Nodding her complicity, Gail said, "See? I might not be such a bad detective after all."
"Maybe not," Frank granted.
After coffee and Armangac, they sauntered back to Gail's office, enjoying the silky night air and easy conversation. Frank waited while Gail prowled around in her purse for keys.
"Tarrah," she said holding them aloft. She caught Frank reflexively checking Gail's empty, dark car, and chided, "Always the cop."
"Should make you feel safe."
"I feel a lot of things around you," Gail admitted. "That's one of them."
Frank didn't know what to do with that and she examined the pavement at her feet.
"So what do you think?" Gail asked. "We've had a couple dinners now. How would you feel about a real date?"
"What do you mean a real date?" Frank hedged.
"A planned event. Not something accidental after work or at the Alibi."
Frank nodded, seeking refuge again in the solid ground.
"Gail," she struggled, "I really enjoy your company. I like being with you. But I'm moving through some stuff right now," Frank faltered. "Let's just say it probably wouldn't be wise of me to get into any kind of a romantic involvement."
She paused and Gail asked, "What sort of stuff?"
"Old stuff. Stuff I should have dealt with a long time ago, and that I'm just now getting around to."
"I see. So does this stuff," Gail stressed, "preclude something as innocent as a movie, or going for a walk together?"
"No," Frank allowed with a thin smile. "I just don't want to mislead you. I don't think I'm up for anything more significant than a fine friendship right now. And you might want more. I don't know."
Holding a grin back on her lower lip, Gail said, "I've been single all my life, Frank. I'm not asking you to marry me. I just thought it would be nice to look forward to doing something together. Would that be so awful?"
"Not at all. But I remember you saying something about being ready to settle down . . . and if you had that intention with me, it's probably not such a good idea."
"Fair enough," Gail said letting the grin loose. "So do you think you'd be up for a hike Saturday morning or would that be too involved?"
"A hike?" Frank asked like she'd never heard the word.
"Yeah, you know." Gail waved a rashed hand, "Up on the Angeles Crest or something."
"I've never been hiking," Frank answered, pulling on her chin. "Sound's like something Boy Scouts do."
"What do you mean you've never been hiking?"
"Which part of that didn't you understand?"
"How can you have never hiked?"
"Hey. I grew up in New York City," Frank insisted, "And now I live in L.A. Where am I supposed to have done all this hiking?"
"All around," Gail cried. "God, we've got some of the most beautiful country in the world right in our own back yard. We've got the Santa Monica's, the San Gabriel's, San Gorgonio. These places are beautiful. Anza Borrego in the spring, God! I can't believe you've never been! Let me take you Saturday," Gail pleaded. "We won't do anything strenuous, just a short hike. I know a pretty little trail right outside of Altadena. What do you think?"
"Would I need hiking boots?"
The doc answered with the low chuckle that Frank found so attractive.
"No, silly. Just tennis shoes. We're not scaling Everest."
"How long would it take?"
"As long as we wanted it to. Unless you really don't want to do it. You're enthusiasm's hardly overwhelming."
Frank considered, finally relenting, "All right, Nature Girl. Show me."
"You be at my place Saturday morning at eight o'clock, and I'll show you."
"I don't need a backpack or a walking stick like those guys on the cover of "Outside"?"
"It's a two-hour hike, Frank, not a forced march across the Himalayas."
"All right," Frank smiled. "See you at the Alibi Friday?"
"Probably not. I've got to get a good night's sleep for this arduous trek."
"Good idea. See you Saturday then."
"Okay."
Gail opened her door, but Frank said, "Hey. Do I need pitons and rappelling ropes?"
"Yeah. For when I throw you over a cliff," Gail laughed. "Don't get too drunk Friday."
"Can't. On call again."
"Are you on call every weekend?"
"Nope. Just building up favors. Never know when you might need them."
Frank did as instructed, showing up at Gail's condo at eight AM sharp on Saturday morning. The doc drove them out to the mountains behind Pasadena and they hiked until the day got too warm. Other than mistaking every stick in the trail for a rattlesnake, Frank had a good time. It was easy being with Gail and when they got back to the condo, Frank ventured, "You got a hot date tonight or would you like to come over to my place? I'll throw some steaks on the grill, maybe rent a movie . . . you know, a planned event."
"Oh, my. Are you sure you're ready for such a big commitment?"
"Pretty sure," Frank replied. "I've got to go into town. Get some work done. How's six-thirty sound?"
"Divine. What can I bring?"
"Nothing. I got you covered."
A couple hours later, after a quick, hard run on the treadmill, then a shower, Frank started the coals for the barbeque. She didn't have to rush though, because Gail was late. Half an hour later, she added more charcoal and lowered the temperature on the potatoes in the oven. Compulsive about being on time, it tweaked Frank that the rest of the world thought six-thirty meant seven or seven-thirty. But when Gail finally arrived, her color high from the morning sun and her eyes still holding all the warmth of the day, Frank forgot her irritation. Pouring her a glass of wine, they moved out to the patio and listened to the steaks sizzle.
"I was taking my boots off after I got home," Gail was saying, "and it dawned on me that Luis Estrella's shoes still had blood in the grooves. A lot. Don't you think that most of it would have caked off after he'd been walking around in the chaparral for a while?"
"You'd think," Frank nodded. "So either he wasn't walking or he wasn't wearing those shoes."
"Well he had to have been wearing some shoes. There was no evidence that he was barefoot. But maybe he wasn't walking in them for very long."
Frank clacked the barbecue tongs open and shut.
"Yeah," Frank mused. "Maybe the latter. I went into the canyon where they found him and had a look around. He had to have gone through some relatively thick brush to get down there. I was walking around in broad daylight, straight, and I still snagged my clothes and got scratched up. I can't imagine how he got down there in the dark, and half OD'd, without any more scratches and rips than he had. It's almost like someone carried him in. And what was he doing up there in the first place?" she mused, warming to the intrigue.
"Who knows? Maybe he was on the run. Maybe he wanted to go someplace where he could be alone, think about what he'd done."
"I can't imagine a junkie being that reflective. And I can't see him heading for the hills if he was scared. He wasn't a nature boy. He was a city kid, like me. He wouldn't run into the boonies for comfort. He'd go underground. Either in south-central or some other city where he could blend in, and not be too far from skag. He only had a couple hits on him. It doesn't make sense that he was up there unless someone brought him up there. Brought him up there and dumped him. That would explain his shoes, and his clothes being so unmarked. See, none of this is adding up to an accidental OD."
"Then how'd he get all that blood in his shoes unless he was there when his family was being killed?"
"Maybe he was a witness. Maybe whoever did it needed something from him and couldn't kill him right away. Maybe it was a buy that went sideways. I don't know," Frank admitted.
"Maybe we'll know more when we get the rest of the lab work back."