Sanchez winced, just a hair. It was intuition about my car. He could smell something about it. But he didn’t want to push me, and that was a surprise.
Cops didn’t mind pushing around men like me. That kind of pushing was part of their job. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a white man. Cops is a race all its own. Its members have their own language and their own creed.
I realized then that Sanchez was on the trail of something bigger than me, and bigger than the death of mulatto twins. Something that Idabell Turner had brought to America in a box.
“The man we found at your school was Roman Gasteau,” Sanchez said. “Idabell Turner is his sister-in- law.”
Is.
“His twin brother Holland,” Sanchez continued, “was found dead at his own house night before last and now Mrs. Turner is missing.”
“That’s a lotta happenin’,” I said to Sanchez. “Damn.”
“You don’t know anything about this, Rawlins?”
“Idabell is a kinda friend’a mines, sergeant, but I never had her confidence. I didn’t know her husband or her brother-in-law.”
“She never said anything to you about what her brother-in-law did for a living?” Sanchez was almost human in his need for an answer.
“No sir,” I said. The regret in my lying mouth was real.
“You busy right now?” he asked me. It was a simple question that one friend might ask another on a street corner in May. Maybe he’d met a woman who wanted a date for her girlfriend.
“Well, I got some work to do around the house.”
“This wouldn’t take long. Why don’t you come on up to the Hollywood station with me?” He didn’t sound urgent. “I think you could help.”
“Well …”
“Drive your own car. You’re not under arrest or anything. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“What’s this all about?”
“Nothing. Just a few questions about Idabell Turner. Captain Fogherty asked me if I’d ask you to drop by. It’s not far, you know. Just up here in Hollywood.”
“Okay,” I said. “If it’ll be short.”
“You can follow me.”
“Uh-huh.”
At that moment Pharaoh started barking. He yipped and whined and barked again. Maybe he wanted to tell Sanchez the truth.
The sergeant heard the dog. He even looked at the house but there wasn’t enough there for him to grab on to and so he turned around and went back to his car.
CHAPTER 20
I KNEW A SHORTER ROUTE to the Hollywood station but I trailed behind Sanchez’s unmarked car anyway. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I didn’t have faith that anyone would care for me. The only chance I had, I believed, was to make sure that nobody could bring me down.
Sanchez parked at a blue curb painted with big white letters that read FOR OFFICIAL POLICE BUSINESS ONLY! When I passed by he tooted his horn and pointed that I should park in front of him. I made a U-turn and nosed up in front of his black Chevrolet. He was waiting for me with a blue-and-red cardboard sign that had a long code number printed on it.
“Here, put this on your dashboard,” he said. “They’ll leave it alone then.”
The number reminded me of an arrest ID. When I put it down I was hoping that I wouldn’t meet its brother inside.
We went in through the large garage doors; a black man and a brown one strolling through a cavern full of white cops.
“Can I do something for you?” the first cop we ran into asked.
“Sergeant Sanchez,” my escort replied. He had his ID out and ready.
“Okay,” the towheaded cop said suspiciously. “Where you going?”
“Captain Fogherty wants to see us,” Sanchez said without a trace of anger in his voice.
“Where’s your badge?” the patrolman then asked me. He knew from the way I was dressed I didn’t have one but he just couldn’t let us go. I noticed that policemen were standing around their cars, and up on a high curb, looking at us.
“It’s at the cleaners,” I said. “Gettin’ a touch-up and a shine.”
“What?” The cop made a motion with his shoulder. He wanted to do something but hadn’t decided on what— yet.
My heart started moving blood at a fast pace. I gritted my teeth and watched the white man’s light brown eyes.
