As the road stretched westward, the homes gave way to apartment buildings, factory showrooms, and lots of corner gas stations and strip malls. Farther west, the area once again became open space as the boulevard neared the foothills.
Martinez said, “He’s going toward the Santa Susanas.”
“From one mountain range to another.” Webster pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “Maybe Waterson and Sanchez are partners in a chain of chop shops. Sanchez does the dirty work, Waterson does the finances. An interesting albeit farfetched concept. But whoda thought Sparks would involve himself with a bunch of bikers.”
Waterson entered the West Hills area, slowed, then turned on his left-hand blinker, heading straight into a tree-lined residential area.
Martinez said, “Pass him up.”
“Why?”
“Because the ’Cuda doesn’t have enough cover in such a quiet neighborhood. Pass him up.”
Webster kept the ’Cuda going straight, watching the Lincoln turn in his rearview mirror. “Now what?”
“Turn left at the next opportunity.”
Webster did as told. “Backtrack?”
“You know what? I think I know where he’s headed.” Martinez punched open the glove compartment, pulled out a street map. “We’re about a mile away from Sparks’s house. Go straight about…half a mile, then turn right on Orchard, left on Vine, then left on Alta Vista. Betcha we’ll find the car there.”
Webster raised his brow. “You sure you want to lose him at this point?”
“We’re too visible to follow him, Tom. After what happened to Sparks, he may even think that someone’s out to get him. Just trust me on this.”
They rode the next few minutes in tense silence. As Webster neared the Sparks house, he slowed the ’Cuda, took in the neighborhood. Large two-story homes on what seemed like big parcels of land. But the construction was only serviceable at best. Composite wood-sided housing or thin, textured stucco jobs. All of the homes were roofed in adobe-colored Spanish tile, giving the blocks uniformity. Giant carob trees shaded the streets. Dirt sidewalks.
Fancy area for a guy like Webster. But he couldn’t help wondering why a guy as rich as Sparks would have chosen this over Beverly Hills or Malibu, or at the very least, one of the million-dollar developments in Granada Hills.
Sparks’s home sat by itself at the mouth of a cul-de-sac. Parked in the driveway was Waterson’s Lincoln.
“Bert one, Tom zero.” Webster did a three-pointer and turned around. “Now what?”
Martinez picked up the cell phone and called Decker.
“That was fast,” Decker said. “Where are you?”
“In front of Sparks’s house. Waterson’s Lincoln is parked in the driveway. You want us to pay a visit?”
“No. Right now, I want you to go over to impound and start taking the Sparkses’ Buick apart. Good job, guys.”
“What about Waterson?”
“I’m scheduled to see the widow today at three. So I’ll drop by a little early.”
Martinez glanced at the ’Cuda’s clock. “A little early? It’s straight-up noon, Loo.”
“My oh my,” Decker said. “My watch is running fast.”
Michael answered the door, seemed surprised by Decker’s appearance. The young man wore a crewneck sweater over a vanilla shirt, khaki pants, and loafers. He fiddled with his collar, looked over his shoulder as if waiting for someone to come to his rescue. “I thought you were coming later.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience. May I come in?”
The med student was hesitant. “My mother is kind of indisposed right now.”
Decker stood firm. “I’m really sorry for coming at an awful time.”
Michael ran his hand through a thick nest of black curls. Uncertainty seemed to be his hallmark. “Could you hold on a second?”
“Of course.”
The door closed, reopened a minute later. Mike had brought reinforcements in the form of older brother Paul, both of them staring at Decker with the same deep blue eyes. Strong fraternal resemblance. But the med student was slimmer, younger, and sans tic.
Paul said, “Mom’s resting. If it’s important, I’ll fetch her.”
“The sooner I talk to her, the better.”
Paul’s eyes moved at shutter speed. “So it’s important?”
“You have a breakthrough?” Michael asked excitedly.
“Not yet, I’m afraid. May I come in?”
The door opened completely, and Decker walked inside. Sitting on the family-room couch was the man with the veiny nose. He stood when he saw Decker, regarded Paul with questioning eyes.
“This is Lieutenant Decker, principal investigator of my father’s case,” Paul said. “Lieutenant, William Waterson, my father’s lawyer.”
Decker shook the attorney’s hand-firm grip, but not bone-crushing. The lawyer was about four inches shorter than Decker, around six even. His face held a drinker’s complexion, but his eyes were strong and lucid.
Waterson said, “Any news, Lieutenant?”
“Nothing worth reporting.” Decker remained standing and so did Waterson. “Are you also in charge of administering Dr. Sparks’s estate, sir?”
Waterson’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am.”
Decker said, “Then you’ll be disclosing the will’s contents. See, there must be a will. Because Sparks had a family trust. When you have a trust, you have a will.”
Waterson eyed the two brothers. Michael shrugged ignorance, Paul revealed nothing. The lawyer said, “May I ask where you obtained such confidential information?”
“Just did a little poking around. No big deal.”
Paul broke in, eyes fluttering. “Yes, Dad and Mom have a family trust and Dad had a will. Hopefully, we’ll be reading it soon. The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. Easier for my mom. This way she’ll have access to her funds.”
And you’ll have access to a million bucks. As soon as insurance pays up. Which may take a long time. Decker kept his thoughts to himself. To Waterson, he said, “Nice of you to make house calls. Just out in the area or is this truly personalized service?”
“Azor Sparks was a dear friend. I feel I owe it to him to keep an eye on Dolly.”
“She has children. Why does she need watching from you?”
Michael nodded enthusiastically. Waterson glared at him, then at Decker. He said, “After losing my beloved wife four years ago, I can assure you it’s a trying time for her. Anything I can do to help ease her pain.”
“That’s very decent of you, sir.”
“That’s why we were put on this earth, Lieutenant,” Waterson stated. “To love God and be decent with each other.”
Decker nodded solemnly. He lied, “I called your office about an hour ago. You weren’t in.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Can I ask where you were?”
“Why are you curious about me?”
“Please bear with me, sir.”
“I was consulting with a client,” Waterson said stiffly. “And no, I won’t tell you who. That’s privileged information.”
“So you do make house calls.”
“I don’t see where this should be any of your concern. Do I detect a note of antagonism from you?”
Decker looked him in the eye. “Don’t mean to be confrontational. I was just taken aback by good, old-fashioned service, Mr. Waterson.” Charging portal-to-portal at two hundred an hour. “Commendable in this day and age.”
Waterson didn’t know how to read the compliment. He played it straight. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You’re in solo practice, Mr. Waterson?”
“I have partners.”
“But it’s your firm.”
“Yes.”
“Estate law?”