body hadn't been destroyed, adding that I was pretty sure it already had been.
We went to dinner, then we came home and made love. Alexa held me close. I fought to keep my thoughts out of a negative spin. I had failed Walt and, in failing him, had failed myself. Alexa wouldn't let me go there. She whispered in my ear. She rubbed my back and brought me erect again. I hovered there between ecstasy and pain, strength and weakness, longing and despair.
In the end, I knew I had to get past my sense of failure if I wanted to finally be there for Walt. I had to deal with the fact that, like it or not, I'd run from him. I couldn't change what had already happened.
I can't rewrite history, I told myself. So get going and start writing the future instead.
Chapter 18
I arrived at the twelve hundred block of Whittier Boulevard in Bovle Heights at eight forty the next morning. At that early hour, the neighborhood was quiet.
Vargas's staff of case-pending office workers started drifting into his bungalow at a little after nine. The members of the Pallbearers' Murder Club were there, all of us with guarded expressions, not knowing what to expect. Vicki and Seriana were working the phones. Seriana was trying to reach the funeral director at Forest Lawn while Vicki was chasing down the executive director at Oakcrest.
Sabas Vargas had left the room to call a 'friendly judge' who had agreed to fast-track his court papers if this ever came to pass.
Then the miracle happened.
Seriana came back into the den and announced that Walt's body-had not yet been cremated. It was scheduled to go in the oven at eleven o'clock that morning. A small cheer went up from the five of us. Seriana's face remained impassive, but I saw the fierce spark of victory flash in her eyes.
From that point on, it all went pretty quickly. First, Sabass judge issued the restraining order to prevent the cremation, then came his order for Forest Lawn to release Walt's body to us for reautopsy.
By nine thirty, we were splitting up. Sabas and Jack were heading out to Forest Lawn to stand by Walt's casket and make sure nobody out there missed the order and put him into the oven by mistake.
The rest of us headed over to Oakcrest in the Valley. Vicki had arranged for the new autopsy to take place at just after noon and led the way in her Toyota Camry.
Oakcrest Pathology and Medical Group was located on the west end of Thousand Oaks. The area was filled with newly built commercial structures, strip malls, and modern office plazas. Oakcrest was in a new three-story, mirrored-glass building.
The director, Lester Shoe, was a bald guv in a suit who had a prominent eagle's beak. He seemed particularly fond of Vicki and gave us what she said was a killer price for a complete reautopsy.
The service included forensic photography; preservation of toxic samples; and a gross, as well as a microscopic, examination, complete with an immediate written report detailing the top-line findings. A full medical document would follow two to four weeks later. The price for all of this was normally five thousand dollars. Vicki had arranged it for three.
Sabas and Jack arrived at a few minutes past noon and reported that the Oakcrest van had picked up Walt's casket from Forest Lawn and the body was on its way. Then Vicki started passing the hat, collecting personal checks to pay the pathology group.
I wrote mine for five hundred dollars, tore it off, and handed it to her.
'That wasn't so hard, was it, Shane?'
I didn't know if she was talking about my writing the check or the fact that we'd managed to save Walt's body for this second autopsy.
The Oakcrest van with Walts remains arrived at the medical group at a little past one. Technicians in lab coats took delivery of the body and whisked it off to an autopsy theater. I called Alexa and told her what was going
