Frank didn't move and Bobby asked, 'Right now?'
'Yeah.'
'Why?' he asked, sliding open a drawer.
'Nothing. Just curious.'
Obsessively tidy, Bobby found a specific folder in his tabbed and cross-tabbed files. He flipped through to an indexed page and read, 'Romeo. John-John Row-may-oh.'
'Row-may-oh,' she repeated. 'Huh.'
'What?'
'Nothing. Did we ever fill out a package on him?'
Bobby shook his head. Detectives were supposed to register confidential informants. Irie, like a lot of other CIs, had balked at becoming an official snitch but the detectives used him anyway.
Frank edged off the desk. 'Anyway. Good job. Get to studying, huh?'
'Roger that.'
Before getting tangled in the whirlwind of running a homicide unit Frank closed her office door and called Gail. 'Hey,' she greeted. 'How about lunch?'
'Where are you?'
'Work.'
'When did you get in?'
'Late last night. Figured you wouldn't want to give me a ride home at three a.m.'
'You figured correct, copper. Welcome home.'
'Thanks. It's good to be back. So whaddaya say? Lunch?'
'I can't. Not today. It's too busy. But how about dinner? Maybe Saturday?'
'Dinner it is.'
'Did you find anything else before you left?'
'You mean Cammayo?'
'Yeah.'
'No. I gotta chase a couple leads down from when he was in the can. I'm pretty sure they'll just go to ground, but still and all, it's nice to have a name after all this time. Even though he's probably long dead.'
'Are you sure it's him?'
'Certain.'
'Well, good. That must feel satisfying.'
'I don't know about satisfying,' Frank mused. 'More like done. Just over.'
'I'm happy for you.'
'Thanks. Me too. How you been?'
'Okay. Tired. Exhausted really. I fall into bed and wake up exhausted. I think I need another vacation.'
'I read about the Bentley case. Sounds like it's the Sheriff's nightmare now.'
'Yeah, thank God.'
'So ...' Frank danced around her question. 'When was the last time you had a checkup?'
'I'm going in on Friday. I'm sure it's nothing. I probably just need to take my iron. I've been getting home too late to eat dinner and then I don't want to take vitamins on an empty stomach, so I don't, and this is what happens.'
'Sounds like you need someone to cook for you.'
'Does this mean you're making dinner Saturday?'
'Lady's choice. I'll take you out, cook at home, whatever you'd like.'
'I miss your cooking. Why don't I come over?'
'What would you like?'
'I don't know. Steaks? Up my iron intake?'
Frank already missed the red wine she'd drink with a steak, but answered, 'You got it. See you around six?'
'That'll be perfect. I'll see you then.'
''Kay.'
'I'm glad you're back.'
'Me too. Saturday.'
'Saturday.'
Frank nestled her pleasure close to her heart, keeping it there like a small warm bird.
CHAPTER 45
Tuesday, 25 Jan 05— Home
Tired. Easy day but boring. Had to sit through one of Foubarelle's bitch sessions and then the supervisors' meeting. Cleared up a lot on my desk though. Hit the downtown meeting after work. Really like that one. Missed it. Always a lot of cops, law enforcement types there. A couple people missed me. Bull thought Td gone back out. He's a good guy. Retired from the Santa Monica PD, been sober twenty-one years. Pretty inspiring character. He's got some hairy stories—stopped drinking after he'd called in sick three days in a row, on a bender. Sitting on his couch, throwing up blood into a crystal vase, he saw himself in the mirror over the mantle. Death warmed over, sitting in his living room, holding a vase full of bloody puke. Gave me the willies. Like seeing me in the TV with the Beretta in my mouth.
Had a nice talk with Gail. She's coming over for dinner on Saturday. Yeah, okay, Tm excited. I know anything can happen between now and Saturday but just the fact that she wants to have dinner is encouraging. I miss her. Miss talking to her everyday, going to bed together, waking up next to her and everything in between. Even miss her clothes all over the floor and dishes piled in the sink. Small enough price to pay for love.
Had a good talk with Mary too. Told her about making the snow angel. She cried. She's so cute. She asked how the willingness to believe was going. I told her it was going well. Tm too tired to fight it. If there's something out there, great. If not, oh well, me and billions of others have been duped. And no way to tell either way. So whatever. Tm willing to be willing to believe there's something out there. Maybe that's who made Bull look in the mirror that morning or made me glance at the TV.
Speaking of weird, I was talking to Darcy and guess who walks into the squad room? Marguerite, of all people. All five-two and a hundred-twenty pounds of tightly packed flesh. Still a bomb, which made her appearance interesting enough, but given how much she dislikes poor Darcy I was surprised to see her there. He was too. While he was recovering, she says to me, 'Hello, Lieutenant. You're looking well.'
I thank her, tell her I am well.
'Yes,' she says. 'I can feel that.'
I kind of nod, make to leave, but she shakes her head and says, 'Still unconvinced, aren't you? What a waste.'
'Waste of what?' I ask.
'You have a gift, Lieutenant. Like my ex-husband. The gods gave you both a talent and you both choose to squander it. It's a shame.'
Darcy growls, 'Marguerite, if you came to berate us maybe you could at least wait until end of watch.'
She gives him a sour look and says she's come to talk about Gabriela, if he can spare three minutes for his daughter.
I say, 'Good to see you again, Ms. James,' and start for my office.
She tells me, 'Likewise, Lieutenant,' and before I can even see it she's taken one of her business cards—from out of nowhere—maybe she was holding it in her hand, but it felt too cool and smooth to have been held there for long—and she says, 'Come see me again, Lieutenant. Soon.'
I smile, ask, 'Why soon?'
She laughs—gorgeous woman, frankly stunning when she laughs. I
