Sunset Express

Elliot Truly said, 'Here, here.' Really.

Green gestured toward Kerris. 'We've been absolutely overwhelmed with people calling our hotline, haven't we, Stan?'

Kerris nodded, but the nod conveyed nothing, sort of like his eyes. 'We've gotten several hundred calls from people claiming to have information about the kidnapping. We can dismiss some based on the phone interview, but most have to be checked. We're dividing these things up among our investigators.'

Green said, 'Stan, give him the envelope, please.'

Kerris pushed the envelope down along the table to me. I opened it. Twenty single-sheet interview forms were inside.

Jonathan said, 'Each sheet contains the name, phone number, and address of a person claiming to have information about Susan Martin's murder. If you could see your way clear to staying with us on this and checking these people out, we would appreciate it.'

I looked at the sheets. I slipped them back into the envelope. 'I have guests coming into town.'

Truly shrugged. 'There isn't a rush with this, Cole. Sure, sooner is better than later, but you know the justice system.'

'Okay.'

Green broke into a wide smile. 'Well, that's just great. That's fabulous.'

The assembled attorneys told me how great it was.

I glanced at my watch, thinking I could knock off three or four interviews before Lucy's plane. The more I finished before Lucy's plane, the more time I'd have for her.

Truly said, 'We don't know anything about these people. As Stan said, our screeners were able to rule out the obvious cranks, but you never know. We want you to use your best judgment to determine if they have anything of merit to offer.'

'Judgment. Okay.' I looked at my watch again. 'I've got it.'

Truly spread his hands. 'And when you're done with those, of course, there's more.'

The lesser attorneys chuckled and someone said, 'A lot more.' Even Jonathan Green chuckled at that one.

Green stood and everyone stood with him, and I was hoping I hadn't been too obvious with all the watch-glancing. Jonathan came around the table and offered his hand again, and this time when we shook he held it. He said, 'I want you to know that I appreciate the good, fast work you've done, Mr Cole. It's important to me, and it's important to Teddy, also. I spoke with him yesterday and told him that you're on the team. You're going to like Teddy, Mr Cole. Everyone does.'

'I'll look forward.'

'Good hunting.' He tried to let go of my hand, but this time I held onto him, not realizing that I had. In that instant he smiled warmly and I let go.

Jonathan Green swept out in a wave, Kerris beside him and the lesser attorneys in his wake, jostling each other to better their positions.

CHAPTER 9

It was a little before ten when I followed the trail of security men down to my car, then zipped to the Virgin Megastore, bought the new k.d. lang and a collection of Louisiana hits called Cajun Party, then sat in the Megastore's parking structure and went through the envelope of hotline tipsters. I had almost seven hours until Lucy's plane; plenty of time for the world's fastest detective to do his marketing and work his way through a significant number of interviews, especially if he attacked his investigatorial responsibilities in a methodical and professional manner.

I organized the twenty statement forms by location and decided to start with those people who were closest and work outward.

I went back into the Virgin, got change from a pretty young woman with a pin through her nose, then found a pay phone on Sunset Boulevard to arrange the interviews. A homeless man with a shopping cart filled with neatly folded cardboard squares was seated beneath the phone, but he graciously moved aside when I told him I needed to make some calls. He said, 'Please feel free. It is, after all, a public instrument.' He was wearing spats.

I fed in a quarter and dialed Mr C. Bertrand Rujillio, who lived less than five minutes away. A man with a soft, raspy voice answered on the fourth ring and said, 'Who is this?'

'My name is Cole, for the law firm of Jonathan Green. I'm calling for Mr C. Bertrand Rujillio, please.'

There was a pause, and then the rasp came back. 'Do you have the money?'

'Is this Mr Rujillio?'

Another pause, softer. 'The money?'

'If you mean the reward, that won't be paid unless the information you provide leads to the arrest and conviction of Ms Martin's murderer.' Truly said that the phone bank operators had explained all this. Truly said I wouldn't have to worry about it. 'I need to take your statement, Mr Rujillio. Can we arrange that?'

The pause again, and this time the line went dead. I stared at the phone for a couple of seconds, then hung up and scratched C. Bertrand Rujillio's name off the list.

The homeless man said, 'No luck?'

I shook my head.

Of the next three calls, two reached answering machines and one went unanswered. Nobody home. I said, 'Damn.'

The homeless man said, 'Four out of four is poor luck.'

'It can't last forever.'

'Will you have many more calls?'

'A couple.'

He sighed and looked away.

Two more calls and two more answering machines and all the nearby people were done. So much for efficiency. So much for my plan of starting in close and working out. I said, 'Well, hell.'

The homeless man said, 'Tell me about it.'

I looked at him. 'I had a plan, but no one's home.'

He made a sympathetic shrug, then spread his hands. 'Flexibility, my friend. Flexibility is the key to all happiness. Remember that.'

I told him that I would and shuffled through the witness forms and decided to hell with starting close. I called Floyd M. Thomas in Chatsworth. Chatsworth was a good forty minutes away. Floyd M, Thomas answered on the third ring in a fast, nervous voice and told me that he had been expecting my call and that he would be happy to see me. I hung up. The homeless man said, 'You see? When we force events we corrupt them. Your flexibility allowed events to unfold in a way that pleases you. We know this as synchronicity.'

'You're a very wise man. Thank you.'

He spread his hands. 'To possess great wisdom obliges one to share it. Enjoy.'

I drove to Chatsworth.

Floyd Thomas lived in a studio apartment on the second floor of a ten-unit garden apartment just off Nordhoff. Scaffolding was rigged around the front and sides of the place, and Hispanic men in baggy pants were chipping away cracked stucco. Earthquake repairs. Thomas himself was a thin, hunched man in his early fifties who opened his door only wide enough to peer out at me with one eye. When he opened the door a cloud of moist heat oozed out around him like a fog. I slipped in a card. 'Elvis Cole. I called you about the Martin murder.'

He looked at the card without taking it. 'Oh, yes. Floyd Thomas saw that. Floyd Thomas saw exactly what happened.' Floyd Thomas. Don't you love it when they speak of themselves in the third person.

'That's great, Mr Thomas. I'll need to take your statement.'

He unlocked four chains and opened the door just wide enough for me to enter. If it was in the high nineties outside, Thomas's apartment must've been a hundred ten with at least three industrial-strength humidifiers pumping out jets of water vapor. Stacks of newspapers and magazines and periodicals sprouted around the room like some out-of-control toadstool jungle, and everything smelled of mildew and body odor. I said, 'Hot in here.'

'Floyd Thomas chills easily.' Sweat leaked down out of his scalp and along the contours of his face and made his thin shirt cling to his skin. Thirty seconds inside his apartment, and I was beginning to sweat, too.

'So what did you see, Mr Thomas?' I dug out the form and prepared to take notes.