Lena wrote the time down in her notebook and glanced back at Vaughan through the glass. His conversation with Bennett and Watson appeared heated. Returning to her notebook, she went through her checklist.
The group heading out to Hight’s place included Barrera and six additional detectives from the division. Of the six, Joe Carson and John Street had the most experience working high-profile cases. Both were RHD bulls known for being extremely thorough. A team of seasoned criminalists from SID would roll out as well. Three patrol units were already there keeping watch from the street. According to the patrol supervisor, both Tim Hight and William Gant had refrained from killing each other last night. Hight had passed out in his chair by the window, while Gant fell asleep on the kitchen floor.
The situation was more than tragic. But Lena pushed it aside, listening to Barrera finish his call with the chief’s new adjutant, Abe Hernandez, and hang up.
“The judge gave us a break,” he said. “The warrants are signed. I guess it didn’t hurt that they were shepherded through by the chief’s office. You ready, Lena?”
“As soon as Hernandez gets here with the paper, we’ll head out.”
“Good,” he said.
Barrera exited the staff room, heading for his desk at the other end of the section floor. Lena glanced at her watch, guessing that she had ten or twenty minutes and weighing her options as she examined the beat-up coffeemaker on the counter. She was starting to feel the sleep she’d missed last night, but a run to the Blackbird Cafe wasn’t an option because she needed to speak with Vaughan. She gave the glass pot another look, then poured a cup and took a short first sip. The thick syrupy brew tasted like it had been sitting on the burner for a week or two. It may have even qualified as the worst cup of hot java ever poured. But none of that really mattered right now. All she wanted was the fix. She took another sip-longer this time-letting the burned caffeine wash through her system. Then she crossed the room to the captain’s office and pushed open the door without knocking.
Bennett and Watson turned toward her so quickly that she caught the foul sneers on their faces a split second before they switched to glowing smiles. Lena had pegged them right but ignored it, glancing at Vaughan, who seemed grateful for the interruption, then back at Bennett as he spoke.
“We were just talking to Greg,” he said in a smooth voice. “If there’s anything we can do to help, we’re here for you. That probably means keeping our mouths shut and staying out of your way. But whatever you need, both Debi and I are willing to do it.”
Bennett was good, she thought. Just not good enough to win.
Watson stepped forward, extending her hand. “Think of us as silent partners, Detective. If you ever need background on the trial, I’d be more than happy to walk you through our case.”
There wasn’t time for their particular brand of bullshit, but Lena thanked them anyway, making a conscious effort to avoid looking at Watson’s breasts. She couldn’t tell if they were real or not, and she didn’t care.
And then the two of them gave Vaughan one last nod and took off. They moved through the doorway quickly-a series of short, choppy steps. As they vanished around the corner, it seemed to Lena that their backs shivered and they broke into a run.
Lena closed the door. “Nice people,” she said.
Vaughan gave her a look. They didn’t know each other. When he figured out what she meant, he tried to smile but only made it halfway.
“Two of the very best,” he said. “Especially now that they think they’ve found a way to squirm out of their own mess.”
“The way out of their mess is you,” she said.
“We’re in the same boat, aren’t we?”
“Yes and no.”
He thought it over as he moved to the window and looked out at the city.
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “They just told me that they won’t be attending the press conference. Higgins can’t make it, either.”
“At least they’re predictable.”
Vaughan shrugged. “When I heard that Gant had been murdered, I pretty much knew the way things would go.”
He was dressed in a light brown suit, a crisp white shirt, and a red tie with thin gold stripes. He wore the clothing better than most, but still appeared wiped out by the bind he was in. Lena joined him at the window and followed his eyes up the block to the new building that would serve as LAPD headquarters. Although construction had been completed and the move would occur next month, the building didn’t have a name because members of the city council were still arguing about it.
“I heard a story,” he said in an easier voice. “Not about your new building, but the one that went up in the Valley last year. The contractors blew the installation, reversing the one-way glass in the interrogation rooms. If we’d put some guy in the box, he could see us, but we couldn’t see him. Is that true or what?”
Lena caught Vaughan’s grin and smiled. “They fixed it before they opened.”
“How ’bout in your new place?” he asked.
“The builder got it right this time. I checked.”
She watched him turn away from the window and lean against the sill. He was gazing at the conference table as if he might be replaying the meeting in his head-as if he’d finally realized his fate and knew that it was time to start putting things back together again. His anger was dissipating. A certain spark was returning to his eyes.
“How do you want to work this?” she said.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Let’s see what happens at Hight’s place.”
Vaughan nodded. “He’s had some time to think things over. Maybe he’ll feel the need to get it off his chest.”
“Or maybe we’ll find the gun.”
Vaughan popped open his briefcase. “I’ll be in my office,” he said. “It’ll take me a day to go through my cases and clear my schedule. We should talk when you get back.”
They traded business cards. Then the door opened and Barrera entered, waving a sheaf of papers in the air.
“We’ve got the warrants,” he said. “Let’s roll.”
10
The front door opened. Tim Hight’s eyes hit the bright daylight but remained dilated. They were hollow, almost colorless-a faint, even decayed blue. They swept across the group of detectives and criminalists assembling on the porch, moved to the tow truck inching toward his Mercedes in the drive, then slid back to Lena.
“Tim Hight?” she said.
“You already know who I am.”
“We have warrants. We’re coming in.”
“I didn’t do it,” he said.
Barrera held out the warrants. “We’re still coming in.”
Hight moved away from the door. As the team pushed past his slight figure and split up, Lena remained with Hight and Barrera in the foyer. She noted Hight’s rumpled clothing, didn’t see any signs of blood, and wondered if he had changed. It didn’t look like he’d showered or shaved, and he seemed groggy and burned out. She checked the kitchen and saw the bottle of vodka still on the counter, then took a quick look at the living room. The fine carpets. The art on the walls. The shutters blocking out the light. The house had a definite feel about it. Dark and empty.
“Where’s your wife?” she said.
“Visiting her sister in Bakersfield.”
“When did she leave?”
“About three a.m. this morning.”
“Seems like an odd time to go on a trip.”