“Do you understand, sir, that it is a crime in this state to operate as a private investigator without a license? I could arrest you on a misdemeanor right now.”
“It’s illegal, not to mention unethical, to take money to conduct a private investigation without the proper license. Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Wait. You’re telling me you’re doing this for free?”
“That’s right. As a friend of the family.”
McCaleb was quickly growing tired of the bullshit and wanted to get on with what he was there for.
“Look, can we skip all the bullshit and turn off the tape and the camera and just talk for a few minutes? Besides, your partner is leaning against the microphone. You’re not picking anything up.”
Walters jumped away from the thermostat just as Arrango turned around to see that McCaleb had been right. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Walters said to his partner.
“Shuddup.”
“Hey, have a doughnut, guys,” McCaleb said. “I’m here to help.”
Arrango turned back to McCaleb, still a bit flustered.
“How the fuck did you know about the tape?”
“Because you’ve got the same setup in every detective bureau in the city. And I’ve been in most of them. I used to be with the bureau. That’s how I knew.”
“The FBI?” Walters asked.
“FBI retired. Graciela Rivers is an acquaintance. She asked me to look into this, I said I would. I want to help.”
“What’s your name?” Walters asked.
Obviously he was coming to everything late because he had been on the phone. McCaleb stood up and extended his hand. Walters shook it as McCaleb introduced himself. Dennis Walters was younger than Arrango. Pale white skin, slim build. His clothes were loose, baggy, suggesting that his wardrobe had not been updated since he had experienced a dramatic loss in weight. He wore no holster at all that McCaleb could see. He probably kept his gun in his briefcase until he went out on the street. McCaleb’s kind of cop. Walters knew it wasn’t the gun that made the man. His partner didn’t.
“I know you,” he said, pointing a finger at McCaleb. “You’re that guy. The serial guy.”
“What are you talking about?” Arrango said.
“You know, the profilers. The serial killer squad. He was the one they sent out here permanently, since most of the nuts are out here. He worked the Sunset Strip Strangler, what else, the Code Killer, that cemetery guy, a bunch of cases out here.”
He then put his attention back on McCaleb.
“Right?”
McCaleb nodded. Walters snapped his fingers.
“Didn’t I read about you recently? Something in the
Once again McCaleb nodded.
“The ‘Whatever Happened to…’ column. Two Sundays back.”
“That’s it. Right. You got a heart transplant, right?”
McCaleb nodded. He knew that familiarity bred comfort. Eventually, they would get down to business. Walters remained standing behind Arrango but McCaleb saw his gaze drop to the box on the table.
“You want a doughnut, Detective? I’d hate to see them go to waste. I didn’t get breakfast but I’m not going to have one if you guys don’t.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Walters said.
As he came forward and opened the box, he glanced anxiously at his partner. Arrango’s face was a stone. Walters took out a glazed doughnut. McCaleb took a cinnamon sugar and then Arrango broke and reluctantly took a powdered sugar. They ate silently for a few moments before McCaleb reached into his sport coat and pulled out the stack of napkins he had grabbed at Winchell’s. He tossed them onto the table and everyone took one.
“So, the bureau pension’s so short you’ve gotta pick up PI work, huh?” Walters said, his mouth full of doughnut.
“I’m not a PI. The sister’s an acquaintance. Like I said, I’m not being paid.”
“An acquaintance?” Arrango said. “That’s the second time you said that. How exactly do you know her?”
“I live on a boat down at the harbor. I met her at the marina one day. She likes boats. We met. She found out what I once did for the bureau and asked me to take a look at this. What’s the problem?”
He didn’t know exactly why he was shading the truth to the point of lying. Other than that he had immediately taken a disliking to Arrango, he didn’t feel he wanted to reveal his true connection to Gloria Torres and Graciela Rivers.
“Well, look,” Arrango said, “I don’t know what she told you about this, but this is a convenience store robbery, FBI man. This isn’t Charlie Manson or Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Fucking Dahmer. It’s not rocket science. This is some mope with a mask and a gun and the right ratio of balls to brains to use it all to make a couple dollars. This isn’t what you’re used to seein’, is what I’m saying.”
“I know that,” McCaleb said. “But I told her I’d check into it. It’s been what, going on two months now? I thought maybe you guys wouldn’t mind a fresh set of eyes on something you can’t be spending much time on anymore.”
Walters took the bait.
“Our team’s pulled four cases since then and Eddie’s been in trial the last two weeks in Van Nuys,” he said. “As far as Rivers goes, it’s-”
“Still active,” Arrango said, cutting his partner off.
McCaleb looked from Walters to Arrango.
