Stahl got out, and so did the chief and deputy chief. The black limousine drove off toward the road that led down the hill to Forest Lawn Drive and the 101 Freeway.
The chief said, “Damn.”
“Sorry, Dick,” said Ogden. “Thanks for giving it a try with us.”
The chief shook Stahl’s hand. “Something may work out yet. I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t leave town on some long business assignment without telling us.”
“I won’t,” he said. He turned and walked back along the row of graves to the spot where Hines was talking to Elliot and a few others. When he got there, he could see the others were watching him for some hint of what had gone on in the mayor’s limousine. He said to Hines, “Ready?”
“Sure.”
Before they left, he said, “Take care of each other, guys. Use Andros and explode any devices from a distance. Stay alive.”
As they walked to the place where Stahl had parked his car, the sun was almost below the hills to the west, and the sky was reaching its most fiery red-orange. Hines looked back toward the section they had just left, and she could see the cemetery crew pushing the dirt into the grave.
42
On the drive away from the cemetery they didn’t speak much. Stahl drove west, but instead of turning south toward the west side where they lived, he took Barham to Ventura Boulevard into Studio City. He turned into the plaza just before Laurel Canyon and parked. The sky was dark now, the deep indigo that lingered in the west during early evening in the Valley. She looked up at him. “Du-Par’s?”
He shrugged. “Funerals make me feel hungry. I think it’s probably the body trying to fight back, to be alive.”
They walked in the front door. Anyone who stepped through the glass doors could see the place had a long history. Its fiftieth anniversary cups were now almost antiques. There were old photographs framed and hanging on the wall that proved the layout had reached approximately its current configuration sometime in the 1950s, and the more recent remodeling had only added a half room that looked like the other one. The simplicity of the diner hid the fact that deals to launch big-budget movies had been make over breakfast at the big table in the back, and it was still an easy place to spot stars. Du-Par’s was always open.
Hines stepped in ahead of Stahl and picked a booth. “I’ve been here on three Thanksgivings. All the older cops got the dinner hours off on big holidays. My partner and I had turkey here.”
Stahl said, “I used to come here when I was assigned to North Hollywood too. I don’t think I was ever here on Thanksgiving. It didn’t matter when I was here, though. I always ordered pancakes.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Those are good. Are you going to order some now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” she said.
“Why?”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll give me a taste.”
A waitress in a white uniform appeared. She and the other waitress looked exactly as their predecessors had years ago, except a few of them used to wear lace handkerchiefs folded into corsages pinned to their chests. Hines wondered when that custom had disappeared. When Stahl asked for a stack of pancakes and a pair of fried eggs, Hines ordered only the eggs and some coffee. The waitress walked off, and Hines said, “The pancakes were a good decision.”
Just as the food arrived, Hines’s cell phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her purse and said, “Mom? I’m sorry, but I’m in a restaurant. I can’t talk.” She listened. “You’re right, Mom.” She looked at Stahl across the booth. “It’s very fancy. Decadent. He treats me like a queen. I know it’s late there, so you can go to bed. I won’t be out of the restaurant for a while, but I’ll call you tomorrow.” She slid the phone back into her purse.
“You’re lying to make me look good to her?” Stahl asked.
“She thinks I need to be cared for and babied twenty-four hours a day. If she thinks you’re not doing it, she’ll be on the next plane from Miami.”
“She can come anytime, you know.”
“I know,” Hines said. “And I appreciate it. I just don’t want her to yet.”
“Why not?”
Hines cocked her head. “Things haven’t worked their way out to what they’re going to be yet. Too much is still in the air. Having her here would make it her business too, and she’s a person with opinions.”
“What hasn’t worked out?”
“Life hasn’t found its way to normal yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if I’ve got a career or a disability payment. I’m trying to figure out if I can go back to the squad, or if the department will want me back at all. I haven’t been charged with violating Police Regulation 271, but they could do it. And you and I are still a work in progress.”
“We are?”
“I’m willing to take the career questions from her. Either way, she’ll be fine with it. She’s always hated it that I’m a cop. But I’m not ready to have the conversation about you yet.”
“Thinking of dumping me?”
“I think about the opposite,” she said. “It’s been about two months since I moved in with you. The ambience is not that different from being in one of those long-term care places. I spend a lot of time lately wondering when you’re going to rip my clothes off and carry me to bed again.”
“I didn’t know you were ready for that kind of thing. In working order and feeling frisky.”
“I’m maybe not feeling like a peak performance yet, but maybe you could just gently peel the clothes down or lift them up off me or whatever is called for. That can be pretty erotic too. Or just show some prurient interest. I think it might help morale around the condo quite a bit.”
“It’s already lifted mine in a matter of seconds.”
“I’ll bet,” she said. “It’ll be even better if I’m not wearing a police uniform to start. You know, I love my mother, but before we figure out what normal is going to be, maybe we shouldn’t invite her into the middle of it. You agree?”
“Completely,” he said.
She finished her last bit of egg and eyed his plate. “Are you ready to share your pancakes?”
“Yes.” He pushed his plate in front of her. “Have at it.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll get fat?”
“It’s not really my job,” he said. “I don’t want to be that guy. Besides, you work out like you were an NFL linebacker.”
She poured a bit of melted butter on the pancake, lifted her fork, dipped a morsel of pancake into the pool of maple syrup, and closed her eyes as she ate it. “I’ve missed these too.” She put the fork down. “Let’s go home.”
He picked up the check, slid out of the booth, and held out his hand. “Did you mean that about the clothes?”
“Take me home and find out.”
They drove home over Laurel Canyon. Just as they reached Mulholland Drive at the crest of the hill, the radio said, “We have a late-breaking report on the bomb crisis. Sources close to the mayor’s office have indicated that in the wake of the latest booby-trap attacks, the mayor will ask Richard Stahl, the bomb expert who was forced to resign two weeks ago, to return and take over the Bomb Squad, possibly as early as tomorrow.”
Stahl tapped the power button to turn it off.
“That’s quite a story,” Hines said. “I wonder where it came from.”
“Somebody probably saw me get into the mayor’s limo at the funeral and drew the wrong conclusion.”
When Stahl reached their street he kept going and circled the area looking for suspicious cars or trucks parked near enough to the condominium building to indicate it was under surveillance. Stahl checked nearby buildings to see if there was any sign of lenses or directional microphones in upper windows.