“Did you see him leave?”
If Orso read the interviews, he already knew the answer.
“No. I saw him lift the rifle. The gun came up, I laid back, and maybe I passed out. I don’t know.”
Later, in the hospital, they told him he had passed out from blood loss.
“Did you hear them leave?”
“No.”
“Doors closing?”
“No.”
“Were you awake when the paramedics arrived?”
“What did they say?”
“I’m asking you.”
“The rifle came up, I put my head back, and then I was in the hospital.”
Scott’s shoulder was killing him. A deep ache, as if his muscles were turning to stone. The ache spread across his back as if the scar tissue was splitting apart.
Orso slowly nodded, then made a crooked shrug.
“The sirens are a good bet, but you never know. When you slumped back, maybe he thought you were dead. Maybe he was out of ammo. Gun might have jammed. One day we’ll ask him.”
Orso picked up a slender report, and leaned back.
“Point is, you were hearing just fine until you passed out. Here in your statements, you mentioned you and Officer Anders were talking about how quiet it was. You stated she turned off the car so you could hear the silence.”
Scott felt his face flush, and a stab of guilt up through the center of his chest.
“Yes, sir. That was on me. I asked her to turn off the vehicle.”
“You hear anything?”
“It was quiet.”
“I get it was quiet, but how quiet? Were there background sounds?”
“I dunno. Maybe the freeway.”
“Don’t guess. Voices on the next block? Barking? A noise that stood out?”
Scott wondered what Orso was going for. Neither Melon nor Stengler had asked him about background sounds.
“Nothing I recall.”
“A door closing? An engine starting?”
“It was quiet. What are you digging at?”
Orso swiveled toward the crime scene poster. He leaned toward it and touched the side street from which the Kenworth had come. A blue X had been drawn on a storefront three doors from the intersection.
“A store here was burglarized the night you were shot. The owner says it happened after eight, which was when he locked up, but before seven the next morning. We have no reason to think the burglary occurred when you and Anders were at the scene, but you never know. I’ve been wondering about it.”
Scott didn’t recall Melon or Stengler mentioning the burglary, which would have been a major element in their investigation.
“Melon never asked me about this.”
“Melon didn’t know. The place is owned by a Nelson Shin. You know that name?”
“No, sir.”
“He distributes candy and herbs and crap he imports from Asia—some of which isn’t legal to bring into the U.S. He’s been ripped off so many times, he didn’t bother to file a report. He went shopping for a weapon instead, and got named in an ATF sting six weeks ago. He shit out when the ATF scooped him, and claimed he needed a full-auto M4 because he’s been burglarized so many times. He gave the ATF a list of dates to show how many times his store was cracked. Six times in the past year, if you’re curious. One of those dates matched with your shooting.”
Scott stared at the blue X that marked the store. When Stephanie shut off the engine, they listened to the silence for only ten or fifteen seconds, then began talking. Then the Bentley appeared, but the Bentley was so quiet he remembered thinking it moved like it was floating.
“I heard the Kenworth rev. Before it came out of the side street, I heard the big diesel rev up.”
“That’s all?”
Scott wondered how much to say, and how to explain.
“It’s a new memory. I only remembered hearing it a couple of weeks ago.”
Orso frowned, so Scott went on.
“A lot happened that night in a short period. I remembered the big things, but a lot of small things got lost. They’re beginning to come back. The doctor says it happens like that.”
“Okay.”
Scott hesitated, then decided to tell him about the sideburns.
“I caught a glimpse of the getaway driver. You won’t find this in the interviews because I just remembered.”
Orso tipped forward.
“You saw him?”
“The side of his face. He raised his mask for a second. He had white sideburns.”
Orso pulled his chair closer.
“Could you pick him out of a six-pack?”
A six-pack was a grouping of six photographs of suspects who looked similar.
“All I saw were the sideburns.”
“Can I put you together with a sketch artist?”
“I didn’t see him well enough.”
Now Orso was looking irritated.
“Race?”
“All I remember is the sideburns. I might remember more, but I don’t know. My doctor says the way it works is, one memory can trigger another. I remembered the Kenworth revving, and now the sideburns, so more things might start coming back to me.”
Orso seemed to consider this, and finally settled back in his chair. Everything about him seemed to soften.
“You went through hell, man. I’m sorry this happened.”
Scott didn’t know what to say. He finally shrugged.
Orso said, “I want you to stay in touch. Anything else you remember, call me. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s important or not. Don’t worry about sounding silly or stupid, okay? I want everything you’ve got.”
Scott nodded. He glanced at the papers spread over the table and the files in the box. It was a larger box and contained more than Scott would have expected, considering the little Melon shared.
Scott studied the box for a moment, then looked back at Orso.
“Could I read through the file?”
Orso followed Scott’s eyes to the box.
“You want to go through the file?”
“One memory triggers another. Maybe I’ll see something that helps me remember other things.”
Orso considered for a moment, then nodded.
“Not now, but sure. If that’s what you want. You’ll have to go through it here, but I’m fine with letting you see it. Call in the next couple of days, and we’ll set up a time.”
Orso stood, and when Scott stood with him, Orso saw his grimace.
“You doing okay?”
“That’s scar tissue loosening up. The docs say it’ll take about a year for the stiffness to pass.”
The same bullshit he told everyone.
Orso said nothing more until they reached the hall and were heading toward the elevator. Then his eyes hardened again.
