I got on the bike behind him and told him, 'Quickest way is to take the 110 to the 405 and get off on Venice Boulevard.'
'Just hold on and try not to fall off. Til get us there.' Then he jacked the starter.
He ignored my instructions completely and took side streets almost all the way to Venice. The Pacific Ocean stayed on our left, winking in and out of view as we headed northwest. I leaned back on the chickie stick to keep his long hair from flapping in my face and tried to enjoy the ride. But Jack was having fun with me and kept swerving abruptly to pass cars so I had to grab on to him or the seat rail. Occasionally when he turned the ape hangers, I could see him in the handlebar mirror. He was either smiling or trying to catch bugs in his teeth.
We finally made it to my house in Venice. He pulled into the alley in back, then shut down the bike and dismounted. I climbed off and straightened my rumpled suit jacket.
'How 'bout a beer?' he said, inviting himself in.
'What'd you do your time for?' I asked.
'Home invasion. Couple a armed robberies. I pled them out and both got kicked down to straight burgs.'
'And you think I'm gonna invite you into my house?'
'Listen, Scully. If I was gonna rob a place, I wouldn't choose some clapboard shoe box on a sewage canal.'
I could see that Alexa hadn't made it home yet because the MDX wasn't in the drive. She was still at Parker Center polishing her already-clean desk. She's compulsive about her job. Even so, I didn't want to invite Jack Straw inside. I'd had more than enough of him already.
'Thanks for the ride, but I've got stuff to do.'
'Pop didn't gonk himself. You know it. I know it. Anybody who knew him knows it. This is bullshit.'
'Okay,' I said. 'You through?' 'No.'
He pocketed his keys and walked around his bike. 'Gimme ten minutes to make my case, then Til book.'
'Shit,' I said softly, but after taking a moment to think it over, I relented and led him to the front door.
We went inside and I left him in the entry but kept an eye on him while I got two beers from the fridge in the kitchen. Then we walked through the house and out into the backyard. He followed me, his neck on a swivel, looking around, checking the place out.
'You're right. Lotta pricey shit here. I love the papier-mache Mexican dolls in the living room. Where'd you buy those, Sotheby's?'
I handed him a beer. 'You're on the clock, Jack.' I pointedly looked at my watch.
'Jesus, Scully. Ease up. I haven't even removed this twist-off cap.'
'What joint?' I asked. 'Where'd you cell up?'
'Soledad. Got six years, gavel to gravel. Only did four. Two years were knocked off for good time. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Pop helped me get out. He was on my parole sheet. He's the one who got me the job at the cycle shop in Long Beach so I'd qualify for early release.
'I have a one-month hearing coming up with my P. O. next week. Guy's a real Barney. Walt was gonna go to my parole evaluation hearing and do my character stuff. We talked the day before he supposedly blew his head off. The man was not suicidal, okay? No way he went out in his backyard and did the Dutch. He was upbeat. He told me things were getting better at Huntington House. He sounded real pleased about something. Wouldn't tell me what, but he was flying, man.'
'Ever heard of extreme mood swings?'
Straw put down the beer and looked out at the canal.
'This is kinda restful back here. How does a guy who lives in such a peaceful setting get such a puckered asshole?'
'Okay, I guess that's it then.' I started for the sliding-glass porch door to show him out, but Jack held his ground.
'Hey, Scully. Answer me one thing. If you won't do it for me, then do it in Pop's memory.' 'What?'
'You're a cop. You know how this is gonna come out. The burn squad will say he torched the office or whatever, then killed himself cause that closes the case so they can get it off their desk and move on. You can't really think that's what happened.'
'Apparently there was a state audit coming. Money was missing. That's what Diamond thinks.'
'I don't care what Diamond thinks. I want to know what you think.'
'I don't know what I think.'
'You're kinda close to the vest, ain't ya?' He smiled. 'Or maybe you're just a pussy.'
'Yeah, maybe that's it.' I took a step closer.
He backed up and put his hands out saying, 'Come on, let's try to be adults here.'
He picked up his beer, almost draining it in one shot. Then he looked at me.
'So now we got Pop, the embezzler who sets fire to the office bungalow to burn the evidence of his crimes, then kills himself with a shotgun. What's next, child rape?'
'Okay,' I admitted reluctantly. 'I agree it feels wrong.'
He nodded. 'So we just say, too bad. Let the fucking cops pin this fire on him. Blow the home's insurance policy away. Whatever Arson says, that's it?'
I couldn't answer him. I just stood there feeling impotent.
'You're a cop, man. You could… y'know, raise some questions, make some trouble. I asked around at the church. Talked to some scary-looking chick. Theresa Gonzales.'
'Rodriguez.'
He nodded. 'She said back then, you were a scowling, ugly presence with five or six throw backs. No chance you'd ever make it in life. Look at what you got now. I don't have to ask if Pop had anything to do with it, 'cause I knew the man. You owe him, dude. Why don't you fucking pay up?'
He pinned me with hard gray eyes.
'Okay,' I said. 'Here's why I can't do anything. The police already investigated. They didn't find evidence pointing to anything but suicide. The city medical examiner did an autopsy of the body. Same result. Coroner listed it as a probable suicide. There was a suicide note sealing the deal.
'The body was released for burial with the classification self-inflicted gunshot-'death by his own hand.' No homicide number was assigned by the department, so there is no crime. Unless Arson finds a crime and puts a burn number on it, there's nothing to investigate.
'I'm a homicide detective, but I can't work a case unless the department assigns it a number. What about this don't you get? No homicide number-no case. Got it? I start messing with this I'll get gigged.'
'Bunch a words,' Jack said.
'You wanta get outta here, now?'
'Sure.'
He picked up his leather jacket, slung it over his tattooed shoulder, and then walked back through the house. I heard the front door slam. The Harley growled and roared away.
I stayed in the backyard for a long time after he left, just sitting there while I waited for Alexa to get home. She made it just before dinner and came outside to find me in my chair, looking in the direction of the ocean two city blocks away. In my mind I'd been picturing Walt out there waiting for that perfect set, searching for just the right steep. In my memory I saw him in the curl, shuffling up to the nose of his old cigar-box board in that weird Quasimodo stance of his, hair flying, riding the down rail. Why the hell had I deserted him?
'You okay?' Alexa asked.
'Can't go to Hawaii,' I said sadly. 'I've gotta stay here and work on this.'
Chapter 9
Alexa must have seen it coming. She didn't argue or try to change my mind. Instead, she put her arms around me and pulled me close. I was choked up with emotion, not handling it well. She could feel my heavy breathing and maybe sensed I was closc to tears.
So much of this was complicated in a way that I couldn't even describe. You can cut yourself some slack as a
