when his old man got it. They put some people out to search the roadside, but it’s gonna be a while before we hear.”
“Okay.”
Poitras leaned forward and looked at me, his forehead wrinkling up like a street map of Bangkok. “Simms says you’re in on this.”
I started from the beginning, telling them how Ellen Lang had hired me and why. I told them about Kimberly Marsh and said her address twice so Lou could write it down, and then about Garrett Rice and what Patricia Kyle had given me as background information. I told them what I knew about Mort from Kansas and his failing business and his heavy monthly note and his midlife crisis. It didn’t take long. Somewhere in there Simms went out and came back with three coffees. Mine was cold. When I finished, Lou said, “All right. You come up with any angles on Lang?”
“No.”
“Enemies?”
“No.”
“How about connections?”
“Unh-uh.”
Simms liked that. “Sounds like you been busting your ass.”
Lou drummed his fingers on the desk. It sounded like firecrackers going off. I’d once seen Lou Poitras dead-lift the front end of a ’69 Volkswagen Bug. “Simms said somebody went through their house last night.”
“Simms knows what I know. The wife figures the husband did it. I don’t figure it that way, but it’s possible. I think somebody went in there looking for something.”
Simms cracked a knuckle. “You think the wife’s holding out?”
“No.”
Lou said, “What would somebody want?”
“I got no idea.”
A tall thin man in a dark gray three-piece suit walked in and gave me the checkout. He had a tight puckered face that made me think of Raid Ant amp; Roach Killer. He said, “This asshole works with Joe Pike?”
I smiled at Poitras. “You two rehearse this?”
Lou said, “Wait outside, Hound Dog.”
Simms got up so the new guy could sit down, and Poitras shut the door behind me. It made me feel left out. The squad room was empty. Tail end of the lunch hour, all the dicks were still out scoring half-price meals. The big redhead came back with a sheaf of color copies and stopped when she saw the closed door. I was sitting behind one of the desks with my feet up, reading a Daily Variety. Half the desks on the floor sported show business trade papers. One of the desks even had American Cinematographer. These cops. She looked at me. I said, “Conference with Washington. Very hush-hush.” Then I wiggled my eyebrows. She stared at me a half a heartbeat longer and walked away.
I got up and wandered into the locker room for more coffee. An older cop with a bad toup and lots of gold around his neck was watching Wheel of Fortune. The place smelled like a ripe jock but he didn’t seem to mind. I poured two cups and brought one out to the holding cell but it was empty.
I was standing by myself in the middle of the squad room with a cup of coffee in each hand when Poitras’ door opened and Simms looked out. “I always take two,” I said. “One for me. One for my ego.”
“Inside. Bring a chair.”
I put the coffees down, took a chair from beside one of the squad desks, and went in. Lou said, “Elvis, this is Lieutenant Baishe. He took over from Gianelli a couple months ago.”
Baishe said, “He doesn’t need my pedigree.”
I looked at him.
Baishe was leaning into the corner behind Poitras’ desk, looking at me like he’d had to scrape me off the bottom of his shoe. Without waiting he went on, “I know about you. Big deal in the Army, security guard at a couple of studios, sucking around town with that bastard Joe Pike. They say you think you’re tough. They say you think you’re cute. They also say you’re pretty good. Okay. Here’s what we’ve got. The highway patrol up by Lancaster finds Morton Lang shot to death behind the wheel of his car, an ’82 Cadillac Seville. He’s got three in the chest and one in the temple, close range.” Baishe touched his forehead. Wasn’t much hair there to get in the way. “No shell casings in the car, but the people up there say it looks like a 9mm. There’s blood, but not a whole lot, and some peculiar lividity patterns so maybe he wasn’t popped there in his car. Maybe he got it somewhere else and he was put there. No sign of the kid. Car’s been wiped clean. Robbery’s out. He’s still got his wallet and the credit cards and forty-six bucks and his watch. Keys are in the ignition. You got all that?”
“I’m watching your lips, yes, sir.”
Baishe looked at me, then at Lou. Lou said, “Cole has a brain imbalance, Lieutenant.”
Baishe unwrapped his arms, came out of the corner, leaned on Poitras’ desk and looked at me. He looked like a Daddy Longlegs. “Don’t fuck with me, boy.”
I pretended to be intimidated. After a bit he said, “How do you fit into this?”
I went through it again. Baishe said, “How long have you known the wife?”
“Since yesterday.”
“You sure it hasn’t been longer?”
I looked from Baishe to Poitras to Simms and back to Baishe. Poitras and Simms were looking at Baishe, too. I said, “Come off it, Baishe. You got nothing.”
“Maybe we dig into this we see a bigger connection. Maybe you two are pretty good friends, so good you decide to get rid of her old man. Maybe you rig the whole act and you pull the trigger. Setup City.”
“Setup City?” I looked at Poitras. His mouth was open. Simms was staring at a spot somewhere out around the orbit of Pluto. I looked back at Baishe with what we in the trade call “disbelief.” He was looking at me with what we in the trade call “distaste.”
I said, “ The Postman Always Rings Twice, right? 1938?”
“Keep it up,” Baishe said.
“That’s a real good thought, Lieutenant,” Lou said, “only Cole here is known to me personally. He’s a good dick.” I expected Baishe to laugh maniacally. Only the Shadow knooowwzz. I was getting tired and just a little bit cranky. I said, “Is that it?”
Baishe said, “We’ll tell you when that’s it.”
I stood up. “Screw that. I didn’t come down here so you guys could work out. You got any other questions, book me or call my lawyer.”
Baishe went purple and started around the desk. Lou stood up, just happening to block his way. “Lieutenant, could I talk to you a sec? Outside.”
Baishe glared at me. “Have your ass in that chair when I get back, peep.”
“Peep. You’re really up on the patois, aren’t you?”
Baishe’s jaw knotted but they went out. I glared at Simms. He looked bored. I glared at Lou’s desk. Behind the desk on a gray metal file cabinet were pictures of a pretty brunette and three children and a three bedroom ranch-style home in Chatsworth. One shot showed a couple of comfortable lawn chairs in the backyard beneath a poplar tree, just right for drinking a beer and listening to a ball game while kids played in the backyard. There was a picture of Lou doing just that. I had taken the picture.
Lou came back in alone. “He expects your continued cooperation.”
Simms laughed softly.
I said, “You notify the wife yet?”
“Not home. We got a car there waiting for her.” I could see a couple of street monsters parked in her drive, scratching their balls and waiting for a fadeaway woman in a light green Subaru wagon with two little girls in the back. Sensitive guys. Guys like Baishe. Sorry, lady, your old man caught four and he’s history. I said, “Maybe I’d better do it.”
Lou shrugged. “You sure you want to?”
“You bet, Lou. Nothing I want more than to sit down with this woman and give her the news her husbands dead and her nine-year-old son is missing. Maybe I’ll even break the word to the two little girls, too, for the capper.”
