He thought about calling Walker, but he loathed the thought of calling him in that hospital. The man had enough to worry about right now. Washington shivered. He hated hospitals almost as much as he feared earthquakes. They were places for lying and dying. He didn’t envy Walker.
He scooped up the backpack, went out to the car. His plan had been to go up to Kohler’s as soon as possible, drive by, find a place to hide the car, walk back and find a spot in the woods across from the house to hide and stake out the place. The best strategy was often the most simple. He would sit and wait. Sooner or later Monday would show up and then he’d get Glenna back.
He’d worry about dealing with Monday after Glenna was safe. If Monday was innocent, he’d move heaven and earth to prove it, but not till his little girl was out of harm’s way.
He unlocked the trunk and tossed the backpack on top of the carbine. He was closing it when the silver Mercedes with the dark tinted windows drove by. He scooted around to the driver’s side and out of sight as the Mercedes parked by the diner across the street from the motel.
He watched as Kohler got out of the car. The doctor walked around the vehicle with a straight backed gate, like he had a pipe up his ass, Washington thought. He continued watching as Kohler opened the passenger door and Julia Monday slid out, smoothing her skirt. Then Kohler and Jim Monday’s wife walked arm and arm into the diner.
Hugh Washington decided he was hungry and started across the street. He stopped in the middle of the road, swore at himself for being so stupid and turned back toward his car, parked in front of his room at the motel. I’m the one who put her husband in the police car and took him away. How could she forget me and my ugly face? I remember her. And even if those gorgeous eyes passed over me, Kohler would remember. He didn’t look like the kind of man who forgot anything. He stopped at the car, opened the trunk, took out the backpack, then went back to his room.
From inside his room he had a clear view of the diner across the street. He moved a chair to the window, opened the curtains and sat. He opened the backpack and took out the binoculars. They brought the diner ten times closer.
Kohler and Julia Monday were sitting at a table for two, by the window. Washington could see the shaving rash on Kohler’s neck that edged up to his trimmed beard. He could see the corners of the forced smile on Mrs. Monday. It looked like she might have been crying. He looked back at Kohler, his thin lips, not well enough hidden by the manicured mustache, were moving rapidly, almost snarling.
A young waitress brought them water and took their order. Kohler ordered for both. He continued talking after the waitress left. Mrs. Monday continued listening. Something wasn’t right, she seemed listless, dead on her feet. The shoulder length hair that had been vibrant and fresh two days ago had lost its luster. The sparkle in her eyes was gone. She had that blank look Washington had seen so many times in his career. A combination of sudden shock, loss and grief. It was usually worn on the face of a surviving wife whose husband had been recently murdered.
A third man joined them. He pulled a chair out from an empty table and sat facing the window. Washington had seen his type before. Weasel was the first word that came to mind. He was the sly type that all policeman know, the kind that make good informers because they’re afraid. Afraid of the police, jail, the streets, themselves. Usually they were junkies and this man looked the type, darting eyes, shaking hands, rounded shoulders and nodding head. The hair on the right side of his scalp was exceedingly long and combed over a bald top. The Weasel was vain. He wore a Polo shirt and had a salon tan. He reached into his pocket and took out a brown cigarette. Designer cigarettes, Washington called them. He started to light up when Kohler knocked the cigarette out of his hand with a sudden slap. The Weasel was afraid of Kohler.
Then the Weasel started talking. He punctuated his words with his hands. An excited man. But his excitement wasn’t transferred to Kohler. Mrs. Monday appeared bored. Washington got the impression that the Weasel was always excited. The food came and the Weasel shut up. Pancakes and bacon for Kohler and Monday’s wife. Nothing for the Weasel.
Kohler ate deliberately, Mrs. Monday picked at her food, and the Weasel shifted to and fro, openly leering at Mrs. Monday’s breasts. Washington followed the Weasel’s eyes. Julia Monday was wearing a white silk blouse without a brassiere. Her nipples were visible through the material and she was clearly uncomfortable wearing it and even more uncomfortable with the Weasel’s stare.
He moved the binoculars back to Kohler’s face. The man was aware of what the Weasel was doing and how uneasy it made Mrs. Monday. The bastard doesn’t care, Washington thought. He’s enjoying it. Lady, it looks like when you left your husband, you fell into a bucket of shit. Washington got the impression that if the slimy bastard were to reach out and grab one of those breasts, the doctor would only smile. He was one cold son of a bitch.
“ Glenna, you don’t want anything to do with this man,” he muttered, wishing he hadn’t had lunch with his daughter yesterday, hadn’t told her about his new job, hadn’t allowed her to come with him. If he gets anywhere near her, I’ll kill him.
He put down the binoculars and called Hart back. The thought of the earthquake in Long Beach caused a slight earthquake in his own body as he dialed the number.
“ It’s about time you called back,” Hart said, after he finally got him on the line.
“ You said an hour. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes.”
“ Did you think about what I said? You give us all you got on Monday and all is forgiven. You come back like nothing happened.”
“ Do I come back on the street or do I get back in Homicide?”
“ You get Homicide, if you want it.”
Washington knew the man was lying. He might have believed him if he said they would allow him to work to his retirement in a uniform, but he knew there was no way Hart would take him back in Homicide. He understood they wanted Monday awful bad, but they shouldn’t want anything bad enough to lie to a fellow officer. The man was playing with his life. It wasn’t fair.
“ I’ve given you my decision, Captain. I’m quitting. I’ll find another job. One where they don’t think they have to lie to you to get you to perform the way they want.”
“ Hold on a minute, Washington. You owe us. You owe me. We cleaned that mess up after you and kept you out of jail and your daughter out of court. I saved your ass. You can’t walk out on me.” Hart spat the words down the wire.
“ So this is what it comes down to. You using that to whip me into line.”
“ If I have to.”
“ I told you, Captain, I’m through, finished, I quit.”
“ You son of a bitch! You’ll be sorry. I can charge you as an accessory.”
Washington hung up.
That was that, he thought. No going back now. The only thing left was to make it official. He would have to call personnel, turn in his badge, fill out the forms. It hurt, turning his back on the department that had been his life for so long, but he had a bright future to look forward to with Ron Walker. And he was a man that believed in the future. The past was for losers, the future for winners.
He picked up the binoculars as Kohler was counting out change. He wasn’t leaving a tip. What a swell guy. How do you feel about him now, Mrs. Monday, him and his Weasel pal. They got up from the table, the Weasel leading the way to the door, followed by Mrs. Monday. Kohler brought up the rear.
He lost sight of them for a few minutes as they made their way through the restaurant, but picked them up as they came out the door. He followed them to Kohler’s car, where Kohler went to the driver’s side, unlocked the door and climbed in. The Weasel opened the door for Mrs. Monday, but before she could get in, he placed himself between her and the car and ran a hand along her buttocks, giving her a firm squeeze. She didn’t pull away, didn’t yell, or slap him. She got in the car like nothing had happened, the same blank look on her face.