"Remember me now?" she said. "Chinatown on payday night? Bob Tomsic, the Secret Service agent, was with my girl friend. She was wearing the Mickey Mouse T shirt." Her voice emanated from a speaker below the window.
"Of course I remember," Carr said in a tone of sincerity. "Who booked Rosemary?"
"L.A.P.D." she said. "A couple of Hollywood patrol officers. I know one of them. He told me she stabbed her girl friend through the arm with a vegetable knife. She was hysterical when she came in, but she's calmed down now. She begged me to call you; said you'd know what it was all about." The deputy pressed a button. A hydraulic lock snapped, and a steel door to Carr's left slid slowly open. The blond deputy made another kiss and offered a laconic smile. Carr smiled back. He stepped into a room full of long, Formica covered tables. A few minutes later Rosemary Cramp, wearing a prisoner's denim sack dress, opened a door stenciled INMATES. She shuffled to the table and sat down across from him.
"Sorry to hear about your problem," Carr said.
"Are you still interested in finding Paul LaMonica?" she asked.
"Yes."
"If I tell you where you can find him, what will you do for me?" she said tersely.
"What do you want done for you?" Carr rubbed his temples. The hangover would not go away.
"I was booked on attempted murder," she said. "I want the charge dropped to assault with a deadly weapon. That's all I'm asking."
"What kind of injuries on the victim?" Carr said.
Rosemary Cramp's chin quivered. Deftly she used an index finger to wipe a tear out of each eye. "The whole thing was a misunderstanding. She was high. We were arguing over someone and she threw a clock radio and just missed my head. I grabbed a knife. I don't remember what happened exactly. All she has are a few cuts on her arms." She looked at the ceiling for a moment.
"I can talk to the D.A. and to the judge if you're convicted … let 'em know you cooperated on a case," Carr said. "Of course you know that's no guarantee that anything can be done."
She folded her hands and stared at them. "You can find Paul LaMonica at a bar called Teddy's in Ensenada. It's a place where all the American fugitives hang out. It's down by the ocean. The last time I spoke with LaMonica he told me that's where I could find him. He floats back and forth across the border, but he uses phony I.D. that he makes himself. Your only chance of catching him is down there." She combed her hair with her fingernails.
"What kind of car does LaMonica drive?" Carr said.
"All different," Rosemary Cramp said. "He rents 'em with counterfeit I.D., drives 'em for a couple of weeks, and then dumps 'em."
"Friends?"
"He's a one hundred percent lone wolf," she said. "Take my word for it, the only chance you have of busting him is in Ensenada. The owner of the bar is a coke dealer named Teddy Mora. He owns some property in Hollywood. All I know about him is that I once fronted him a couple of phony bonds and he never paid me for 'em." She wiped her eyes again and sniffled.
"Thanks for the tip," Carr said. "And I'll see what I can do to help."
Rosemary Cramp nodded without looking at him. She pushed her chair back and stood up.
"Just a sec," Carr said. He tilted his head in the direction of the blond deputy. "Do you know that deputy's name?" he asked.
"Betty Sanders," Rosemary Cramp said. "She was working the max unit when I did time in here a few years ago.
"Thanks again," Carr said.
Rosemary Cramp turned and shuffled to the inmates' door. She walked out of the room without looking back.
Charles Carr glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost 8:00 A.M. On his way out, he stopped at the bulletproof window. The blond deputy looked up from a pocket novel.
"How about breakfast?" Carr said.
"Not unless you can remember my name."
"Betty Sanders, how could I forget!"
Betty Sanders smiled. "We'll have breakfast at my place." She pulled a ballpoint pen from the flap pocket above her badge and wrote something on a notepad. She tore the page off the pad and shoved it through a slot below the window. Carr saw that it was an address in Highland Park. "I wouldn't expect you to still have my address. You probably threw it away. Cops always throw ladies' addresses away." She looked at her watch. "See you there in an hour." She made another mock kiss.
Carr gave a little wave. He found his way through the jail courtyard and a guard allowed him to exit the front gate. At a bank of pay telephones in the corner of the parking lot, he dropped in a dime and dialed.
"Homicide, Higgins."
"Charlie Carr…A cutting in Hollywood last night…the suspect was booked for attempted murder under the name Rosanna DuMaurier…" Carr spelled the name. "She's working for me. I need the beef dropped to assault with a deadly weapon. Can you help?"
"I'll see what I can do," Higgins said. He spelled the name back.
"Appreciate it," Carr said and hung up.
The house was an older stucco construction with a red-tiled roof and arched doors and windows; one of the handful of two- and three-bedroom architectural designs that had multiplied, amoebalike, across Southern California to form its chaotic suburbia.
Carr knocked and the door swung open. Betty Sanders, wearing fresh lipstick, makeup, and a pink jogging suit, stood in front of him holding a spatula. She pinched him on the cheek and trotted back into the kitchen. "I hope you're hungry," she said. Carr closed the door. He strolled across a living room decorated with oversized pillows and stereo equipment.
"I've been married to three cops," she said. "They had three very different personalities, but the one thing they had in common was that they were all hungry twenty-four hours a day. My first husband used to eat a whole loaf of French bread with peanut butter and jelly just for a snack. He would gain weight, then stop eating for a month to trim down. Crazy."
Carr wandered into the kitchen. He removed his coat and hung it on the back of a chair. He sat down while Betty Sanders mixed strong Bloody Marys. She handed him one and they clinked glasses. Then she returned to the stove. He sipped and felt the vodka's warmth travel from throat to stomach. He closed his eyes for a moment. Had the headache gone away?
"When I gave you my number I knew you'd never call," she said. "I can always tell. If a guy puts the number in his shirt pocket, he'll never call. If he puts it in his wallet, there's a fifty-fifty chance." She flipped bacon and turned toward him. "May I ask you a question?"
Carr sipped again. He nodded.
"What do you think of me?"
"What do you mean by that?" he said, trying not to sound flippant.
"As a person," she said. "What do you think of me as a person?"
Carr stood up and took another drink. Having set the glass down, he stepped to the stove and turned off the burner. He took the spatula out of Betty Sanders's hand and dropped it on the counter. He kissed her. She threw her arms around him. After a while, their mouths parted.
"You can't answer that question, can you?" she whispered.
His hand reached for her crotch. She closed her eyes. Her hips moved to him. They kissed again. They held hands on the way to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, they stripped off each other's clothes.
"I want you to shower with me first," she said. He got undressed and followed her to the bathroom. They showered and rushed back to the bed. Without drying off, they made love. Betty Sanders's love moans seemed to get louder and louder. As she reached her height of passion, it occurred to Carr that the neighbors might call the police to report a screaming woman. Finally, they were spent. At her insistence, they showered again. As Betty Sanders pulled on her jogging suit, she said, "I like you. I really mean that."
Carr yanked on his trousers. "I like you too," he said.
"No you don't," she said. After a couple of brush strokes through her hair, she hurried back to the kitchen.