“So if it’s Costilla,” I said, turning around to Liz, “there’s really nothing to be done. Right?”
She shrugged. “Not at the moment, no. It’s a matter of putting a case together against him. Her murder will be one more thing added to the potential list.”
“Can you add her murder if you don’t have direct evidence, though?”
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. We’ll need something.”
“Which you don’t have right now.”
“No.”
It was an ugly circle to think about.
54
Liz and I decided to head over to Roberto’s to grab some lunch. We sat down with my rolled tacos and her enchilada at a stone table facing the street.
“How’s Carter?” she asked.
“Better,” I told her. “Saw him yesterday. He’s getting antsy.”
She stabbed the enchilada with her plastic fork. “Big surprise there.”
“He’ll probably be out in another day or two.”
She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. “You tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“That Elvis lives.” She rolled her eyes. “About you and me.”
I laughed. “Oh. I didn’t know there was a you and me. Yet.”
“I don’t either. Yet. Just wondering if you opened your big mouth.”
I finished off the first of the tacos. “He sorta guessed.”
“You guys are like a couple of sorority girls,” she said, shaking her head.
“A little, yeah.” I bit into another of the tacos. “So, is there a you and me?”
A Harley went ripping down Mission, the engine tearing into the air. We watched it zip past us.
“Last time didn’t go so well,” Liz said.
“Nope.”
“I’m not looking for that to happen again.”
“Me either.”
She finished off the enchilada and pushed the paper boat away from her. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t.”
“Me either.”
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “You were the last person I expected to see show up at my house the other night. In fact, if you’d asked to come over, I probably would’ve told you no.” She touched her index finger to her lips for a moment, a gesture that I knew meant she was measuring her words. “But I’m not disappointed that you came over, I’m not disappointed that you spent the night, and I’m not disappointed that we’re sitting here.”
“I hate to disappoint.”
“Could be complicated,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “My job, your job. We’ve each wanted to tear the other’s head off just in the last week.”
“I never wanted to tear your head off,” I said. “Maybe kick it once or twice.”
“Exactly. Could be complicated.”
“Is this your way of not giving me an answer?”
She smiled and tilted her head. “I’m a bitch. No doubt about it. You said so yourself. I’m not gonna change.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said.
“Plus, I hate Carter.”
I grinned. “You say you hate Carter, but you really don’t.”
“Most of the time, I’m pretty sure I do.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
She pointed at me. “If there is a me and you, that is your first official lie during the new me-and-you era.”
I waved a hand in the air. “Most people have trouble with Carter. I’m better than most.”
That earned an outright laugh. “If you do say so yourself.”
“And I do.”
We sat there looking at each other, the remnants of lunch dirtying the table between us. She may have been a pain in the ass, she may have been unreasonable, and she may have been hardheaded. She probably thought I was all those things, too. But I enjoyed being with Liz. She knew me differently than other people did, and I liked the intimacy of that. I struggled to feel comfortable with many people in the world, but with her, it happened easily. And to top it all off, she had never been unattractive. I was a sucker for blue eyes and black hair, and her blue eyes and black hair were better than most.
“Okay,” she said finally.
“Okay?”
“We’ll try the me and you thing.” She aimed a finger in my direction. “Try not to screw it up.”
“Same to you,” I said.
55
After lunch, Liz headed back to her office. She said she would check on Charlotte Truman and see if anything popped up. I didn’t think that it would, but I felt better that the investigation would be thorough.
I decided to drive up to La Jolla to the Criers’ home. When I arrived, Ken and Marilyn were sitting on the stone steps that led to their front door. Ken wore his usual sharply creased khakis with a bright-red golf shirt. Marilyn was wearing yellow walking shorts and a white tank top.
Ken waved at me as I got out of the Blazer. “Noah.”
Marilyn folded her hands in her lap and said nothing.
I waved back. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Ken shook his head. “Just getting some air.”
Marilyn looked at me, hopeful but skeptical.
“I thought I’d fill you in on something,” I said, leaning against one of the pillars that bordered the steps. “And tell you what the police are telling me.”
They exchanged anxious glances with one another and then looked back to me.
I told them about my encounter with Randall and my conversation with Charlotte Truman. I left out the part about Kate using again and softened Randall’s blackmail into simply pleading with his wife to cover for him. I didn’t see how either of those two facts would help them anyway, and I didn’t see the point in upsetting them further. I finished by telling them what Liz’s thoughts were.
Ken leaned back on his hands. “So basically they are going to wait out Costilla?”
I nodded reluctantly. “Most likely. They will do some more checking based on what I learned, but there’s really nothing else to go on. And, I’ve got to admit, Costilla’s a good fit. Motive. History.”
Ken shook his head and let out a long sigh. Marilyn put a hand on his arm, glancing at him. He tried to smile, but only got halfway there.
Marilyn looked at me. “What is your honest opinion, Noah?”
I shrugged. “I think that what the police are saying makes sense. I haven’t found a whole lot to contradict their idea.”
Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “What is your opinion? Are they right?”
