"Mmh, yes. You've really gone into this, haven't you?" Mendoza tilted back his chair, regarding the opposite wall thoughtfully. "That sounds like a very short space of time, but a lot of things can happen in three or four minutes, and you're not absolutely sure of the times on your end, are you? Even if you'd just happened to look at your watch before Bartlett was shot, it could have been off a bit from the clocks in the radio room here."
"Yes, sir, I know. But another thing, as I don't need to tell you, Price and Hopper didn't just slam bracelets on the kids and rush right back, to report in, there'd be a couple of minutes there, getting the kids out of their car and so on… Well, I don't know, it just seems to me-"
"Look," said Hackett, rubbing his jaw. "Leave all this thirty seconds, twenty seconds business out, what you're saying is, it seems to you that by the time you got sent to meet that ambulance, the kids had been busy with Price and Hopper a little too long to have been over on San Dominguez when Bartlett was killed. Now I've got just this to say. Time's funny-when a lot's happening, sometimes it seems to go faster and sometimes slower-you've had that experience?" Walsh nodded silently. "I agree with you that it all happened damn fast, but we've got no check on exact times, and nobody can say just on that account it couldn't've been those kids. And the gun checks-as much identification as we'll ever get. I don't need to remind you it was a homemade gun with a smooth bore, so, sure, Ballistics can't say definitely this bullet came out of that gun-but the market cashier and Bartlett both had. 38 caliber bullets in them, and the kids had a half a box of 'em left. It looks pretty open and shut."
"I know," said Walsh helplessly. "All I can say is, even making every allowance for the way you do lose track of time in the middle of a thing like that-well, I still feel it's too tight. And, Sergeant, why did they turn off San Dominguez if it was them?"
"Why shouldn't they?"
"It's the main drag," said Walsh, "the best road along there. They were all from that section, they'd know the streets. They must've known that if I was on their tail after they'd fired at us, their best chance of losing me was to stay on San Dominguez, because it's a divided highway and not much traffic that time of night. They could make tracks and still do enough weaving in and out of what traffic there was to throw me off. They'd know I couldn't have got their plate number-it's dark as hell along there, those arc lights are so high-and they'd blacked out their taillight. Look, you get off the main drag along there, most of the cross streets are full of potholes and not all of 'em go through to the next main street, Vineyard. They'd be damn fools to turn off right away, and take a chance on getting to the next boulevard-they couldn't be sure I wasn't on them when they'd turned off, the way they must've if they were going to be spotted where we know Price and Hopper spotted them, on Vineyard just west of Goldenrod going about sixty."
"Well, now,” said Hackett. "They weren't exactly thinking very clear, you know, right then.”
"They'd just shaken off Gonzales and Farber, Sergeant, after a twenty-minute chase-and Lieutenant Slaney says Farber's the best damn driver out of our precinct."
Mendoza laughed. "That's a point-he's got you there, Art. Of course,"-he sat up abruptly-"they wouldn't have us after them if they weren't damn fools to start with, and damn fools have a habit of acting like what they are. And like the rest of us they have good luck and bad luck." He brushed tobacco crumbs off his desk tidily, straightened the blotter, lined up the desk tray with the calendar as he spoke; but automatically, like a persnickety housewife, thought Walsh. Even in the midst of his earnest effort to get through to them with this, Walsh couldn't help noticing. One of those people who went around straightening pictures, he figured Mendoza was: the orderly mind. He looked it too, very natty and dapper in an ultraconservative way, like an ad in Esquire-the faintest of patterns in the tie, and that suit must have cost three hundred bucks if it cost a dime. Of course, all that money Lieutenant Slaney said he had…
"And if it wasn't the kids?" asked Mendoza. "What else?"
"It's crazy," said Walsh, "I know. But suppose it was somebody who wanted to kill Joe as-well, who he was. Not just a cop in a squad car. A-a specific cop."
"Now let's not reach for it," said Hackett dryly. "You know anybody who might have wanted Bartlett dead? Who might try it like that?-not just the easiest method, by the hell of a long way. I manage to keep up enough of a score on the board myself so I don't come in for extra practice, but I'd think twice about trying a target shot like that, practically in the dark and at thirty miles an hour."
"I know," said Walsh again, humbly. "It sounds crazy to me too, Sergeant. If it wasn't those kids, I don't know who it could've been, or why. But I just can't figure it as the kids, when I think back over it. The way I told you, I didn't get any kind of look at the car, I had my head down sliding into our car beside Joe. I couldn't say if there was just the driver or three kids or a dozen blue baboons in it. And when I did look up, at the shots, it was already almost past, and all I could tell was it was a sedan-but two-door or four-door I couldn't see-and a dark color, and it had fins, so it was a fairly late model. That's all I can honestly say, sir, for sure. I only had it in sight for about two seconds. So I know it doesn't count for much when I say that, thinking back, I get the impression that looking at those tailfins side on, the way I saw the car as it went past, they curved up at the ends."
"The car the kids were driving," said Mendoza, "was a two-year-old four-door Mercury. I don't keep up with all these little changes in design-" He looked at Hackett.
"Straight fins," said Hackett tersely. "When did all this begin to come to you, Walsh-in a dream?"
"Look, sir, I'm just trying to be honest about it. Maybe I was slow on the uptake, but like you say, a lot happened all at once, and it wasn't until I had a chance to sit down and think about the whole thing in-in retrospect, you know, that it added up like this. Or didn't add up. And by then you all had my statement and the inquest was set-and the sergeant said I was crazy, because how else-and the coroner wouldn't 1et-"
"You did quite right coming in to tell us," said Mendoza.
"Second thoughts-" began Hackett, looking a little angry.
" Tomelo con calma, chico, if we don't like a little new piece of truth we can't shove it under the rug because we like something else better. Which you know as well as I do. And another thing we all know is that sometimes you get a clearer picture of a thing looking back on it. No, you were quite right to pass this on, Walsh-you needn't be afraid you'll get in any trouble over it."
"Do you think-?”
"I don't think anything right now," said Mendoza. He put out his cigarette carefully in the brass tray. "We haven't got enough to think about. But maybe it wouldn't do any harm to take a little closer look at this thing. Todos come tomes errores -we all make mistakes-and peculiar coincidences do occur, no denying."