“Okay, then where is it?”
He nodded and looked off to the right and at the city down below. The never-ending hiss of traffic filtered up to us.
“That’s the thing, Mr. Haller. I need some money. I want to go back to Mexico. You don’t need a lot down there but you need a start, if you know what I mean.”
“So how much of a start do you want?”
He turned and looked directly at me now because I was speaking his language.
“Just ten grand, man. You got all that movie money coming in and ten won’t hurt you too bad. You give me that and I give you the hammer.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yeah, man, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“What about testifying on Lisa’s behalf at the trial? Remember, we talked about that?”
He shook his head.
“No, I can’t do that. I’m not the testifying type. But I can help you on the outside like this. You know, lead you to the hammer, stuff like that. Herb said the hammer is their biggest evidence and it’s bullshit because I know where the real one is.”
“So you’re talking to Herb Dahl, too.”
I could tell by the grimace that he’d made a slip. He was supposed to keep Herb Dahl out of the conversation.
“Uh, no, no, it was what Lisa said he said. I don’t even know him.”
“Let me ask you something, Jeff. How am I going to know this is the real hammer and not some replacement you’ve cooked up with Lisa and Herb?”
“Because I’m telling you. I know. I was the one who left it where it is. Me!”
“But you’re not going to testify, so all I’m left with is a hammer and no story. Do you know what ‘fungible’ means, Jeff?”
“Fun-uh, no.”
“It means mutually interchangeable. An item is fungible in the law if it can be replaced by an identical item. And that’s what we have here, Jeff. Your hammer is useless to me without the story attached. If it is your story then you have to testify to it. If you won’t testify, then it doesn’t matter.”
“Huh…”
He seemed crestfallen.
“Where’s the hammer, Jeff?”
“I’m not telling you. It’s all I have.”
“I’m not paying you a cent for it, Jeff. Even if I believed there was a hammer-the real hammer-I wouldn’t pay you a cent. That’s not how it works. So you think things over and you let me know, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now get off my porch.”
I carried the gun down at my side and stepped back into the house, locking the door behind me. I grabbed the car keys off the pizza box and hurried through the house to the back door. I went through and then slipped along the side of the house to a wooden gate that opened onto the street. I opened it a crack and looked for Jeff Trammel.
I didn’t see him but I heard a car engine roar to life. I waited and soon a car moved by. I went through the gate and tried to get a look at the plate but I was too late. The car coasted down the hill. It was a blue sedan but I was too consumed with the plate to identify the make and model. As soon as it took the first curve I hurried up the street to my own car.
If I was to follow him, I would have to get down the hill in time to see if he turned left or right on Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Otherwise it was a fifty-fifty chance of losing him.
But I was too late. By the time the Lincoln negotiated the sharp turns and the intersection at Laurel Canyon came into sight, the blue sedan was gone. I pulled up to the stop sign and didn’t hesitate. I turned right, heading north toward the Valley. Cisco had traced Jeff Trammel’s call to Venice but everything else about the case was in the Valley. I headed that way.
It was a single lane on the northbound ascent of the roadway that cut over the Hollywood Hills. It then opened to two lanes on the down slope into the Valley. But I never caught up to Trammel and soon realized I had chosen the wrong way. Venice. I should’ve turned south.
Not being a fan of cold or reheated pizza I pulled off to eat at the Daily Grill at Laurel and Ventura. I parked in the underground garage and was halfway to the escalator when I realized I had the Woodsman tucked into the back of my pants. Not good. I returned to the car and put it under the seat, then double-checked to make sure the car was locked.
It was early but nonetheless crowded in the restaurant. I sat at the bar rather than wait for a table and ordered an iced tea and a chicken pot pie. I then opened my phone and called my client. She answered right away.
“Lisa, it’s your attorney. Did you send your husband over to speak to me?”
“Well, I told him he should see you, yes.”
“And was that your idea or Herb Dahl’s?”
“No, mine. I mean Herb was here but it was my idea. Did you talk to him?”
“I did.”
“Did he lead you to the hammer?”
“No, he didn’t. He wanted ten thousand dollars to do that.”
There was a pause but I waited.
“Mickey, it doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for something that will destroy the state’s evidence.”
“You don’t pay for evidence, Lisa. If you do, you lose. Where is your husband staying these days?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did you talk to him in person?”
“Yes, he came here. He looked like something the cat dragged in.”
“I need to find him so I can subpoena him. Do you have any-”
“He won’t testify. He told me. No matter what. He just wants money and to see me in pain. He doesn’t even care about his own son. He didn’t even ask to see him when he came by.”
My meal was placed down in front of me and the bartender topped off my tea. I sliced into the top crust with my fork, just to let some of the steam out. It would be a good ten minutes before the dish would be cool enough to eat.
“Lisa, listen to me, this is important. Do you have any idea where he could be living or staying?”
“No. He said he came up from Mexico.”
“That’s a lie. He’s been here all the time.”
She seemed taken aback.
“How do you know that?”
“Phone records. Look, it doesn’t matter. If he calls you or comes by, find out where he is staying. Promise him there’s money coming or whatever you need to do but get me a location. If we can get him into court he’ll have to tell us about the hammer.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try, Lisa. Do it. This is your life we’re talking about here.”
“Okay, okay.”
“Now did he drop any hint about the hammer at all when he spoke to you?”
“Not really. He just said, ‘Remember how I used to keep the hammer in my car when I was on repo duty?’ When he was at the dealership he had to repossess cars sometimes. They took turns. I think he kept the hammer for protection or in case they had to break into a car or something.”
“So he was saying the original hammer from your garage tool set was kept in his car?”
“I guess so. The Beemer. But that car was taken away after he abandoned it and disappeared.”
I nodded. I could put Cisco on it, have him try to confirm the story by seeing if a hammer was found in the trunk of the BMW left behind by Jeff Trammel.
“Okay, Lisa, who are Jeff’s friends? Up here in the city.”
“I don’t know. He had friends at the dealership but nobody that he brought around. We didn’t really have friends.”
“Do you have any names of those people from the dealership?”
“Not really.”
“Lisa, you’re not helping me here.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t think. I didn’t like his friends. I told him to keep them away.”
I shook my head and then thought of myself. Who were my friends outside of work? Could Maggie answer these same questions about me?
“All right, Lisa, enough of this for now. I want you thinking about tomorrow. Remember what we talked about. How you act and react in front of the jury. A lot will ride on it.”