couldn’t see the faces of the guys from the van.”
“Probably Costilla,” Liz said, leaning forward. “He’s used them as his little soldiers before. Cheap and nasty.”
I nodded absently. A gurney emerged from the elevator, surrounded by people shouting at one another. They disappeared quickly through the swinging doors.
“Can you give me descriptions?” Wellton asked, peering over the notepad at me.
I shrugged. “Teen, male, Hispanic. That’s about it.”
He looked at me, the chest puffing out again, annoyed. “That’s it?”
I glared at him, not wanting to relive the afternoon. “Take the kid I hit. Draw a picture. Make three copies. That’s what I saw.”
“How’d your buddy get hit?” he asked, scribbling again.
I looked at Liz. “Some bullets flew into him.”
Liz covered her mouth with her hand and avoided my eyes.
Wellton took a step in my direction. “Hey, wiseass, you left a crime scene to ride with your friend. Nobody hassled you about that. But now you owe us. I need some information from you. You can either talk to me here or I can take you downtown.”
I stood up. “You and what step stool?”
The notepad slipped from his hand to the floor and he put a finger in my gut. Probably aiming for my chest. I slapped it away.
Liz jumped up. “Alright, knock it off.” She looked at Wellton. “Give us a minute, John?”
He stared up at me, holding his ground. If I’d had a drink, I would’ve set it on his head. He took a step back, picked up his notepad, and walked down the hallway.
I pointed in his direction. “I will kick Gary Cole-man’s ass if I get peppered with any more questions tonight.”
“He’s wired a little tight,” Liz admitted. “He’s a good guy, though. He can help.”
I sat back down in the chair. “Whatever.”
She sat across from me. “Definitely gangbangers?”
I took a deep breath. “Looked like it.”
“What kind of guns?”
I pictured the ambush. “Automatics. Hung over the shoulder. They were just spraying. They weren’t good shooters.”
She nodded. “Sounds right.”
“You have the one I shot?”
“Yeah, but he’s in surgery,” she said. “You gave him a permanent limp. We have to wait.”
We sat there in silence for a few minutes, looking at everything but one another. I never would’ve said it, but her company helped.
“They lost her,” she said finally.
I looked at her. “What?”
“Kate was in the car with two of Costilla’s men in Tijuana,” she said, her eyes staring me down from behind the glasses. “Since they were on the Mexican side of the border, DEA took the coverage. We had her on the U.S. side.”
She shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Costilla’s men must’ve nailed the tail. They shook them off somewhere in the downtown area and she was gone for three days.” She paused. “Until you found her. We were searching in Mexico when she was right here under our noses.”
I let that sink in. It hurt.
“Why was she there, Liz?” I asked.
She stood up. “I gave you all I’m giving you.”
I thought about it and nodded slowly. She’d said more than she’d needed to, especially when I had been a jerk in her office earlier. “Okay. Thanks.”
“We had to tow your car down to impound for investigation. I can have someone take you to a rental agency,” she said. “Come down to the station tomorrow. We’ll do the report then, alright?”
“Yeah.” I watched her walk toward the elevator. “Liz?”
She turned back to me. “What?”
“Thanks for coming,” I told her. “Carter would appreciate it.”
A tired smile formed on her lips. “No, he wouldn’t. But thanks for saying it anyway.”
She disappeared into the elevator.
27
I left my cell number with the hospital staff and asked them to call me if anything changed with Carter. I fought the guilt of leaving the hospital and let one of Liz’s officers drive me over to an Avis counter at the Embassy Suites on La Jolla Village Drive.
After fifteen minutes of paperwork and avoiding the various sales pitches of the rental agent, I walked out to the lot with keys to a Chevy Blazer. It had tinted windows and gray leather interior that still smelled new. I missed the aroma of salt and wax in the Jeep as I pointed the SUV in the direction of the Crier home.
When Kate and I had dated, I had dreaded going to her house. The size of it, the smell of the money, the disapproving looks all had made me uncomfortable. I didn’t have the nerve to stand up to it when I was a teenager, the guts to tell them I was good enough for their youngest daughter. Now, getting out of the Blazer, I knew that nothing in that house would prevent me from saying what I wanted to say.
Ken answered the door, barefoot and wearing navy shorts and a tan Polo shirt. “Noah.”
“We need to talk.”
He waved me in, and we went to the large living room across from the entryway. Two white-leather sofas faced one another, divided by a marble-topped coffee table. Several large abstract paintings hung on the wall, reds and yellows tied together in ugly formation. The color on the canvasses couldn’t remove the sterile feel of the room.
Ken sat down across from me on one of the sofas. “What can I do for you?”
“Why was Kate here in San Diego?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. We assumed it was to spend the week with us.” He paused for a moment. “She probably needed some time away from Randall as well.”
“How did you get her out of it?” I asked.
He frowned, half circles at the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“How did you get her out of whatever trouble she was in?”
“I’m confused.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “Kate had some sort of deal working with the DEA. The way I figure, she got caught in something bad. Why else would she have been working for them?”
He thought about that and decided to lie. “Noah, I have no idea-”
I stood up. “I quit.” I started walking toward the door.
“Noah,” he said, his voice harsher. “Hold on.”
I turned around. “Tell me the truth, now, Ken. Right now. Marilyn didn’t tell me everything. I’ve learned more from staying away from you two than talking to you. I know Kate was involved in something that was way over her head. And I have a pretty good feeling you’re the only one that could’ve set it up. You wanna screw around with me, then I’m done helping you.”
He leaned back in the sofa, the leather collapsing around his body. “She was arrested six months ago.”
I walked back into the room and sat across from him.
“Heroin,” he said, his mouth tightening. “She got stopped for speeding up in Marin County. It was under the front passenger seat and was visible when the cop came to the window for her license and registration. There was enough to charge her with intent to sell. A felony.”
