“How much are you worth?”
“Eighteen billion, but the stock’s down. On a good day, twenty-three.”
A beat went by. The kind that follows the word billion.
“Then why are you fucking his wife?” she said.
“I thought we already went through that.”
“You’ve got more money than a hundred people could spend in ten lifetimes. You could have half the women in Los Angeles on any terms you want no matter what their age. Why are you doing it?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“How complicated could it be? You said you love him. Why do you need to beat him? That’s what it’s really about, isn’t it? How hard is it to stay away from your son’s wife?”
“The situation isn’t what you think it is. And it would take too much time to explain. All you need to know is that my wife’s gone and my son is all I have left. That’s why I don’t want to see the progress he’s made over the past few years destroyed by accusations or innuendo. By the word of someone working at a whorehouse who thinks she saw this or that but really isn’t sure who she saw or even what day it was.”
Lena looked at her plate, then back at Tremell. “Have you been out there? Have you been talking to the girl?”
Tremell shook his head. “No. But in the grand scheme of things, how reliable is an eyewitness compared to circumstantial evidence? If you had to go to court, Detective, which would you rather build your case on?”
“The evidence.”
“Why?”
She gave him a look before answering. She could see the intelligence in his gray eyes and sensed that he was leading the conversation in the exact direction he wanted it to go.
“Because eyewitnesses make mistakes,” she said. “What they saw or thought they saw needs to be corroborated. In this case we’ve done that. Four people saw your son with Jennifer McBride on Wednesday night.”
“According to Higgins eight other employees say they didn’t see him at all. That leaves two busboys and another waitress, all with criminal records. The only real witness you’ve got is the part-time hooker, Natalie Wells.”
“Higgins ran background checks and gave you the information.”
He nodded and took another sip of his drink. “I don’t believe that my son was there. I don’t believe that he knew her. And even if he did, I don’t believe that he’d do the things you think he did. He’d have no reason to. You were right about the money I have. The well’s too deep to ever run dry. But the same thing goes for Justin because he’s my flesh and blood. He wouldn’t throw his life away-he wouldn’t take the risk-for something he could buy his way out of by writing a check. It wouldn’t have mattered how much Jennifer McBride wanted. He could have afforded any price and never looked back. Do you understand where I’m going?”
Lena didn’t say anything.
“We share the same goal, Detective. You’re looking for a witness. The one who sent you those pictures. The only one we know with certainty who was there, saw the abduction and shot the video to corroborate the facts. A young man who knows exactly what happened and what the murderer looks like. A young man who might be able to clear my son’s name. Finding that witness is more important to me than it is to you.”
“I understand, but-”
“But nothing, Detective. I’m offering you my resources. I’m offering you everything I have. I’m offering you free access to the well.”
30
She didn’t see the traffic backup on the 110 Freeway until she reached the top of the ramp and there was no way out. No way but forward, one or two feet at a time.
She didn’t mind. She was still trying to process what Dean Tremell had said to her at lunch.
Her cell started vibrating, but she couldn’t dig it out of her pocket in time. As she tossed it on the passenger seat, the phone triggered a memory maybe ten years old. An interview that she had heard on either KPCC or KCRW-two NPR affiliates that crisscrossed the city from Pasadena to Santa Monica. It was an interview with the CEO from one of the country’s biggest engineering firms, a company that made everything from dishwashers to jet engines. The man had been known as an innovator, was on the verge of retiring and had written a book. When he was asked how he came up with so many great ideas, his answer was something Lena never forgot. He said that his best ideas usually came while performing mundane tasks. Cooking, gardening, cleaning up his desk. But his biggest breakthroughs came while driving his car. There was something about the act of driving to and from the office, being alone with himself, letting his mind wander. He said that when the cell phone came out he knew that ingenuity would take a measurable hit. No one would be on the road by themselves anymore. No one would have the quiet time to think about what they were doing and where they wanted to go. Instead, everyone would be on autopilot, jabbering away about nothing.
Lena remembered the interview because she agreed with the man and respected him. But as the traffic started moving, her mind appeared stuck in neutral. It would take a longer road-a lot more miles-to come to terms with what Dean Tremell had said to her.
She hadn’t expected him to ask her for help. She didn’t foresee the setup or realize that this had been his purpose all along.
Lena bailed out at the first exit, then cut across town to Parker Center. Pulling into the dilapidated garage, she hoped that it wouldn’t fall down until she found a place to park. As she ran across the street, her cell lit up again and she flipped it open. Innovation might have taken a hit, but at least she knew that the caller was a friend.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Watching you cross the street from the third floor,” Rhodes said. “I just got back.”
She looked up and found him in the window. “How’s your sister?”
“Doing great. Her doctor thinks she’s out of the woods.”
Lena could tell that Rhodes was still worried. She could hear it in his voice.
“I’m glad she’s okay,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me, too,” he said. “I can’t find Barrera, and no one’s around. I need to catch up.”
“I’ll be there in ten. I’ve gotta drop something off first.”
She slipped the phone into her pocket and shouldered her briefcase, wondering if Rhodes could hear the worry in her voice. Whether or not he knew her as well as she knew him. Entering the building, she rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and walked down the hall to the Questioned Documents Unit. Irving Sample ran the unit, but wasn’t in. Fishing through her briefcase, she found the forms Jennifer McBride had filled out at her doctor’s office, along with her application for the apartment on Navy Street. Then she wrote a note that included her cell number and left everything on his desk. Sample had examined McBride’s driver’s license and was already familiar with the case.
Deciding against the elevator, she took the stairwell down to the third floor and entered the alcove outside the captain’s office from the rear. None of the administrative assistants were here, and she didn’t see Lieutenant Barrera through the plate glass window. When she glanced at the bureau floor, she didn’t see Rhodes or anyone else at their desks. She checked her mail slot and found a manila envelope. The papers inside were still warm from the fax machine. As she glanced at the cover sheet, she realized that they had come from Dean Tremell’s office.
Her cell started vibrating again. She flipped it open thinking that it was Rhodes. Instead, Irving Sample was back at his desk.
“I just read your note,” he said. “What am I looking for?”
“I left two sets of forms with you. The first is a single-page application the victim filled out for an apartment. The second is a two-pager from her doctor’s office.”
“I can see that,” he said. “If you want to know if they were written by the same person, it’s an immediate yes.”
“I understand,” Lena said. “But it’s that two-pager from the doctor’s office that bothers me. It’s probably nothing. It’s just that it looks like she rushed through the first page, then slowed down to fill out the last. If I hadn’t seen her application for the apartment, I wouldn’t have noticed.”