word?”
Moving her lips she said, “Detective.”
“Do you know what this tall building is in the center of the badge?”
She ran her fingers along the outline. “It’s Los Angeles City Hall.”
“That’s pretty good. How’d you know that?”
“My school went there on a field trip.”
“Lindsey, I’m going to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay.”
“Did your dad call you at night sometimes.”
“Yeah.”
“How often?”
“Pretty often.”
I turned to Sandy.
“A couple times a week,” Sandy said. “Every other night. Something like that.”
“Lindsey, do you remember the last time your father called you?”
“On Thursday night.”
That was the night, I knew, he was killed.
“How do you remember that it was Thursday night?”
“Because I had a science test on Friday and he promised to call on Thursday night and explain some things to me.”
“What time did he call?”
“Right after dinner.”
“What time was that?”
“About seven.”
I didn’t want to ask Sandy where she was Thursday night. She might realize she was under some suspicion, throw me out, and deny me access to her daughter. So I thought I’d do an end run around her and hope she was too drunk to figure out what I was searching for.
“Do you remember what you did the rest of the night?”
“I finished my homework.”
“Did anyone help you?”
“My mom.”
“What time did you go to bed?”
She smiled. “About ten thirty.”
“Did your mom put you to bed?”
“Yes.”
“Why so late?”
“My mom and I stayed up and watched Desperate Housewives. She TiVoed it on Sunday night. She said if I studied hard all week, we could watch it on Thursday night.”
Looking embarrassed, Sandy said, “She’ll be eleven pretty soon. I think she’s old enough. Don’t you?”
“I’m sure you know what’s best for your daughter,” I said, feeling a twinge of disappointment. The coroner estimated that Pete was killed on Thursday night. It was a long drive from Lancaster to San Pedro. This ruled out Sandy as a suspect.
“Did you spend a lot of time at your father’s house in San Pedro?”
“Every other weekend.”
“Was that fun?”
“I liked going there.”
“What did you do?”
“Sometimes we’d go out on my great-uncle’s boat. Sometimes we’d go to the aquarium in Long Beach or fish off the jetty. In the summer, we’d go to the beach.”
“Did you ever meet any of the people your father knew?”
Biting her lower lip, she looked up at her mother. Sandy nodded.
“One friend.”
“Was this a man or woman?”
“Woman.”
“Was this his girlfriend?”
“I guess so.”
“What was her name?”
“Jane Granger.” She said it quickly, without a pause, as if it was a single name.
“Was she nice?”
“Sort of.”
“Did you meet any other people your father knew?”
She reached behind her, twirled her braid for about thirty seconds, and asked, “Is this an important question?”
“It might be, why?”
“I don’t want to answer it.”
Sandy reached over and took her daughter’s hand and patted it. “Why not, honey?”
“Daddy made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“Why didn’t he want you to tell anyone?” Sandy asked, looking perplexed.
“He said that if you found out, you wouldn’t let me visit him anymore.”
“It’s okay now,” Sandy said. “You can tell us about it.”
Lindsey clasped her hands tightly, stared at them and, racing to get out the words, said, “On Saturday night and Jane and Daddy were making dinner in the kitchen and someone rang the doorbell. Jane opened it without asking who it was. Daddy said never to do that, and he got mad, and the man at the door yelled at Daddy and waved a gun at him. Daddy pushed him out the door and locked it, and the man went away.”
Sandy stared at her daughter, stunned, mouth open.
“How long ago was this?” I asked.
“About a month or two,” Lindsey said.
“Did your father or Jane ever mention the man’s name?”
She shook her head.
“Did you hear what the man said?”
“No.”
“What did he look like?”
“He had a bald head.”
“Can you remember if he was tall or short.”
She shook her head.
“Fat or thin?”
“No. I just remember the shiny bald head and the shiny gun.”
“Do you remember his race?”
“Race?” she said, confused.
“White, black, Hispanic, Asian?”
“White. But his skin was sun tanned.”
“Do you know the difference between a rifle and a pistol?”
“A pistol is what my dad carried when he was a policeman. A rifle is what grandpa uses when he goes hunting.”
“That’s right. Did this man have a rifle or a pistol.”
“A pistol.”
I spent the next twenty minutes talking to Lindsey and her mother, but was unable to glean anything else about the man with the gun. As I drove back toward the city, I realized that although I’d just ruled out one suspect, I’d gained another.
