“Landon Keene,” he repeated. “See what you can find out about him.” He smiled reluctantly. “You find anything that interests you, then come back and see me. If you want.”
Russell Simington disappeared.
TEN
I walked out of San Quentin feeling like I’d just been sprung. The clouds had lifted, leaving a frosty haze in the sky and a chill in the air.
Or maybe it was me.
A guy across the parking lot watched me as I came out. He made no effort to hide the fact that he had his eyes on me. He was about my height, extra thin, and wore a navy suit that looked too small for him, the pants rising an inch above his shoes and the coat sleeves revealing both wrists. Aviator sunglasses, totally bald.
I took out my cell phone, called the cab company, and heard it would be about ten minutes.
The guy pointed at me and walked in my direction.
I put the phone back in my pocket and waited for him.
“Mr. Braddock,” he said as he approached.
“Yeah?”
He pulled out a badge. “Detective Ken Kenney with San Francisco PD.”
“Did you just stutter or is that really your name?” I asked.
Kenney smiled, exposing a bunch of crooked teeth. “You have a moment?”
“Not really.”
“I think you do,” he said, removing his sunglasses. “Then why’d you ask?”
“Just being polite,” he said. He nodded at the prison. “Visiting a friend?”
“No.”
“Taking a tour?”
“No. I was getting a manicure.”
“Did you visit with Mr. Simington?” His voice was precise, each syllable pronounced.
“Yeah.”
“Was he doing well?” “I didn’t ask.”
“Ms. Gill asked you to visit him?” Kenney asked.
“Yep.”
“But she didn’t accompany you?” “Nope.”
He waited for me to elaborate. I didn’t.
“Interesting guy, Simington is,” Kenney said, twirling his sunglasses by the arm. “You know why he’s incarcerated here, correct?”
“Sure. You busted him for parking tickets. You guys take that shit seriously in San Francisco. Well done.”
Kenney laughed and stopped the twirling. “Simington was rather humorous, too, from what I recall.” He looked at me, the humor gone from his eyes. “Like father like son, I guess.”
The blood rushed to my face. “Fuck you.”
“Mr. Braddock, we arrested Mr. Simington for a different crime than the one he’s currently serving time for. Unfortunately, the case was not prosecuted successfully. Nonetheless, we are very content now that he is residing here, awaiting his punishment.” He paused. “We do not wish to see that punishment changed.”
“What did you arrest him for?”
“He was hired to kill a young man approximately eight years ago,” Kenney said. “He killed the young man in exactly the same manner as the crime he was eventually convicted of.”
Russell Simington’s past got a little darker and, by default, so did mine.
“So what?” I said. “You think I went in there with a magic wand and commuted his sentence?”
“No, sir,” Kenney said, looking at his shoes, then bringing his eyes up slowly to meet mine. “I just want to make it clear that I will do everything in my power to see him remain where he is.”
“Good for you.”
“I’d hate to have to follow you around the whole time you’re visiting San Francisco,” Kenney said, with a forced smile, “just to find out what occurred in there.”
I sighed, already too tired for so early in the day. “I asked him a few questions. That was it. Darcy wanted some information. He didn’t give it to me. And I don’t think he ever will.”
“I am intrigued that Ms. Gill did not attend with you today,” Kenney said, his eyes crinkling as he said it. “That seems atypical of her.”
“What can I tell you? Don’t know where she is.” The cab pulled up outside the main entrance. “My ride’s here.
