“You believe,” Alan said.
“I saw Max,” I said. “Christy saw Max. If there’s even one chance in ten I’m right, it’s something worth worrying about.”
They all looked at each other. I listened to the grandfather clock ticking in the living room.
“Assuming that you’re right,” Alan said judiciously, “which I’m not sure I do, what should we do about it?”
“It’s what Christy should do. I want him to go to the sheriff.”
“What would that accomplish?”
“It would get him out of here, for one thing,” I said. “They’re pretty sure it’s not Christy. They just want to question him. I’ll get him a lawyer-”
“I’m a lawyer,” Alan said. “I’m a damn good lawyer.”
“Then tell him.”
Alan looked at Robert. Robert looked past me, at Christy.
“I’ll go,” Christy said. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
The best way to get from West Hollywood to Reseda is to take Santa Monica Boulevard west, through Beverly Hills and Westwood, and pick up the San Diego Freeway north to the San Fernando Valley. At nine-thirty on Friday night the traffic on Santa Monica was too heavy to make me happy: All I wanted to do was cross Doheny, the western border of West Hollywood, and get out of the Sheriffs’ territory.
I didn’t make it.
The red lights came on behind me at Almont. I pulled over and took out my wallet before they even got out of the squad car. I didn’t want to make any ambiguous movements.
Something punched Alice hard in the left rear fender, rocking the car, and Ike Spurrier leaned down and grinned through the driver’s window.
“You got a bad taillight,” he said. He was holding a tire iron in his left hand.
“I’ve been meaning to have it looked at,” I said.
He tapped the iron against the door. “Procrastination is a terrible thing.”
A uniformed deputy shone a flashlight through the passenger window. “Dangerous, too,” I said.
“For want of a nail,” Spurrier declaimed, “the shoe was lost.”
“Have you been following me? Somehow this doesn’t feel like a chance meeting.”
“It’s a conspicuous car,” he said. “We have radios, you know.”
“Boy,” I said. “The technological edge.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car, sir,” Spurrier said, backing away from the door. “Be careful of the oncoming traffic, now.”
“We wouldn’t want anything to happen to me.”
He gave me his wet smile, “Not out here, anyway.”
I climbed out of the car slowly, keeping my hands in plain sight. When I was standing on the road I laced my fingers together and put them on top of my head.
“Aren’t we cautious?” Spurrier said.
“I haven’t updated my life insurance.”
“Come around the car. On the sidewalk, please.” I did as I was told. “Now put your hands against the car, spread your legs, and lean forward, putting your weight on your hands.”
“For a broken taillight?”
“We’re cautious, too.”
The deputy patted me down, knocking my knees apart with more force than was strictly necessary. “Nothing,” he said.
“Just stay there,” Spurrier said. He handed the tire iron to the deputy and leaned forward and unbuttoned my right cuff. “It’s an interesting thing,” he said conversationally. “We’ve been poking around in Max’s house, and it looks like we had two intruders.”
“That’s a lot of intruders.” The deputy was shining his flashlight onto the backseat of the car.
“They both came in through the back door. Left the key right there.” He rolled the sleeve up and examined my arm, then rolled it down again and thoughtfully buttoned the cuff. “One of them left through the bedroom window. And I mean through it.”
“Must have been in a hurry,” I said.
“I’d say so.” He moved behind me and came around on the left. “The other one apparently went out through the door he’d come in through. Left it wide open.”
“Probably raised in a barn.”
“Did your mother use to say that?” He unbuttoned my right cuff. “My mother used to say that.”
“Your mother probably had cause.”
“Now, now,” he said, rolling the sleeve up. “Don’t antagonize the forces of justice. Whoever they were, they seem to have had a disagreement. How’d you get this?”
He ran his finger up the cut on my arm.
“Cutting brush,” I said. “Fire clearance.”
“Good citizen. Wish we had more like you.” He gave a little tug at the cut, and a line of fire ran up my nerves all the way to my armpit.
“Sergeant,” the deputy called.
“This is sure to be important,” Spurrier said confidingly.
“Latex gloves,” the deputy said, holding up the box from the backseat.
“That so,” Spurrier said. “I’m sure you can explain this.”
“Damn, Ike,” I said. “They were going to be my Christmas present to you. I figured, the way you must go through them-”
I stopped because he’d dug his thumbs into the skin on either side of the cut and pulled it open. I began to bleed immediately, and Spurrier yanked his hands from my arm.
“I’ve had enough out of you,” he said, examining his hands for my blood. “I think we’ll finish this at the station.”
I grabbed a deep breath, filling my lungs with exhaust. “Arrest me,” I said.
“I’ll arrest you when I-”
“I want the whole thing, Ike,” I said. “I want you to radio in now, and then I want the booking and the printing and the phone call, the whole dog and pony show. And I’m going to say all that again, loud enough for your deputy to hear me, and if you don’t radio me in, I’m going to turn and run, and you’re going to have to catch me in front of all these people.”
“Don’t you trust me?” He sounded betrayed.
“Not much.”
“Take him in, Sergeant?” the deputy asked.
“Just a second,” Spurrier said. He leaned closer to me. “You’re messing with the wrong guy, sonny.”
“Ike,” I said, gambling, “you will not believe how much I know about you.”
One of his eyes got very much smaller than the other, and he regarded me out of it for a moment that was long enough to make my legs begin to shake. “Check the trunk, Hal,” he called. “Keys are in the ignition.” When Hal was as far away as he was going to get, Spurrier pushed his big face within a few inches of mine. “Anything specific we should discuss?”
“Not with you. I want to tell someone who’ll be surprised.”
He straightened up and put his hands in his jacket pockets, gazing across the street and moving his lips as though he were running through possible things to say. One of the hands came out of the pocket with what looked like the same crushed package of cigarettes, and he shook one out and lit it.
“We’re not getting along very well,” he observed. “I may not have made myself clear, about Max’s house, I mean. There was a fight there, did I tell you that? What that means, the way I figure it, is that one of the people there was on our side. How does that sound to you?”
“Like enlightened speculation,” I said. “Can I straighten up?”
“Sure,” he said, as though he was surprised to learn I was still leaning against the car. “So I figure that person, like I said, is on our side, and maybe he’s got something to tell us.”
