Charlie nodded. “They just told me.”
“They?” Bailey said. “Do you mean the officers who arrested you today?”
Charlie nodded. It was bad procedure to tell a suspect anything before questioning. Annoyed, I looked up to catch Dwight shaking his head.
“Okay, let’s make sure we’re on the same page,” Bailey said. She pulled out the photograph of Evan we’d used in the public release. “Do you recognize this guy?”
Charlie stared at it. “I’m, uh, not sure. Dude was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. That might be him, though. Looks pretty similar.”
“Tell us how you met him.”
“I saw an ad on Craigslist. A guy was looking for a straight trade, said he might throw in some cash if it made sense.”
A straight trade? The light began to dawn. I stepped in. “Of cars?”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I had this old junker Chevy my folks gave me when I graduated high school. I figured, what the hell? It couldn’t hurt to see if he’d go for it.”
Pretty friggin’ clever. “And he did.”
Charlie gave a short chuckle, remembering the sweet deal he’d scored. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it. Dude was crazy to do a swap like that. I mean, his car had a little body damage. But hell, it was about a thousand times better than my old piece of sh-” Charlie stopped. “Uh, junk.”
I hadn’t had the chance to look at the car yet, but I remembered Jeremy had said Logan sideswiped his car as he and Evan fled from the school. “When did you make the trade?”
Charlie looked up at the ceiling. “I’m not great on dates. Five, maybe six days ago?”
“Do you have any paperwork?”
“At home, yeah.”
That might nail it down. Though given what I’d seen of Charlie, it might not. He had stoner written all over him. But if his estimation was right, then Evan had made the trade right after the Cinemark shooting. Which was well before we’d identified him. No way Charlie could’ve known who he was dealing with. He might be in violation of some DMV registration laws, but not much more. I’d leave it to the local cops to decide what to do with that.
Bailey put the photo back in her notepad. “Where did you meet with him when you made the swap?”
“Just down the block from my folks’ place.”
“You didn’t want them to know about the trade?”
“Nah, I didn’t care about that. If it was righteous, I was getting a sweet deal. But I didn’t know this dude. I didn’t want to be too close to my parents’ house in case he was, you know…a problem.”
I was kind of touched that Charlie was protective of his parents. Then again, he might’ve just been protecting his meal ticket. And I thought I couldn’t get more cynical.
Bailey nodded at me. “You got anything else?”
“No, thanks. We should get the car to Dorian for processing.” I knew Evan would’ve done his best to clean out any evidence, but his best was no match for the superhuman abilities of Struck.
Bailey thanked Charlie for his time and nodded to Dwight and the unis. They’d just taken Charlie away when our buddy Lieutenant Braverman walked in. I could see that Bailey enjoyed telling him we’d already finished. “I’m not recommending any charges,” she said. “But if it’s important to you, there might be some vehicle code registration violations.” Translation: “There’s some chicken shit over there in the corner for ya.”
Braverman’s face locked up and his eyes narrowed. “We can process the car out here.” Translation: “If there’s some glory to be salvaged from this wreck, I’m taking it.”
Bailey gave him a cold smile. “Thanks, but it doesn’t make sense to bring anyone else in. Dorian’s handled all the other crime scenes, so she’ll know what to look for.” Translation: “Go fuck yourself.”
We left the station with a spring in our step. It wasn’t as big a victory as we’d hoped. We didn’t net Evan Cutter. But we did have a line on the car he might be driving now. That was something. We who live on crumbs demand very little for a feast. Bailey called in the description and plate of Charlie’s car to get out an alert, and we spent the rest of the ride back downtown laughing at Bullet Brain Braverman. By the time Bailey took the off-ramp at Sixth Street, it was after six o’clock.
My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “You hungry?”
“Apparently you are.” Bailey glanced at my stomach. “We were just at Chipotle. We could’ve picked something up.”
I laughed. “Yeah. I’m sure the manager would’ve been thrilled to serve us. Biltmore bar?”
“Sold.” It’d be nice to sink into the plush quiet with a glass of Pinot Noir. Or a martini. And I knew Bailey hadn’t seen Drew in days. For that matter, neither had I.
Bailey made up for her obnoxiously legal parking job in the Valley by selecting a space in the red zone right in front of the hotel. We slid into the booth closest to the bar. “What’re you having?” I asked.
“A tiny Martin.”
“Sounds good. And an appetizer?”
“How about a grilled artichoke?” I gave her the thumbs-up, and Bailey went to the bar to order. And make kissy-face with Drew. She came back with him bearing two icy martinis.
He set them down as Bailey sat. “I heard you two had a wild ride today.”
We gave him the highlights. Drew laughed out loud when Bailey told him about the manager dragging Charlie out by the scruff of the neck. “I wish I’d seen that.”
“You still might,” Bailey said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if someone caught it all on a cell phone.”
“I’ll keep the TV tuned to the news.” Drew headed back to the bar.
I raised my glass and we clinked. “To a wild ride.”
We sipped our drinks, and I thought about what we’d gained from it. “We might not find anything in Logan’s car, but if Evan didn’t dump the one he got from Charlie, we now have a license plate and description of what he’s driving. Are the unis still pulling all stolen license reports?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure that’ll pan out fast enough, though. If Evan’s been planning all this for as long as we think, he could’ve ripped off a plate a year ago.”
“Yeah. Well, at least we know what the car looks like. That’s something.” I sighed. “It feels like I’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
Bailey gave me a little smile, then looked over my shoulder. Her smile disappeared. “Oh, no you didn’t. You little turd.” She pointed to the television above the bar.
And there, in all his pixilated glory, was Charlie Herzog. The crawl said that the footage was being broadcast courtesy of TMZ-a tabloid television show. It figured. I shook my head. “They flashed the cash, so of course he went for it.”
Bailey went to the bar and asked Drew to turn up the volume. Charlie’s voice drifted over the clink of glasses and soft chatter. “Yeah, when I swapped cars with the dude a few days ago I had no [bleep] idea who he was.” Charlie leaned in and cocked his ear at the reporter. “What?” The reporter said something we couldn’t hear, and then Charlie said, “My car? Oh, my car was a beige 1999 Chevy. Back bumper’s a little dented, and the driver’s side door’s got a ding in it. Oh, and the front passenger door’s kind of messed up too.” Then he gave the license plate. The reporter asked another question, and Charlie smiled. “Nothing unusual about the dude at all. He was just a regular guy, about so high.” Charlie gestured six inches below his head. “Had short hair…uh, that’s about it.”
Bailey and I exchanged a look. I shrugged. “We should probably thank the fool. The whole world’s going to be looking for that car now.”
“That ought to tighten the screws on psycho boy.”
78
Friday, October 18
7:08 a.m.
I was having a nightmare about being chased by a man in a ski mask-it doesn’t take Freud to figure out the symbolism in my dreams-when my hotel phone rang. I sat up before I grabbed it, hoping that would make me sound more awake. “’Lo?”