“Here it is,” he said, turning around and sitting down in the chair on the other side of the desk. “Fucker’s name was Deacon Moreno.” He handed the file across the desk to me.
The photocopied driver’s license photo showed a young black man with a hard face. No smile, no trace of humor in his expression. His date of birth put him at twenty-four years old. Six-foot and 185 pounds. The address listed was in Logan Heights, a neighborhood even I wouldn’t venture into alone.
“The address on the license was bogus,” Sam said. “He owed me rent. I went to collect but it’s a laundromat.”
I handed the folder back to Sam. “Why’d you kick him out?”
“Oh, man,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That guy was a problem from the day he walked in. Late with his rent, that goddamned hip-hop music booming out of his place and car at all hours, all his hotshot homeboys hanging out in the parking lot all the time.”
“How did you know they were gang members?”
He rolled his eyes again. “Come on. What am I, an idiot? Bunch of fucking black kids in tricked-out cars, wearing Raiders jerseys and gold chains, smoking weed.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “I know because I know.”
I wasn’t so sure. There was a big difference between kids who acted like gangsters and those who actually lived the life. But I didn’t want to insult Sam’s astute observations. Afraid he might show me his white hood and cross-burning tools.
“And after you evicted Deacon, he came to see Linc?” I asked.
“Yep. Couple of times. Him and some of his buddies. Usually at night.”
The picture I was getting of Linc was far from the one his brother had drawn for me. Trading sex for homework wasn’t the most ethical thing, but I could see where a guy his age would consider an offer like that from an attractive girl like Rachel. A serious kid who was trying to get his degree, though, didn’t run with a gang or store guns in his apartment. Falling in with a bad crowd was one thing. Falling in with a gang was another.
“How about the girls that live next door to Linc?” I asked.
Sam laughed. “The stoner chicks? No problems with them. One of their rich daddies pays for them. Two months at a time. They don’t bother me.”
The unmistakable sound of a gunshot outside froze us.
Sam stood up. “What the fuck?”
Tires squealed on pavement. I jumped up from the chair and shoved the door open to the parking lot.
The lot was empty save for my Jeep. I looked to the street and saw traffic moving at a normal pace. I looked back toward the apartments.
Rachel was standing outside her door. Her left hand was against the wall, bracing herself, and her eyes were wide, confused, and frightened. Her right hand was at her chest, blood spilling out over her fingers.
Sam burst out of the office behind me, the bat in his hand.
“Go call 911,” I told him.
But he didn’t move.
We both stood there and watched Rachel crumple to the ground.
Four
Detective John Wellton said, “Braddock. What a complete and utterly unpleasant surprise.”
We were standing in the parking lot and I watched as the EMTs loaded Rachel into the ambulance, ready to take her to Sharp Hospital. She’d been shot once. There was a lot of blood and I couldn’t tell how badly she was hurt.
“I’m missing a gnome in my garden,” I said. “You’d make a nice replacement.”
Wellton glared at me. He wore a light blue oxford open at the neck tucked into gray dress slacks. The sunglasses on his face were just slightly darker than his skin. And even in the thick-heeled loafers, he didn’t break five-four.
“Funny, asshole.” He turned back to the apartments. “What did you see?”
I watched a team of officers mill around the spot where she’d been shot. “Came out of the office. She was already standing there. Then she collapsed.”
He nodded and removed the sunglasses. “See the shooter?”
“Nope. I heard the shot, but that was it.” I pointed at Sam’s office. “I was in there.”
He nodded again. We watched Dana come out of the apartment with two officers. She was sobbing and each officer had an arm under an elbow to keep her steady.
“And your reason for being here?” Wellton asked.
“Is none of your business,” I said.
He snorted. “Well, whatever you were doing, nice work.”
I hadn’t seen him in a while and he was as irritating as I remembered.
“I was looking for the kid that lives in the apartment next to hers,” I said, deciding there was no reason to keep it from him. “Talked to both girls for maybe ten minutes, they didn’t know anything about where he is. Then I came out and talked to the manager.”
I thought about the guns that Peter had seen in Linc’s apartment. I hadn’t seen them yet, so I wasn’t sure they existed. At least, that’s how I rationalized not bringing them up.
“Rolovich is the manager?”
“Yeah. A piece of crap, but I don’t think he knows anything.”
“You two probably had a lot in common, then.”
Maybe Wellton was more irritating than I remembered.
“Santangelo should be here in a minute,” he said, glancing at me.
My stomach tightened at the mention of his partner’s name. I hadn’t seen her in a while and I didn’t have any plans to change that.
“She’s coming down?” I asked.
He looked at his watch. “Anytime now.”
A knot. It was now a definite knot in my stomach.
“You done with me?” I asked.
Wellton turned to me, his eyes steady. “Still on the outs with her, huh?”
“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t spoken to her in a long time.”
“Lucky her,” he said, the corners of his mouth flickering into a grin. “Yeah, I’m done with you. For now.”
“Can I take my Jeep?”
He smiled and shook his head. “That I’m not done with.”
“Why not?”
“It’s inside my crime scene.”
“When can I get it back?”
His smile got bigger. “When I say so.” He paused. “Maybe I’ll take it for a spin.”
“You should. It’s probably more fun than your Big Wheel.”
His smile disappeared. He glared at me for a moment, then turned and moved away.
I walked to the street and stood there, wondering how I was going to get home. I was contemplating the bus when a Yellow Cab came down El Cajon. I waved at him and he came over three lanes to meet me.
“Where to?” he asked out the passenger window, leaning across the passenger seat.
“Mission Beach.”
“You got cash?”
“Yeah.”
“All yours, then.”
As I opened the rear passenger door, I glanced up and saw Liz Santangelo stepping out of her car on the far side of the lot.
She shut the door and stood next to the car. She wore a bright green blouse and slim black pants. Her dark
