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“The dog man was wearing Crocs,” Isaiah said. “Those big goofy rubber things with holes in them? The brand name is imprinted on the sole, see it there?”

“What are all those?” Dodson said. There were dozens of cylindrical impressions about eighteen inches long, all of them facing the same way.

“One of those low beach chairs,” Isaiah said. “The dog man sat here watching the house.”

“Why didn’t he watch from out front?”

“Private security would have been on him. Nobody parks in the street.”

It was just like old times, Dodson thought, trying to trip Isaiah up or make him say I don’t know. “If the dog man was back here how could he tell when to send in the dog?”

“He was here for weeks,” Isaiah said. “He knew what the cars sounded like. When they all left he knew Cal was alone.”

Behind the trees, a tall wooden fence separated Cal’s property from an alley where the trash bins were picked up. A hole had been cut in the fence just big enough for a man and his dog to get through.

“Well, guess we know how he got in,” Dodson said. “I think that’s Bobby Grimes.”

Bobby Grimes was hustling across the lawn, the crew hurrying to catch up. “You must be Mr. Quintabe,” he said. “I’m Bobby Grimes. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dodson said. “I’m Isaiah’s senior associate, Juanell Dodson. My card.”

Bobby pinched the card like it was a live grasshopper. He was sharp in his cobalt-blue Savile Row suit and white shirt open at the neck, the wink of a platinum Piaget just under his cuff. “I’m afraid I’m short on time so I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “Now I’m sorry to have to say this but from my perspective this investigation of yours is a complete waste of time. Yes, I’ve seen the video and I realize the murder attempt was real and that we should all be concerned but there’s nothing we can do about it right now except take precautions and go about our business.”

“Bobby’s right,” Charles said. “I mean like, we got to get the show on the road, do what we do.”

“Was I talking to you?” Bobby said. “No, I wasn’t. And until I do, why don’t you keep your trap shut?”

“Damn, Bobby,” Bug said. “Why you gotta be like that?”

“When I need to hear from you, big boy, I’ll wave a ham sandwich,” Bobby said.

“Cal says Noelle set up the dog attack,” Isaiah said.

“Oh please,” Anthony said. “Noelle hates Cal but even she wouldn’t do something that ridiculous.”

“Who else would want to kill Cal?” Isaiah said.

“Who doesn’t?” Charles said. “Cal fucked over all kinds of people. There’s niggas back in Inglewood still want to shoot his ass.”

“Kwaylud,” Bug said. “They been beefin’ since the old days.”

“What’s important right now,” Bobby said, glaring at the brothers, “is getting Cal back into the studio. The rest of this mess is a distraction.”

“How long were Cal and Noelle married?” Isaiah said.

“Three years,” Anthony said.

“Kids?”

“No. Why?”

“No kids and a short marriage, the judge probably gave her alimony for half that time. She might be out of money. Did Cal have life insurance?”

“Oh please, are we really going there?” Anthony said.

“Will you listen to this Columbo muthafucka?” Charles said.

“Yes, Mr. Quintabe,” Bobby said, “Cal has life insurance. I wouldn’t want you finding out for yourself and thinking you’ve accomplished something. There’s a five-million-dollar policy on Cal’s life and a condition of the divorce was that he continue to pay the premiums. Does that answer your question?”

Isaiah just looked at him.

“All right, let’s approach this from a different direction, shall we?” Bobby said. “Suppose it is Noelle who tried to kill Cal for the life insurance.”

“It isn’t,” Anthony said.

“It could take weeks or even months to resolve this, if it can be resolved at all. And Calvin doesn’t have weeks or months. He’s contractually obliged to make my record by Monday after next and the longer this so-called investigation goes on, the longer he has an excuse to hide in his house.”

“What do you want from me?” Isaiah said.

“Cal doesn’t listen to his friends anymore, but he might listen to you,” Bobby said. “I want you to tell him that what he wants isn’t possible and that it’s perfectly safe for him to go back to work and make my record.”

“I don’t know it isn’t possible and I don’t know that he’s safe. Whoever wants Cal dead was serious enough about it to hire a hit man.”

“Oh now we’re assuming it was a professional? Why couldn’t it be somebody from his past?”

“That’s what I said,” Charles said.

“Shut up, Charles.”

“You mean that white man on the video is somebody from Inglewood or one of Kwaylud’s crew?” Isaiah said.

“He could be one of those rapper-hating rednecks,” Bobby said. “Cal gets threats from those kinds of people all the time. You’re jumping to conclusions, Mr. Quintabe.”

“The man wasn’t in a panic when he came out of the trees,” Isaiah said. “And when the police lights started flashing, did you see what he did? He hesitated, he was thinking. Cal was at the far end of the pool. If the man went down there and shot him he might not have had enough time to come back, save his dog, and get away, the police were in front of the house. And he knew he wasn’t going to drag that big wet dog out of the water, it weighed almost as much as he did. So he led it to the shallow end and got in the pool himself where he had leverage. Could you have been that calm in that situation? And did you see that gun? It had an extra-long barrel. The Glock the cops carry has a seven-inch barrel. The one on the man’s gun was at least nine, had to be custom-made. And it was shaped like a tube, what they call a bull barrel. You see them on target guns made for accuracy. But even with a gun like that, hitting somebody through a window who might be moving is not an easy shot from what, thirty-five, forty yards away, especially without a scope. If you’ve got that kind of confidence, you know how to shoot. And remember now, this guy had been sitting in these trees for three weeks, maybe more. No unpaid redneck would do that because he hated rap music. This man had patience. This man was used to pressure. This man was a pro.”

“Any questions?” Dodson said.

There was a moment of quiet, Isaiah and Bobby looking at each other. “All right, Mr. Quintabe,” Bobby said, “I can see you won’t be persuaded otherwise, so let me put this another way. Assuming we take all the necessary precautions, will you reassure Calvin as a personal favor to me? I’ll owe you one, and Bobby Grimes owing you one is no small thing.”

“Can’t do it,” Isaiah said. “I work for my client, not you.”

“Be realistic,” Anthony said. “You guys have got nothing to go on except a videotape of a dog attack. Where would you even start?”

“An excellent point, Anthony,” Bobby said. “The fact of the matter is, you’re starting from less than zero, Mr. Quintabe. As far as I know you have no police connections and I’m more than certain Noelle won’t talk to you voluntarily. Where in fact would you start?”

“The hit man is the only link to whoever hired him,” Isaiah said, “and the only link to the hit man is the dog.”

Everybody waited for him to go on but he didn’t.

“What are you saying, Mr. Quintabe?” Bobby said. “That you’re going to find that dog? That particular dog?”

“That’s stupid,” Charles said.

Dodson looked like he was about to say it too.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony said, “but for once, I agree with Charles. How is it possible to find one pit bull in a city full of pit bulls?”