wanting to move to Nevada anyway, because he had two strikes against him in California and it made him nervous.'
'Don't tell me,' I said. 'Before he left, he decided to give himself a going-away party.'
'A month ago, hamburger joint in San Fernando, late at night, just before closing time. Mr. Goad, a.22, a paper bag. Eight-hundred-buck haul. Goad already had the counter boy facedown on the floor and the money in the bag when the security guard appeared out of nowhere and took him down. Gunshot to the leg. Flesh wound. Goad spent two weeks at County Gen getting free medical care, and then they moved him to the Twin Towers. The.22 wasn't even loaded.'
'So now he's facing three strikes and he's trying to deal by selling out Richard. He's claiming Richard gave him money two months ago and didn't mind no follow-through. The Richard I know isn't high on patience.'
'Richard bugged him, all right. About three weeks in, wanting a progress report. Goad told him he needed to plan it just right, was watching Mate, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Was he?'
'He says no. The whole thing was a scam.
Come on, Milo, however you look at it, this guy's a liar and a-'
'Low-life moke. And if it was only Goad's story, your pal would be facing a much brighter future. Unfortunately, witnesses saw Doss and Goad meet at one of Goad's hangouts-ex-con bar in San Fernando, only a block from the hamburger joint he tried to rip off, which tells you how smart Goad is. The thing is, Doss didn't act too smart, either. We've got three drinkers and the bartender who saw the two of them having a serious head-to-head. They remember Doss because of the way he dressed. Fancy black duds, he didn't fit in. The waitress saw Doss pass an envelope to Goad. Nice, fat envelope. And she's got no reason to lie.'
'But she never actually saw money changing hands.'
'What?' he said. 'Doss was passing him Halloween candy?'
'Goad claims Richard passed him cash, right out in the open?'
'The bar's a con hangout, Alex. Dark dive. Maybe Doss figured no one was watching. Or that it wouldn't come back to haunt him. For all I know, this isn't the first time Doss paid a con to do dirty work for him. We've also recovered some of the money. Doss paid Goad ten hundreds, Goad spent eight but two bills are left. We just printed Doss, should know soon if anything shows up. Want to take bets on that?'
'A dumb psychopath like Goad actually held on to loose cash?'
'He says it was Greyhound money. Something to tide him over until he pulled off the hamburger heist. What's the alternative explanation, Alex? Everyone in the bar's lying? Some grand conspiracy to frame poor Richard because maybe one time he played golf with O.J.? Come on, this is crime as I know it: tawdry, predictable, stupid. Doss may be a hotshot businessman but he was out of his element and he screwed up. He's been on my list, along with Haiselden and Donny. Now he's moved up to number one man.'
'Does Goad claim Richard gave him a reason to kill Mate?'
'Goad says Richard told him Mate had murdered his wife. That she wasn't really sick, that as a doctor Mate should have known that, should have tried to talk her out of it. He told Goad he'd be doing a public service by getting rid of the guy. As if Goad cared about doing good-your boy thinks he's street-smart but that shows how out of his element he was. Mr. Brentwood slumming with the lowlife… It sounds damn real to me, Alex.'
'Even if you do find Richard's prints on the money, what would that prove?' I said. 'Goad worked for Richard and you just said he paid his workers under the table.'
He looked up at me wearily. 'All of a sudden you're a defense attorney? In my humble opinion, your time would be better spent dealing with those two kids than constructing excuses for their daddy. I'm sorry for you that it worked out this way, but as the guy who's been slogging this case, I'm happy as hell to have a real lead.'
He didn't look happy.
I said, 'Once more with feeling: where are the kids now?'
He hooked a thumb at the door. 'I put them in a victim's family room. Assigned them a nice, sensitive female D to keep them company.'
'How're they doing?'
'Don't know. Frankly, I've been spending my time on the phone with my alleged superiors and trying to talk to Daddy-who's clammed till his attorney gets here. I can't promise you the kids won't be interviewed eventually, but right now they're just waiting. Want to see them?'
'If they'll see me,' I said. 'Having the gruesome twosome show up at my door didn't do much for my credibility.'
'I'm sorry, Alex. Goad's PD called Parker Center direct, ready to deal, and a big brass hard-on developed. Try to forget the kids for a second and see this for what it is: major unsolved homicide going nowhere and along comes credible evidence of a prior threat against the victim from someone with means and motive. At the very least, we've got Doss on conspiracy to solicit murder, which might be enough to hold him while we go looking for goodies.'
'How'd Korn and Demetri figure out where he was?'
'Dropped in on his secretary.' He chewed his cheek. 'Saw your name in the appointment book.'
'Great.'
'You of all people should know it's not a pretty job, Alex.'
'When's Richard's lawyer due?'
'Soon. Big-time mouthpiece named Safer, specializes in getting the upper crust out of scrapes. He'll advise Doss to stay clammed, we'll try to hold your boy on conspiracy. Either way, it'll take a long time clearing the paperwork, so figure on his being here overnight, at least.'
He stood, stretched his arms, said, 'I'm stiff, too much sitting around.'
'Poor baby.'
'You want me to apologize again? Fine, mea culpa, culpamea.'
I said, 'What about Fusco's file? What about the painting? What does Doss have to do with that?'
'Who's to say the painting has anything to do with the murder? And no, nothing's forgotten, just deferred. If you can still bring yourself to do it, read the damn file. If not, I understand.'
He shoved at the door and walked out into the hall.
The victim's family room was a few doors up. A young, honey-haired woman in a powder-blue pantsuit stood a few feet away.
'Detective Marchesi, Dr. Delaware,' said Milo.
'Hi,' she said. 'I offered them Cokes but they refused, Milo.'
'How're they doing?'
'Can't really say, because I've been out here the whole time. They insisted-the boy insisted-that they be by themselves. He seems to be the boss.'
'Thanks, Sheila,' said Milo. 'Take a break.'
'Sure. I'll be at my desk if you need me.'
Marchesi made her way to the detective's room. Milo said, 'All yours,' and I turned the handle.
The room wasn't much different from an interrogation cell, had probably been converted from one. Tiny, win- dowless, hemmed by high-gloss mustard walls. Three chairs upholstered in mismatched floral cotton prints instead of county-issue metal. In place of the steel table with the cuff bolts was a low wooden slatted thing that resembled a picnic bench with the legs cut off. Magazines: People, Ladies' Home Journal, Modern Computer.
Eric and Stacy sat in two of the chairs.
Stacy stared at me.
Eric said, 'Get out.'
Stacy said, 'Eric-'
'He's the fuck out of here-don't argue, Stace. He's obviously part of this, we can't trust him.'
I said, 'Eric, I can understand your thinking-'
'No more bullshit! The fat cop's your pal, you set my dad up, you fuck!'
I said, 'Just give me-'
'I'll give you dick!' he shouted. Then he rushed me as Stacy cried out. Suffused blood darkened his skin to chocolate. His eyes were wild and his arms were churning and I knew he'd try to hit me. I backed away, got ready to protect myself without hurting him. Stacy was still shouting, her voice high and feline and frightened. I'd made it out the door when Eric stopped, stood there, waved his fist. Spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth.
