He left quickly and headed back to his office.
Having booked the burglar tools in the evidence room, Travis Bailey washed his hands. He left the office and took lunch alone in a health food restaurant a few blocks away. After a meal of bamboo shoots, shredded carrot salad and guava juice, he strolled past shops that specialized in men's clothing with Italian brand names, gourmet cheeses and furs. Having browsed for a while in a small shop featuring electronic solitaire chessboards, he returned to the Detective Bureau and completed the rest of his reports.
The restaurant had seen its day, but Carr figured it still served some of the best downtown fare. He stepped in the front door of the place and looked around. It was furnished with marred wooden tables and cane-backed chairs. On the walls were photographs of long-forgotten football teams and the floor was covered with sawdust. Bow-tied waiters wearing aprons and long-sleeved white shirts took their time serving a luncheon horde made up mostly of courthouse employees, detectives and downtown business types.
Higgins waved from a table in the corner. Spotting him, Carr made his way over to the table and sat down. Sheboygan's autopsy report was under a plate of French bread slices. Higgins said hello as he slapped a butter pat onto bread. A florid-faced waiter with thick glasses came to the table. Carr and Higgins ordered without using a menu.
'What d'ya think?' Carr asked after the waiter had left.
Higgins touched the autopsy report. 'Very interesting reading,' Higgins said with his mouth full. He dabbed more butter on the bread.
'Something was wrong,' Carr said. 'I was there and something was wrong.'
'In the past few years I've heard rumbles that
'I've heard the talk too. Sometimes info like that comes from people with grudges. Double-crossing stoolies love to put out that kind of crap.'
The waiter returned to the table, set down plates of coleslaw and rushed away.
'Sheboygan had a defensive wound on his right hand,' Higgins said. 'Shotgun pellets in the palm and out the back of the hand and into the sternum. I've seen this type of wound on victims who are shot in family fights. Daddy or mommy comes out of the bedroom with a gun. It's as if the victim is saying 'Please don't shoot me,' right before they become Swiss cheese.'
'Maybe it was his gun hand,' Carr said. 'Sheboygan had a gun.
'Maybe, but if that's the case, why didn't he pull the trigger? That's the natural human reaction. The gun hadn't been fired. Here's an ex-con sneaking into a house to do a number on somebody. He has a gun in his
'Maybe Bailey just fired before Sheboygan did.'
'Maybe. Then again, why did the thirty-two end up lying in front of the bar instead of frozen in a death grip in his hand? That's what usually happens. Or if the gun was blown out of his hand, why did it end up lying in front of the bar instead of being blown backward, the same direction Sheboygan's body was?'
Carr swallowed a few bites. 'Unless it was a throw-down gun,' he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Higgins stopped eating. 'You and I have been around for a long time, Charlie. We both know what that means. It means that a cop is going to go to jail or be lucky enough to just lose his job and pension. I don't like Bailey. He's one of those slick types that always end up in a jam of one kind or the other. In fact, just talking to him gives me the creeps. I feel like washing my hands in alcohol afterwards. But I'm also telling you right now that if Bailey legitimately caught Sheboygan breaking into the house, I personally don't give a rat's ass if he wasted the son-of-a-bitch. I truly don't care if he killed the man in cold blood. Sheboygan had been in prison for half of his life. He made his living by breaking into people's homes and stealing their property. He knew the chance he was taking. If Bailey was dumb enough to carry around a throw-down gun and use it because he got scared after the shooting when he realized that Sheboygan was unarmed, that's his business. Slick people do slick things. But the last thing in the world I would want to do is get involved in trying to screw a fellow cop, even an asshole like Bailey, for making a mistake in a split-second judgment. I've been to too many autopsies of people killed by burglars-old ladies, housewives with kids, people who had never harmed anyone-to worry about how a career burglar got his ticket punched.'
Carr and Higgins ate silently for a while.
'What if I told you I thought Sheboygan getting killed had nothing to do with either a burglary or a murder contract?' Carr said.
'Then I would ask you just what in the hell are you trying to say?'
'I think Bailey committed premeditated murder and didn't care if he had to shoot my partner to get it done. I think he used Jack and me as a cover.'
The waiter brought plates filled with short ribs, mashed potatoes and string beans. Carr picked up knife and fork. Higgins stared at the plate for a moment. 'What are you gonna do about it?' Higgins asked him.
'I'm going to find out what's going on. And if it wasn't just an accident, I'm going to pull the plug on Bailey. I'm going to sink him.'
'You're talking about a blue-clue caper,' Higgins said. 'You're talking about going against another cop. It could get real sticky.'
The men ate their meals in silence. After finishing they both ordered coffee. Casually, they discussed the latest Los Angeles City Council attempt to cut the police budget and whether the Dodgers would come out of their slump. Finally their small talk, as well as their coffee, was finished. The two men stood up and Higgins picked up the autopsy report. 'I'll need to do some more work on this,' he said.
On the way out of the restaurant, Carr gave him a slap on the back.
The next morning Carr returned to Amanda Kennedy's apartment. He knocked on the door. After first peeking at him through the window, she opened it. She was dressed in designer jeans, high heels and a peasant blouse. She wore a necklace with a star-shaped medallion that looked like the one Sheboygan had been fastening around her neck in the snapshot. He wondered if the diamonds on the star points were genuine.
'The answer is still no,' she said. 'I'm not going to let you look in the apartment. I spoke with an attorney again and he told me you have absolutely no right to go in there.'
Carr smiled humbly. 'I didn't come for that. I'd just like to ask you a couple of questions. May I step in for a moment?'
She stared at him as if he were a trash-picker. 'Questions about what?'
'About Mr. Sheboygan.'
'I'm busy right now.'
'Sheboygan was shot during the course of a burglary. It's important that I talk with you about him.'
'I really don't see what that has to do with me,' she said as she folded her arms over the medallion.
'It'll just take a minute.'
'No. I choose not to be interviewed. I have a right not to be interviewed if I so choose. Now please go away and don't bother me again.' She shut the door in Carr's face.
Carr fished in his pocket for the bedroom photograph of her with Sheboygan. He found it, then rang the doorbell for a long time. As Amanda Kennedy angrily swung open the door he held up the photograph. She looked at it and blushed. Carr shoved the photo back in his coat pocket.
Amanda Kennedy turned and sauntered back into the living room, where she sat down on the sofa. The television was tuned to a soap opera. Following her inside, Carr closed the door softly and sat next to her on the sofa. He could see that she lived alone; the room was very feminine: women's magazines, pastel lamps, an arrangement of dried flowers.
Amanda Kennedy lit a cigarette. 'Where did you get that photograph?' she said to the television screen.
'It was found in Sheboygan's car.'
'Where was his car?'
'I didn't come here to answer questions,' Carr said. 'Just ask them.'
Amanda Kennedy's face was expressionless. A soap opera couple embraced.
'When did you first meet Leon Sheboygan?' Carr asked patiently.
'I'm the resident manager here. I met him when he moved in. It was about six months ago. He filled in an application. The application was approved and he moved in.'
