Sunset Express

'I believe you, detective.'

When I said it her breath gave and her eyes filled and her face collapsed, but in that same instant she caught herself and rebuilt the calm cop exterior: her breathing steadied, her eyes dried, her face calmed. It wasn't easy to recreate herself that way, but I imagined that she'd had plenty of practice over the years and that, as with every other professional police officer that I'd known, it had become a necessary survival skill. She had allowed a window to her heart to open, then had slammed it shut the way you take a covered pan off the fire when it begins to boil over, removing the heat so that you don't lose the contents. 'I'm suspended. I've been ordered to stay away from all official police business or activities pending an IA investigation. The district attorney's office is also investigating me.'

'I know.'

'The people I work with, there's only so much they can do.'

I knew that, too. If Tomsic or the others did anything to find out what was going on, they'd be pounded for obstructing justice and probably accused of trying to cover up Rossi's alleged crimes.

She looked at Joe. 'You guys offered to help. Joe said that the offer still stands.'

'Of course.' I glanced at Lucy on the deck. She and Ben were at the rail. Ben was pointing at something far down the canyon and yakking, but Lucy seemed neither to hear him nor to see. As if the other presence were out there, too, and drawing her attention. I felt my own eyes fill, but, like Angela Rossi, I also knew the tricks of survival. 'We're not going to walk away, Angie. We're not going to leave you hanging.'

Angela Rossi looked at me for a time, first in one eye and then the other, and then she glanced again at Lucy and Ben. 'I'm sorry I intruded.'

'Don't worry about it.'

She put out her hand. We shook, and then Angela Rossi left my home.

Joe Pike stood in the entry, staring out onto the deck, as if he, too, could somehow sense the tension. Maybe I should just put up a huge sign: DOMESTIC PROBLEM. I said, 'What?'

Pike stared a moment longer, then turned and followed Angela Rossi, leaving me in the shadows.

I went back into the kitchen, stirred the sauce, then turned off the heat. The spaghetti was limp and swollen. I poured it in the colander, rinsed it, and let it drain.

I could see Lucy and Ben in the light at the rail, haloed by a swirl of flying insects, Lucy still there but not there, Ben now quiet. The cat door made its clack-clack behind me, and the cat crept in. He moved cautiously, pausing between steps, sniffing the air. I smiled at him. 'It's okay, bud. They're outside.'

He blinked at me, but you could tell he was suspicious. He crept to the dining area, still testing the air, then came back and stood by my feet. I broke off a piece of the venison sausage, sucked off the tomato sauce, then blew on it until it was cool. I offered it to him, and as he ate it I stroked him. His fur was flecked with dust and bits of plant matter, and felt cool from the night air. White hairs were beginning to show through the black, and I wondered how old he was. We had been together a long time.

When he was finished he looked up at me, and I smiled. I picked him up and held him close, and after a time he purred. I said, 'Life is complicated, isn't it?'

He licked my cheek, then bit my jaw, but he didn't bite hard.

After a time he hopped down and made his way through the house. He moved slowly, staring toward the deck for a very long time before finally bolting up the stairs and into my bedroom.

I told Lucy and Ben that dinner was ready. We ate, and not long after that we doused the lights and went to bed.

Since Lucy did not come upstairs that night, the cat slept well.

CHAPTER 24

The next day Lucy and Ben planned to spend the morning in Beverly Hills, then make the drive to Long Beach for what Lucy hoped would be the final meeting of her negotiation. They were leaving the day after tomorrow.

We made banana pancakes and eggs and coffee, and ate together, but Lucy still seemed pained and distracted as she readied to leave. I found that I was thinking more about her and less about me, but neither of us seemed to be making much progress toward a resolution. Of course, maybe this was because we had so far successfully avoided talking, and maybe the time for talk-avoidance had passed. The ducking of communication rarely leads to a resolution. I said, 'What time do you guys expect to be home?'

'Sixish.' Lucy was replacing her files in her briefcase. 'I don't expect that anything will hang us up in Long Beach.'

'Good. I'm going to take us someplace special for dinner.'

She smiled at me. The soft smile. 'Where?'

'Surprise.'

We held each other's gaze for the first time that morning, and then Lucy put out her hand. Her skin was warm and soft, and touching her made me tingle. 'A surprise would be nice.'

'Leave everything to me.' Elvis Cole, Master of the Universe, turns on the ol' charm.

They left the house at ten minutes before nine, and then I phoned my friend at the coroner's office. The autopsy of James Lester had been completed, and when I asked after the cause of death, he said, 'The guy took a header through the glass, and he was still alive when he made the fall. You want to know just what was severed and how?'

'Not necessary. Was there an indication that he might've had help going through the glass?'

'You mean, like, did someone beat the hell out of him first, then push him through?'

'That's one way to put it.' I could hear papers rustling in the background, and laughter. Someone sharing a big joke to start the day at the morgue.

'Nah. No sign of blunt-force trauma. No bruising, cuts, or scrapes that would indicate a physical altercation.'

'Hm.' So maybe it wasn't murder. Maybe James Lester was just clumsy.

'But we did find one thing that was odd.' Maybe James Lester wasn't just clumsy after all. 'There's a pattern of subcutaneous capillary rupture over the carotid area on his neck.'

'That sounds like bruising.'

'It's not the kind of bruising you'd ever see, and it wasn't caused by impact trauma.'

'So no one hit him.'

'You see stuff like this when someone vomits or has a coughing fit. Coughing can do stuff like that. You'd be surprised what coughing can do.' These medical examiners.

I was thinking about the carotid artery, and I was trying to imagine a type of force that might rupture microcapil-laries without creating an impact bruise. 'Are you saying that he was strangled?'

'Nah. Bruising would be severe.'

'Could he have been strangled in a way to avoid the bruising?'

He thought about it. 'I guess he could've been strangled with something soft, like a towel, or maybe choked out, like with a police choke hold. That might show a rupture pattern like this.'

'So he could've been choked out, then tossed through the glass.'

'Hey, you're saying it, I'm not. We're just speculating.'

'But it's possible.'

'It's possible the guy swallowed wrong, started coughing, then lost his balance and went through the glass.'

I didn't say anything.

'But, yeah, he could've been choked out, too.'

I hung up, then called Mrs Louise Earle. Her answering machine answered, and I said, 'Mrs Earle, this is Elvis Cole. If you're there, would you pick up, please? We need to talk.' I was hoping to catch her before she started her day. I was hoping to convince her to see me.

No one picked up.

'Mrs Earle, if Angela Rossi or any other police officer threatened you, I wish you would've told me. I'd sure like to hear about it, now.'

Still no answer.

I hung up, then once more made the drive to Olympic Park. If I couldn't get her on the phone, I would try to see her in person. If she wasn't home, I would wait. What better way for an unemployed detective to fill his day?