“What do you know about the two men Simington killed?” I asked.
“Not much,” Miranda answered, tilting her head in my direction. “They were Mexican nationals, probably with fake working papers.”
The papers weren’t hard to get and neither was work. If you were willing to take money under the table and endure the risk, anyone coming over the border illegally could find employment.
“Were their families ever interviewed?” I asked.
Miranda thought about that, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure that they were in the States. Most of the information about them came from your father in his confession.”
That didn’t surprise me. Two illegal aliens involved in criminal activity. No one on this side of the border would have cared enough to track down their families. And once they got the guy they wanted—Simington—it was case closed.
I was pondering that when Detectives Klimes and Zanella came strolling up the boardwalk.
Klimes held up a fat hand in greeting. Even his sweat had sweat on it. “Afternoon, Noah.”
Zanella glared at me and didn’t say anything.
I smiled at Zanella, then looked at Klimes. “Hey.”
Klimes nodded at Miranda. “Hello, miss.”
She sat up in the lounge chair and pulled the glasses off her face, squinting at him but saying nothing.
“You are?” Klimes asked, with a smile.
“Hotter than hell,” she said, frowning at him. “Who are you?” “Detective Klimes with the San Diego PD,” he said, still smiling. He motioned at his partner. “This is Detective Zanella.”
Zanella was still glaring at me.
“This is Miranda,” I said. “She worked for Darcy Gill.”
Klimes raised an eyebrow. “Really? Tremendous. Saves me some time. Would you mind taking a walk with Detective Zanella so he might ask you a few questions?”
She cocked her head at Zanella. “What happened to your mouth? It looks like someone punched you.”
The muscles around Zanella’s jaw quivered, the various shades of purple at the corner of his mouth flushing. I thought I could make out the imprints of my knuckles in the bruising, but I wasn’t sure.
“Miranda,” Klimes said, offering her a big hand to pull herself up. “Would you mind?”
She looked at me, and I nodded.
Klimes helped her up, and she stepped over the wall next to Zanella.
She leaned in closer to him. “Are your teeth loose?”
Zanella glanced at me and then led her down the boardwalk.
Klimes fell into the chair Miranda had been sitting in. “Gonna take Zanella awhile to get over that punch.”
“Gonna take me awhile to get over his being such an asshole.”
“I love a good catfight,” Klimes said, letting out a chuckle. “We got a description of a guy in the area around here early this morning.”
“Someone saw something?”
“Two people gave us the same rough description,” he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his hand. “A man, on the boardwalk about an hour before we got your call.”
“Was he with Darcy?”
“No. Alone. But both wits said this guy looked out of place. Moving too fast, head down, unfriendly. Male, about six feet, not sure on the age,” he said. “Not much else to distinguish him.”
“If we sit here for five more minutes, we’re gonna see at least five guys go by that fit that, Klimes.”
He shaded his eyes from the sun. “I know. We’re gonna do some door to door and see if we can turn anything else up.” He shifted in the chair, the seat groaning beneath his bulk. “You run across anything new?”
“Not really.”
“No, or not really?”
“No.”
“That name you tried to slip by me the other day? I ran it through our computers.”
“Landon Keene?”
“That’s the one. Couple of things. Assaults, weapons. Done some time.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope. So where did that name come from?”
I thought of my father tossing it out there, like bait. I had bitten, and yet it had gotten me nowhere.
“I don’t know who he is,” I said. “But if I find out, I’ll tell you, Klimes. I promise.”
