The detective glanced at a plastic wall-mounted board with names going down the left side and rows of boxes to be checked that saidIN andOUT as well asVACATION andCOURT. But there were no check marks of any kind made after the names Arrango and Walters.
“Let me check,” the frontman said. “Your name?”
“My name is McCaleb but it won’t mean anything to them. Tell them it’s about the Gloria Torres case.”
The frontman went back to his desk and punched in three digits on the phone. He spoke in a whisper. McCaleb knew then that as far as the frontman was concerned, he didn’t have the
“Turn around, back down the hall, first door on the right.”
McCaleb nodded, took the box of doughnuts off the counter and followed the instructions. As he approached, he put the leather bag under one arm so he could open the door. But it opened as he was reaching for it. A man in a white shirt and tie stood there. His gun was held in a shoulder harness under his right arm. This was a bad sign. Detectives rarely used their weapons, homicide detectives even less than others. Whenever McCaleb saw a homicide detective with a shoulder harness instead of the more comfortable belt clip, he knew he was dealing with a major ego. He almost sighed out loud.
“Mr. McCaleb?”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Eddie Arrango, what can I do for you? My guy up front said you’re here about Glory Torres?”
They shook hands after McCaleb awkwardly transferred the box of doughnuts to his left hand.
“That’s right.”
He was a large man, more in horizontal than vertical proportions. Latino, with a full head of black hair feathered with gray. Mid-forties, with a solid build, no stomach over the belt. It went with the shoulder harness. He took up the whole door and made no move to invite his visitor in.
“Is there a place we can talk about this?”
“Talk about what?”
“I’m going to be looking into her murder.”
So much for finesse, McCaleb thought.
“Oh, shit, here we go,” Arrango said.
He shook his head in annoyance, glanced behind him and then back at McCaleb.
“All right,” he said, “let’s get this over with. You got about ten minutes before I toss you outta here.”
He turned around and McCaleb followed him into a room crowded with desks and detectives. Some of them looked up from their work at McCaleb, the intruder, but most didn’t bother. Arrango snapped his fingers to draw the attention of a detective at one of the desks along the far wall. He was on the phone but looked up to see Arrango signal him. The man on the phone nodded and held up one finger. Arrango led the way to an interview room with a small table pushed against one wall and three chairs. It was smaller than a prison cell. He closed the door.
“Have a seat. My partner will be in in a minute.”
McCaleb took the chair opposite the table. This meant Arrango would likely take the chair to McCaleb’s right or be forced to squeeze behind him to go to the chair on his left. McCaleb wanted him on the right. It was a small thing, but a routine he had always followed as an agent. Put the subject you are talking to on the right. It means they look at you from the left and engage the side of the brain that is less critical and judgmental. A psychologist at Quantico had once given the tip while teaching a class on techniques of hypnosis and interrogation. McCaleb wasn’t sure if it worked but he liked to have any edge he could get. And he thought he might need one with Arrango.
“You want a doughnut?” he asked as Arrango took the chair on his right.
“No, I don’t want any of your doughnuts. I just want you on your way and out of
“I don’t have a license, if that’s what you mean.”
Arrango drummed his fingers on the scarred table as he thought about this.
“Jesus, you know it’s stuffy in here. We shouldn’t keep it closed up like this.”
Arrango was a bad actor. He delivered the line as if he were reading it off a chart on the wall. He got up, adjusted the thermostat on the wall by the door and then sat back down. McCaleb knew that he had just turned on a tape recorder as well as a video camera hidden behind the air duct grill over the door.
“First off, you say you are conducting an investigation of the Gloria Torres homicide, is that correct?”
“Well, I haven’t really started. I was going to talk to you first and then go from there.”
“But you’re working for the victim’s sister?”
“Graciela Rivers asked me to look into it, yes.”
“And you have no license in the state of California to operate as a private investigator, true?”
“True.”
The door opened and the man Arrango had signaled earlier stepped into the room. Without turning around and looking at his partner, Arrango held a hand up, fingers spread, signaling him not to interrupt. The man McCaleb assumed was Walters folded his arms and leaned against the wall next to the door.
