He stopped, worked his jaws. His hands were fisted. Never had she cursed at him. She prepared herself for an explosion. This would be interesting.
Instead, his face slackened. “God damn me? You could be right.”
In Schoelkopf’s office, they both clung to frozen calm.
The captain glanced at the drawing and put it down. “You did this, Barbie? Hidden talent… maybe we should retire Harold.”
He sat back and put his feet on his desk. New shoes, Italian, the soles still black. “It ain’t fish and loaves, but maybe it’s half of something.” He ripped the drawing out of Petra’s pad. “Talk to Juvey officers, see if anyone knows this kid. Also shelters, church groups, welfare workers, whoever’s dealing with runaways nowadays. I’ll make copies for P.I.”
“Public Information? You’re going to the press with it?” said Petra.
“You’ve got a better way of publicizing it?”
“Are we sure we want to publicize it right away?”
“Why the hell not?”
“When we first found the book, you thought it was weak-pointed out the unlikelihood of anyone reading in the dark. So what’s the chance the boy actually saw anything? But if we let the world know what he looks like and he’s a Hollywood street kid, we could set off a hunting frenzy. Also, if the killer knows Hollywood, he could get to him first-”
“I don’t believe this,” said Schoelkopf. “Maternal instincts.” The feet returned to the floor. He looked ready to spit. “You want to solve a crime or mother some runaway?”
A sickle of rage cut through Petra. A serene voice that couldn’t possibly be hers said, “I want to be cautious, sir. All the more so if he is a witness-”
Schoelkopf waved her silent. “You talk about the killer like it’s an abstraction. We’re dealing with Ram- fucking-sey. You’re telling me he’s gonna find a runaway before we do? Gimme a break-tell you what, Barb, if you’re worried about child welfare, keep an eye on Ramsey. That might even work out to our benefit-he goes after the kid, we nab him, just like on TV.” Schoelkopf’s laugh was metallic. “Yeah, that’s definitely part of your assignment. Surveil Ramsey. Who knows, you could be a hero.”
Petra’s lungs felt wooden. She tried to breathe, tried not to show the effort.
“So we’re using the boy as bait,” said Stu, and now Petra heard the father of six speaking.
“You too?” said Schoelkopf. “We’re tracking down a potential witness to a homicide-Jesus, I can’t believe I’m having this discussion. What the fuck have we talked about since the beginning of this case? Being careful. What the fuck do you think will happen if the kid is righteous and we make no effort to find him? Don’t waste any more of my time. You two produced the lead, now develop it!”
“Fine,” said Stu, “but if Petra spends her time on surveillance, our manpower on the rest of the case-”
“Doesn’t sound like too much else is going on with the case-”
“Actually, there is something-those similars you told us to look for.” Stu told him about Ilse Eggermann, the search for Karlheinz Lauch.
Schoelkopf hid his surprise with a satisfied smile. “So… there you go. Okay, you need more manpower-’scuse me, person power. Tell Fournier he’s on it too. The kid’s already his anyway, big bad burglar. The three of you do some real work. At the very least we’ll keep the streets safe from refrigerator bandits.”
Fournier said, “What do I do with my other 187’s?”
“Ask him, ” said Stu. “You were the one complaining about no glory. Here’s your chance.”
“Yeah, I’m the Pineapple Protector-okay, how do we divide it?”
Petra said, “I’m supposed to keep an eye on Ramsey. I’ve already interviewed him, so recontacts are reasonable. But hell if I’m going to sit outside the gates at RanchHaven all day.”
Fournier said, “Don’t blame you.” He palmed his shaven head.
She knew him casually, had nothing against him. Stu said he was bright. Hope so; she needed to educate him quickly.
She began. Fournier took notes. Stu was looking distracted again.
The final arrangement was Petra would follow up on Estrella Flores and Greg Balch, maybe take another shot at Ramsey, Stu would stay with the Eggermann case, and Fournier would contact Hollywood Juvey, local shelters and crash pads, try to find the boy.
Before the last word was out of Petra’s mouth, Stu got up and walked away.
Fournier said, “He all right?”
“Just a little tired,” said Petra. “Too much fun.”
Back at her desk, she called Missing Persons at every LAPD substation, found several Floreses but no Estrella. She copied down the two who were similar in age-Imelda, sixty-three, from East L.A. and Doris, fifty-nine, from Mar Vista, phoned their families, came up negative.
Same for the sheriffs’ bureaus. What now? Had Flores bolted back to the old country? Where was that? Mexico? El Salvador? Then she remembered something Ramsey had told her. Greg Balch had hired the new maid, so maybe he’d found Flores, too.
Another reason to chat with ol’ Greg.
But first she owed a call to Ron Banks, to let him know the Ramsey DV had gone down out of L.A. County.
He was at his desk, said, “Oh, hi! Haven’t gotten back to you because I haven’t found any complaints yet.”
“You won’t,” she said. “I just found out Ramsey has a second home in Montecito, Ron. The beating happened there.” Something else she hadn’t done yet, follow up on that…
“Oh, okay,” said Banks. “That’s Carpinteria Sheriff’s.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, about last time. Asking you out. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. The last thing you need is distraction-”
“It’s okay, Ron.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but-”
“It’s fine, Ron. Really.”
“It was unprofessional. My excuse is I’ve only been divorced a year, not really good at this kind of thing, and-”
“Let’s get together,” she said, scarcely believing it.
Silence. “You’re sure-I mean… great, I appreciate it-you name it.”
“How about tonight-where do you live?”
“Granada Hills, but I’ll be coming from downtown, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Do you like deli food?”
“I like anything.”
“How about Katz’s on Fairfax? Say eight.”
“Fantastic.” He almost sang the word.
She could do that to someone!
CHAPTER
34
A sky full of stars. The ocean roars louder than the zoo animals.
I’m at the beach, under the pier, smelling tar and salt, cold, even wrapped in the black plastic sheet.
Wet sand all around, but I found a dry patch near these big thick poles that hold up the pier. I can’t sleep, watching and listening to the waves come in and out, but I don’t feel tired. The ocean is black as the sheet, little dots of moonlight drawing a slanted line across the water. It’s cold, much colder than in the park. If I stay here I’ll need to get a real blanket.
A while ago some bent-over guy walked by on the sand, near the edge of the water. Just one guy on the empty beach, and the way he walked, clapping his hands together, jumping up and down every few seconds, I knew
