When he turned, she pushed him expertly against the car door, and began patting down his sweater-clad chest.
He submitted, amused. "This is so sudden, Lieutenant."
"Wisecrack all you want, just so long as you're not wired."
"Who'd wire me? This an interdepartmental hassle?"
"No, it's you l don't trust." She detected nothing, and gave the wool a farewell pat. "Nice fabric."
"Cashmere."
"Why am I not surprised? I hope you'll be very happy together."
"Maybe you want to do a weapons search too."
Molina produced her best fake smile. "Sorry, this isn't your lucky day." She lightly slapped his cheek, then opened the door.
She closed it on him, assessing the interchange. The mock slap had been a bad move; she couldn't afford to be pulled onto the man-woman ground he was always trying to push her onto.
She wanted their positions clear: me authority, you citizen under suspicion.
'When she got in the driver's side, she saw the manila folder she had balanced on the dashboard beyond the steering wheel the last thing before getting out.
Kinsella was watching her without expression. "I've been trying to make up my mind whether this is a lunch date or an arrest, but it's neither. It's a meeting with a snitch. Isn't it, Lieutenant?"
"Oh! Been there, done that, by any chance?"
"No way, if that's what you're after." His tone had grown so suddenly curt that he almost sounded British. But then, he'd lived over there for some time.
"Relax. This won't take long. I want you to investigate something for me."
He actually allowed himself to look stunned. "What the hell--?"
This time she shrugged and looked smug. "Nothing big time.
Just a character whose whereabouts I'd like to know." She tossed the dashboard folder into his lap. "One Raf Nadir."
"Ralph Nader? Hasn't he been done to death?"
"Pretty funny. But Ralph's so clean nobody has ever had any fun investigating him. This guy should be at least a little dirty.
Raf. It's short for Rafi. And Nadir with an 'ir.' "
Kinsella opened the folder to skim the contents, then looked up. "A cop? "
"An ex-cop. And you're not wearing your cat-eyes today."
Beneath a concentration-furrowed brow. Kinsella's blue eyes grew wary. She actually had him off-balance, and drawing attention to his missing green contact lenses only intensified the effect.
"Is it green for nighttime, blue for day?"
He shook his head as if dislodging cobwebs. "Nothing sinister, not even dramatic. I forgot.
Copies," he noted of the employment records.
"Keep them confidential anyway. You can understand I shouldn't be doing this."
"What's so important that you're willing to cut procedural cornets?"
"It isn't important, but, ah, sensitive. I've got an unidentified dead body and a very slim reason to think this guy might be involved. Then I found out he's not in L.A. anymore."
"Lots of people aren't in L.A. anymore. Fire, mudslide, a few too many earthquakes, a fatal tofu avalanche--"
"Anyway, I only want to know where he is, if it's here, or near here."
"I'm not on your staff, Lieutenant. Why pick me?"
"You mean 'pick on' you. Because." She couldn't help making a disavowing face. She hated her logical conclusion as much as he did. "Because this needs to be ultra-discreet. Naturally, I thought of Mr. Invisible."
"Why do you think I'd do it?"
"You've got the time, living without visible means of support."
"All magicians live without visible means of support." His smile reminded her of Lou Diamond Phillips.
Jeez, now he was looking Hispanic. A real chameleon. One handy facility. There was something international about him, probably due to living abroad for so long. Probably due to cultivating a maddening ambiguity.
"I don't want whoever's tracking this guy to smack of officialdom at all. In any way. Nada. "
When she said the popular slang expression, the Spanish word for "nothing," it was pronounced emphatically, with the proper accent, the d soft as retried beans.
He nodded to acknowledge her serious use of the word.
" Nada, " he mimicked, just as impeccably.
Oh, he was whipped cream with hot melted chocolate on top. What an undercover operative he would make. Did make. Would make for her.
"You think this guy is that dangerous?" he asked next.
She waffled in answering that one. To women, maybe. To a man, maybe not.
"I'll tell you what I know, or think. It's not in the record, not directly anyway, although it ultimately got him canned, apparently. He's a sociopath, all tight? Ego the size of the Goliath Hotel. He likes to scam his way around everyone, particularly women. Could have charmed the pants off Mother Teresa. He's probably only dangerous when crossed. Getting dumped by the LAPD would make him dangerous. The usual sociopath." She smiled in conclusion. "You know the type."
He smiled back, as pointedly as she had. "To catch a thief . . ."
"Exactly."
"I'm not a rogue cop."
"The cop part is incidental, as well as past history. Otherwise, he's just your ordinary sociopath."
"You make him for the Blue Dahlia killing?"
"I--" Too late, she'd already started answering. "What do you know about that?"
"A too-small, too-vague item in the newspaper, that's all. I read a little. That's why you want me on this. This one came too close to home."
"I want anyone on this who can cut through the red rape and eliminate one far-out suspect, all right? And, yes, I . . . don't like a body in my backyard. Especially one whose killing will go unsolved unless l do something to break through the lack of evidence in this case.
"Look. I'm not asking you to make a citizen's arrest, Kinsella. I just want to know where he is without stirring up any official channels. You seem to have your labyrinthian ways."
"A poetic sensibility is a rare thing in a homicide lieutenant."
"I read a little. So, will you do it?"
"Why should l?"
"Because l might reciprocate with some information you want."
"Might?"
"Ask me something now."
He didn't have to think about it. "The two men driving the drug truck. What's going to happen to them?"
"The narcs will get them. We don't have enough evidence on the Effinger homicide. One blurred partial print lifted off a bit of duct tape used on the victim's mouth. They'll probably get a longer sentence on the drug charge than they would have on the murder rap," she added bitterly.
He nodded.
"Is your girlfriend recovering from her traumatic experience?"
"Temple's fine. She's tougher than she looks."
"I should know. I was at the emergency room when Devine brought her in after those unfriendlies of yours roughed her up.
Even then she wouldn't give me anything on you."
" Nada. " he said, smiling reflectively, even tenderly.
It irritated her, and her voice grated when she spoke. "Me, l would have sung like a nightingale in her place, if my live-in had vanished like that without a word. But not her. Not Miss Temple."
"What makes you madder? Her grit, or her loyalty to me?"
"Both, damn it."
"Everybody loves beating me up for what happened to Temple: you and Devine--"
"You didn't see her."
That sobered him. "No. For the best, probably. Then you'd be chasing me for what your real job is, homicide, instead of vagueness unbecoming to a stranger. Why are you so . . . fanatic about that old Goliath killing?"
She found her hands gripping the steering wheel. "It was my last case before l made lieutenant. l don't like open cases."
"It may never be closed, especially now. Tell me something don't know. You don't know how much I blame myself for what happened to Temple."
"Does it matter if I do?"
He paused. "No. The important thing is that Temple doesn't blame me." Molina nodded. "It's her life. Now, you gonna do that job?"