Blood Work

four-lane street, busy even at night. He wondered if Arrango and Walters had been able to come up with any witnesses to the shooter’s getaway, anybody besides the Good Samaritan.

McCaleb’s eyes moved across the street and in the parking lot of a strip mall he saw a man sitting in a car. The man raised a newspaper just as McCaleb noticed this and his face disappeared. McCaleb checked the car. It was an old beater, foreign make, which dissuaded him from the possibility that maybe Arrango had put a quick tail on him. He dismissed it as Keisha started reading the newspaper story on her computer screen.

“Okay, the first one ran on October eighth last year. It’s just a short. ‘A husband and wife were shot and wounded Thursday by a would-be robber who was then wrestled to the ground and captured by a group of passersby, Inglewood police said Thursday. The couple were walking along Manchester Boulevard at eleven when a man wearing a ski mask approached and-’ ”

“The guy was captured?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Okay, skip that one. I’m looking for unsolveds, I think.”

“Okay, the next story ran Friday, January twenty-fourth. Headline is ‘Man Shot, Robbed at ATM.’ No byline. It’s another short. ‘A Lancaster man who was withdrawing cash from an automatic teller machine was fatally shot Wednesday night in what Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies called a senseless killing. James Cordell, thirty, was shot once in the head by an unknown assailant who then took the three hundred dollars he had just withdrawn from the machine. The shooting took place at approximately tenP.M. at a Regional State Bank branch in the eighteen-hundred block of Lancaster Road. Sheriff’s detective Jaye Winston said a portion of the shooting was captured on the ATM security camera but not enough to identify the gunman. The one glimpse of the gunman on the camera’s tape showed he was wearing a dark knit ski mask over his head. However, Winston said that the tape revealed that there was no confrontation or refusal on Cordell’s part to turn over the money. “It was absolutely cold-blooded,” Winston said. “This guy just walked up, shot the victim and took the money. It was very cold and brutal. This guy didn’t care. He just wanted the money.” Cordell collapsed in front of the well-lighted machine but his body was not found until another customer came approximately fifteen minutes later. Paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene.’ Okay, that’s that one. You ready for the next?”

“I’m ready.”

McCaleb had been jotting down some of the details from the story into his notebook. He underlined the name Winston three times. He knew Jaye Winston. He thought Winston would be willing to help him-more so than Arrango and Walters had been. Jaye Winston was not a hard tango. McCaleb felt he had finally caught a break.

Keisha Russell started reading the next story.

“Okay, same thing. No byline. It’s short and it ran two days later. ‘Sheriff’s deputies said there were no suspects in the fatal shooting this week of a Lancaster man who was withdrawing money from an automatic teller machine. Detective Jaye Winston said the department wished to speak with any motorists or passersby who were in the area of the eighteen-hundred block of Lancaster Road on Wednesday night and may have seen the assailant before or after the ten-twenty shooting. James Cordell, thirty, was shot once in the head by a robber who wore a ski mask. He died at the scene of the robbery. Three hundred dollars was taken during the robbery. Though part of the incident was captured by the Regional State Bank’s security camera, detectives were unable to identify the suspect because of the mask he wore. “He had to have had it off at one point,” Winston said of the mask. “He didn’t just walk or drive down the street with a mask on. People had to have seen this guy and we want to talk to those people.” ’ Okay, that’s the end.”

McCaleb hadn’t taken any notes from the second story. But he was thinking about what Keisha had read and didn’t respond.

“Terry, you still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Any of it help?”

“I think so. Maybe.”

“And you still won’t tell me what it’s about?”

“Not yet, Keisha, but thanks. You’ll be the first to know.”

He hung up and pulled the business card Arrango had given him out of his shirt pocket. He decided not to wait for Arrango or for the next day. He had a lead he could follow now, whether or not the LAPD cooperated with him. While he was waiting for the call to be answered, he looked across the street. The car with the man reading the newspaper was gone.

The phone was picked up after six rings and he was eventually transferred to Arrango. McCaleb asked if Buskirk was back yet.

“Bad news, amigo,” Arrango said. “The lieutenant’s back all right. But he wants to hold off on turning our book over to you.”

“Yeah, how come?” McCaleb asked, trying to disguise his annoyance.

“Well, I didn’t really ask but I think he was pissed that you didn’t come in to see him first. I told you that. You should’ve followed line of command.”

“That was kind of hard to do, being that he wasn’t there this morning. And I told you, I did ask for him first. Did you tell him that?”

“Yeah, I told him. I think he was in a bad mood, coming from Valley bureau. He probably got his ass chewed about something so then he chewed mine. That’s how it goes sometimes. Right down the food chain. Anyway, look, you’re lucky. We showed you the whole thing on tape. You got a good start there. We shouldn’t’ve done that for you.”

“Some start. You know, it’s amazing that anything ever gets solved with all the bureaucratic bullshit that goes on. I thought the FBI was unique. We used to call it the Federal Bureau of Inertia. But I guess it’s the same all around.”

“Hey, look, we don’t need your shit. We have a whole plate full of it here. My boss seems to think I invited you in here and now he’s pissed at me. I don’t need this. If you want to go away mad, that’s your problem. But just go away.”

“I’m gone, Arrango. You won’t hear from me until I have your shooter. I’ll bring him in for you.”

McCaleb knew it was bullshit grandstanding as soon as he said it. But ever since February ninth he had increasingly found that he had zero tolerance for fools.

Arrango laughed sarcastically in response and said, “Yeah, right. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He hung up.

7

McCALEB HELD UP a finger to the cab driver and made another call. He first thought about Jaye Winston but decided to wait. Instead he called Graciela Rivers at the number she had given him for the nursing station in the emergency room of Holy Cross Medical Center. She agreed to meet him for an early lunch, even though he explained that he hadn’t accomplished much. He told her to look for him in the emergency room waiting room at eleven-thirty.

The hospital was in a part of the Valley called Mission Hills. On the way there, McCaleb looked out the window at the passing scenery. It was mostly strip shopping centers and gas stations. The driver was making his way toward the 405 so that he could head north.

McCaleb’s knowledge of the Valley had come only through cases. There had been many, most of them falling under his review only on paper and photo prints and videotape from the body dumps along the freeway embankments or the hillsides fringing the northern flats. The Code Killer had hit four times in the Valley before he disappeared like the morning marine layer.

“What are you, police?”

McCaleb looked away from the window and over the seat at the rearview mirror. The driver’s eyes were on him.

“What?”