I was, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it. I had spent the night with the older sister of my dead ex- girlfriend, whose murder I was supposed to be investigating. I was very close to becoming Jerry Springer material.
We paddled back out, side by side.
“How does this change your assignment?” Carter said.
“I don’t know that it does.”
“Just asking.”
Other than making things awkward between Emily and myself, I didn’t think it would affect looking into Kate’s death. Emily and I both wanted the same thing with that.
It was what Emily and I wanted with each other that I wasn’t sure of.
23
“Let me see the key.”
An hour later, we were in my living room, both in dry clothes, and Carter was sitting on the couch.
I grabbed the key off the counter and tossed it to him.
He held it in his palm and flipped it over a couple of times. “You sure it doesn’t belong to Emily’s heart?”
“You sure you don’t want me to kick you in the ear?”
He snorted. “She knows it was Kate’s?”
“No. She knows Kate left it at her place before she went to the hotel.”
“Can I hang on to it? I know a guy who might be able to get you something on it.”
I looked at him. “You know an expert on keys?”
“Something like that.”
I shook my head, surprised that I was surprised. “Yeah. Have at it.”
He closed it in his palm and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Message on the machine for you.”
“Did you listen to it?”
“Of course. I had to come in and get something to eat before I hit the water. I saw the blinking light and couldn’t resist.”
“Then tell me what the message is.”
He made a face. “But then I’d feel like your secretary or something.”
“You need to do something to earn your keep.”
“I don’t live here.”
“Fooled me.”
He pointed at the machine. “It’s that cop you used to sleep with.”
Or, as her colleagues called her, Detective Santangelo.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“Wants you to call her.”
I looked at the phone, hoping it didn’t work. “Right away?”
“As always.”
I went over and picked up the phone, frowned when I got a dial tone. I hit the machine, listened to Liz’s very serious voice, and dialed the number she’d left.
She answered on the first ring. “Santangelo.”
“Braddock,” I fired back.
She paused for a moment, maybe trying to figure out who it was or maybe not finding me funny. Hard to tell.
“I need you to come in,” she said.
“From out of the rain?”
She sighed heavily. “Noah. I’m not screwing around. Will you come down?”
“Depends. What happens if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll send someone with cuffs to get you.”
The neighbors had probably grown weary of seeing me with the police, and I didn’t want to rattle them so early in the morning.
“I’ll come.”
“Carter with you?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Bring him, too.”
“I’m not his chaperone,” I told her.
“No, you’re more like his mother. Bring him.” She hung up.
“Detective Santangelo wishes to see us,” I told Carter, grabbing my car keys off the table.
He stood up and stretched like a cat, his hands nearly touching the ceiling. “What if I don’t wish to be seen?”
“She didn’t give me that option,” I said, heading for the door.
He groaned. “Well, that’s not fair.”
“Come on. You can tell her to her face.”
He grinned. “Ah. A challenge.”
24
San Diego Police headquarters is located in the heart of downtown on Broadway, a couple blocks from the courts and jail and right near the Michael Graves-designed Horton Plaza. San Diegans liked to point out the strange shopping mall as a defining image of the city, but I could never get past the fact that the biggest obstacle in building the structure had been figuring out where to move the homeless folks so they wouldn’t be hovering around a major tourist attraction.
Square, bland, and unimaginative, headquarters could not look any more governmental. Liz’s office occupied a spot at the end of the hall on the third floor. Her head was down, staring at some paperwork on her desk.
“We’re looking for the Pirates of the Caribbean,” I said. “Can you point us in the right direction?”
She glanced up, pulling her dark hair away from her face and over her shoulder. “Shut the door behind you.”
Her office was small. A perfect square, with cheap cabinets in each of the four corners, her metal desk in the middle so that she could see anyone coming in. No pictures on the walls, only a city-issued calendar, with pictures of the zoo.
Carter and I sat in the two chairs facing her desk. Her chair looked considerably more comfortable.
“You need to back off,” she said, her eyes on me.
I scooted my chair back a couple of inches. “That good enough?”
Her mouth screwed into a tight circle, a clear sign that whatever patience she had allotted for me was now gone. Same old, same old.
She unscrewed her mouth. “Noah, Costilla is off-limits to you.”
“Officially?”
“Officially, unofficially, on the record, off the record,” she said. “Any way you want it. You go near him again, you’re done.”
She looked at Carter. “And before you open that sinkhole you call a mouth, that means you, too.”
Carter stared back at her with no expression.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because.”
“Gee, Mommy, I need something better than that,” I said.
