An image of Moffitt and his two thugs flashed through my head. I had no doubt they were capable of being involved in something like this.
“It would be risky for the casinos,” Asanti said. “But I tend to agree with you. It could not happen without their knowledge.”
“And if a casino owner is approving something, he’s got a piece of the action,” I said. “It would mean that a guy like Keene, one way or another, is working for the casino.”
Liz and Asanti nodded in agreement, then Asanti glanced at his watch.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting. I need to go.” “Thank you for your help,” Liz said.
“I’m sure you’ll extend me the same courtesy someday,” he said. He turned to me. “Good luck.”
He walked back into the station, and we headed toward Liz’s car. “What do you think?” she asked.
One thing in particular had parked itself front and center in my thoughts, and I wasn’t happy about it. It was like buying a new game and emptying all the pieces onto the table. Everything was there—I just needed someone to show me how to play.
THIRTY-THREE
Liz and I made the long drive back to San Diego, the silence punctured only occasionally by small talk that went nowhere. I knew I had to go back to San Quentin—Simington threw out Keene’s name like a challenge, and I’d met it—and I couldn’t think about anything else.
We crossed the bridge into Coronado, and Liz pulled her car behind my Jeep when we reached her place. I got out and the burst of salt air wafting in from the bay gave me a temporary sense of comfort.
Liz came around to me. “When are you going to go?” she asked, reading my mind.
“Tomorrow, I think,” I said. “I have to arrange the visit, and I’m not sure how that works. I’ll have to ask Miranda and I need to make sure she’s settled at my place. But the sooner I get up there, the sooner I can talk to Simington.”
“This is gonna sound like a dumb question,” Liz said, brushing her hair away from her face. “But why are you doing this? I mean, Darcy’s the one who hired you, and she’s dead. You’ve already recognized that you can’t get Simington off the row, and I don’t even think that’s what you want. Talking to Simington and staying in the middle of this might help solve Darcy’s death, but …” She paused, thinking about her words. “I don’t think that’s your responsibility.”
Liz was right. With Darcy dead, there was no reason to keep looking. Hell, Simington had been clear on not wanting any help. There was no one pushing me to keep going forward. But I couldn’t get past the fact that Simington had thrown out Keene’s name. There had to be a reason for that.
“I think it’s just that it’s him,” I said, leaning against the car and watching the water. “I know he killed Vasquez and Tenayo. He deserves to die. That’s not going to change.” The bay sparkled under the late morning sun. “But he’s my father. Before he goes, I want to be clear on what he did. And I want to know why. Not for him. For me.”
Liz snaked her arm around mine and pressed up against me. “I’m not telling you not to do it. I’m not. But knowing why he did it may hurt more than not knowing at all.”
“I know,” I said, shifting my weight against the car.
She was right. The reasons, if Simington did talk, wouldn’t make sense to me. There was nothing he could say to me that would justify what he did. But now that I had connected with him—no matter the bizarre fashion—I felt an urge I couldn’t push away. I needed to learn as much about him as I could.
“Maybe he can tell me something that will help with Darcy,” I said. “He acted like he didn’t want her help, but I don’t think he disliked her. Maybe he can do one good thing before he dies.”
Liz’s hand slid down my arm, and she folded her fingers into mine. “Do you really think he’ll do that?”
A bank of gray clouds drifted in front of the sun, turning the bright glare on the water into a black shadow.
“Probably not,” I said, squeezing her hand, glad to have something to hold onto. “But what else do I have?”
WEEK TWO
THIRTY-FOUR
I spent the night with Liz and got up early the next morning. I told her I’d call to let her know what I was doing, then headed back to Mission Beach to talk to Miranda and make my plans to go back to San Francisco. I parked a couple blocks from my place and walked up the boardwalk, watching the clouds get darker and grayer over the ocean. Liz had mentioned rain was in the forecast, and it looked to be only a couple hours away.
Carter was on my patio, staring through the slider into my place like he couldn’t see what was inside.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked as I stepped over the wall.
“Dude,” he said, jabbing his finger toward the door. “You’ve got a wiccan in there.”
“A wiccan?”
“She’s dressed in black, has the personality of a pissed-off cobra, and is about as charming as cancer.” “Oh. That’s Miranda,” I said.
“I went in to get something to eat,” he said, still staring at the door. “She came out of nowhere. Like a puff of smoke or something. Told me to get out. I was afraid she’d sic her flying monkeys on me if I didn’t.”
