"No," she said.
"I mean, yes, I guess you did, but it's all right. What time is it?"
"Eight-thirty."
"In the morning?" she asked stupidly.
Travis smiled.
"Saturday morning, March twenty-six. How are you feeling?"
"Not so bad, just drowsy. Didn't get much sleep last night. How about you?"
"No sleep. Spent all night at the sheriff's station. The captain in charge of the Malibu-Lost Hills station was extremely interested in what I had to say, as were two of his detectives."
"You sure it's not too soon to make an accusation?
We don't have any hard evidence-"
"We do now. Our computer techs found a link between Western Regional Resources and the company that owns the bungalow in Culver City.
However, I didn't approach the subject that way with the captain.
I left the bungalow out of it for now. Didn't want to raise any questions about unauthorized activities."
"You mean, like the fact that I illegally entered the place and searched it?"
"Exactly. All I said was that we'd learned Howard Barwood has at least one dummy corporation. Western Regional Resources, and we have reason to believe he may own a cell phone registered to that company. I suggested that if in fact Howard is Hickle's informant, then Howard might have used that phone to talk with him or arrange a rendezvous. I suggested they check the cellular carrier's records."
"Did they?"
"Yes. They found the Thursday night call made to Hickle's apartment.
That was when they started taking a serious interest in Mr. Barwood, though he doesn't know it yet."
"Where's Howard now?"
"Scheduled for a talk with those two detectives I mentioned. They'll be handling him with kid gloves, giving him the OJ treatment. He's well-connected, and they don't want to do anything rash until they know what's going on."
"Just be sure they keep an eye on him. If they give him too long a leash, he may flee. Then you'll have to tell them about the bungalow."
"Why? You think he'd go there?"
"It's possible. He keeps a gun in his nightstand. He might want to pick it up, especially if he has any plans to rendezvous with Hickle."
"A gun? You never mentioned that."
"It didn't seem too important at the time. A little Colt forty-five, like the malt liquor."
One of the nurses appeared in the doorway, telling Travis he'd been allowed only five minutes with the patient, and his time was up.
"I was just leaving," Travis said with a smile.
The nurse was not charmed.
"See that you do. Miss. Sinclair suffered a nasty concussion in a racquetball game." She squinted at Travis suspiciously.
"You wouldn't happen to be the one she was playing with?"
"Abby and I never play games," Travis said.
"At least not with each other."
The nurse frowned, aware that some sort of veiled joke had been told but unable to see the punch line.
"Well, say your good-byes, and let the patient sleep."
When the nurse was gone, Abby smiled at Travis.
"See how well protected I am?"
"I should hire her for TPS. She'd make a good bodyguard.
As for Howard, you don't have to worry about him. Men of his social standing seldom run. They stick around and hire smart lawyers. They always think they can beat the system. Half the time they're right."
"I guess so."
"But I'll keep the bungalow in mind. If he flees, I'll tell the police." He touched her hand lightly, then pulled away.
"Better get going before Nurse Patched returns. Besides, there's another stop I have to make on this floor. Kris is here."
"Kris? Right down the hall?"
He nodded.
"She showed symptoms of neurogenic shock. The paramedics brought her in."
"Saint John's would have been closer, or UCLA Medical."
"Her regular physician is on call at Cedars, so this is where she wanted to come. And you don't say no to Kris Barwood, especially now.
If you thought she was big before, you should see the coverage of this case."
She understood what he was thinking.
"Then maybe TPS will make a comeback?"
"Here's hoping."
"And maybe… maybe I can let it go." She said the words softly, half to herself.
"Corbal?" Travis asked.
She nodded.
"I know I told you I wasn't trying to prove anything or redeem myself.
I lied. It's all I've thought about for the past four months. The way I screwed up… and what I could do to try to make it right."
"You did everything you could," Travis said gently, "and then some.
Now get some sleep. You've earned a good long rest."
"I will. Thanks, Paul."
She let her head fall back on the pillow, drowsiness washing over her.
She was closing her eyes when Travis leaned down and kissed her forehead, a tender act, unusual for him.
"A good long rest," he repeated softly.
She was asleep before he left the room.
Their names were Giacomo and Heller, and they greeted Howard Barwood at the sheriff's station with smiles and handshakes, saying how much they appreciated his taking the time to clear up a few minor details about the case. He scarcely listened. He'd slept little, having spent most of the night at Cedars-Sinai with Kris. He was tired and hungry;
Courtney had fixed him breakfast, but he'd had little appetite. Above all, he was burdened with guilt.
He regretted his every hour with Amanda. He regretted every thought of leaving Kris. He regretted being a bad husband. What made it worse was that he knew this was only a mood that would pass, and before long he would be sneaking out for more liaisons with Amanda or some new young thing. His good intentions never lasted.
Preoccupied with these thoughts, he let Giacomo and Heller usher him into a small office, where they offered him a seat at a battered wooden table. They sat opposite him. Heller took out a notepad and a pen.
Giacomo placed a cassette recorder on the table and said something about a need to record the interview to ensure an accurate transcript.
"Fine," Howard said indifferently.
Giacomo did most of the talking. He began by speaking into the recorder, giving the location, date, and time of the interview. Howard noticed he used military time-oh-nine-hundred thirty-five hours.
"We're here with Mr. Howard Barwood," Giacomo said, asking for Howard's birth date. Howard rattled it off without thinking, his voice alien to him, coming from far away.
"Now, Mr. Barwood, I'm going to give you your constitutional rights.
It would be good if you would listen carefully-" For the first time Howard roused himself.
"My rights?"
Giacomo said yes, and Heller nodded, both men smiling in a way that seemed too friendly.
Howard blinked.
"Am I a suspect or something?"
The idea seemed bizarre, incomprehensible.
"Actually, Mr. Barwood, we're mainly interested in eliminating you as a suspect."
"But… a suspect in what? Hickle attacked Kris.
People saw him. I was in the house-"
"Of course you were. There are witnesses who support everything you just said. And nobody doubts that Raymond Hickle ambushed that car."
"Then what…?" He couldn't finish the question.
Nothing was making sense.
"There are always a lot of angles in a case like this," Giacomo said.
"We need to tie up some loose ends, that's all."
Angles, loose ends… Howard was baffled.
"You never said anything about viewing me as a suspect."
Heller spoke.
"We don't view you that way. Truth is, we hate to even waste your time with this. What we'd like is to get it over with so we can all go home."
"It's been a long night for everybody," Giacomo said.