Shane hung up.
He went into the guest bedroom. Chooch was hunched over the desk, doing his homework. Shane had a momentary stab of "parental" gratitude. "It's great you're doing your studies," Shane said proudly.
Chooch looked over at him, and Shane saw that he had a Game Boy on his lap.
Shane's expression of gratitude was replaced with exasperation. "I'm gonna run out for a few hours. Kelly is coming over to be with you."
"Cool. He's kickin'."
"Right. When are you gonna get back to your studies?"
"I'm just takin' a break, man. You don't get breaks down at that duck farm where you work?"
"Yeah, I get breaks. I'll be back before midnight."
"Solid."
Shane left the room, got his coat, collected his badge, and grabbed one of the bagged dry-cleaned shirts, which he had hung in the closet. He headed out the back door.
As the garage door was going up, a car's headlights pulled in right behind him, blocking his exit. He put a hand on his belt holster and cautiously moved toward the driveway. As he rounded the back of his car, he could see Barbara Molar's red Mustang convertible. When she turned off her headlights, he saw her behind the wheel, a scarf tied around her hair.
"Shit, Barbara, whatta you doing here?"
"I had to come over. I couldn't reach you. Your machine was off and your cell phone is out of service."
"If they catch us together, I'm gonna be out of service," he said quickly.
"Shane, I'm getting phone calls at the house. Spooky calls. I'm being threatened."
"Go park a few blocks away. Lock up. I'll drive over and pick you up."
She nodded and followed his instructions. Shane got behind the wheel and backed the Acura out. He drove up East Channel Street to where Barbara was standing, her arms wrapped around her, shivering slightly in the cold marine air. She had put up the Mustang's top and, he hoped, locked the car. Shane reached over and threw open the passenger door. Barbara got in. He put the Acura in gear and pulled off East Channel to a side street, keeping one eye on his rearview mirror.
"Who's calling?" he finally asked. He could tell she was panicked. Her features were drawn; she seemed even more pale than normal.
"It's a man's voice. He just says, 'If you've got what we want, turn it over, or you'll pay the consequences.' Stuff like that. Then a couple of calls where there was just breathing first, then somebody said, 'Do the right thing, bitch,' and hung up."
Shane pulled to the curb and parked. "That means they still haven't found what they're looking for."
"I'm scared."
"So am I."
She looked at the shirt between them on the front seat. "Is this one of Ray's?"
"Yeah. The laundry is in Arrowhead."
"Arrowhead?"
"You got any idea why he'd have his shirts cleaned all the way up there?"
"None."
"It doesn't make much sense," Shane said. "He was driving the mayor. Arrowhead is two hours out of L. A."
"Maybe the mayor had personal business there."
"Maybe."
"What are you going to do?"
"I was just heading up to Lake Arrowhead to talk to the cleaner. I wanna see what I can find out from the guy. They have customer information on the bar code of this laundry tag." He held up the shirttail with the purple tag attached.
"I wanna go with you. And don't tell me no. I'm scared. I can't go home. Those calls are terrifying me."
"Barbara, the DA is contemplating indicting me for murder.
My motive, they think, is that I killed Ray to be with you. If we get caught riding around together, I will be trying to explain it in court."
"Take me with you," she said again. "Please. I need company. I'm shaking."
Kinetic thoughts were buzzing around, bouncing off unanswered questions with pinball energy. Then without really weighing his answer, he just nodded.
"Okay," he said impulsively, and put the car in gear. They headed up the street.
Shane turned right onto Washington Boulevard, which took him to the 405, then north to the 10, which would lead them east toward San Bernardino and Lake Arrowhead.
???
The road was narrow and winding. His headlights swept across shadowy tree trunks that lined the two-lane highway in the Angeles Mountains. Shane had his eye on the road, but his mind was on Ray Molar.
Barbara sat silently beside him. She had started the trip with a lot of chitchat, then had tried to swing the conversation to her future, what she would do with her life now that Ray was gone. Then she made the leap to how Shane was feeling, how he felt about her and about them.
Shane had deflected it all, keeping his answers short. He was beginning to suspect that Barbara had some hidden agenda, but he couldn't yet tell what it was. Maybe it was just his cop instincts that distrusted everything. But something was telling him to pull back to defend his perimeter.
While she talked, he had been thinking about the night of the shooting: the two critical minutes from the time he'd gone into that bedroom to the moment he had peeled the Nine at Ray. Something in his Letter of Transmittal had stuck in his mind. The department had accused him of inappropriate use of force, of bad judgment, which had escalated the situation out of control. Had he fucked up? Why had he taken his gun? Had he anticipated shooting Ray? Had he acted out of policy? Was there a way he could have prevented Ray's death? The only other witness to the event was sitting next to him, so. after weighing the consequences, Shane gingerly broached the subject.
"Barb… the night I shot Ray… how well do you remember it? You looked almost unconscious, as if he had stunned you with that blow to the head."
"I remember it all. It's indelible. It's branded in my memory," she said bitterly.
"Do you think I had any other choice but to shoot him?"
"What are you talking about?"
"If I'd called in some uniforms, would it have made a difference?" he asked.
She turned in her seat and looked directly at him. "You mean, if you had called in a 415? Would it have changed things?" she said, using the cop's radio code for a general disturbance, the majority of which ended up being domestic disputes.
"Yeah. What if two blues had come through that door instead of me, Ray's ex-partner, your old boyfriend… do you think it would have changed anything?" He was straining to hear her answer as he drove, straining to evaluate any nuance in her voice.
"Are you joking?" she said, snorting the words derisively. "He was insane." She was incredulous now. "Ray was crazy. You know it. I know it. He went nuts on spec. Once he snapped, he didn't care what he did or who he did it to. It wouldn't have mattered if Robocop or Pope John Paul himself had come through that door."
"Do you think if I'd held fire that he "
"If you'd held fire, Shane, you and I would both be dead, and somebody else would have the fucking coffin decorations. You can't be serious."
He looked over at her and could see that she was almost angry about it. Finally he nodded. "Yeah, okay," he said. "I was just wondering."
She shook her head in amazement, and they remained silent the rest of the way to Lake Arrowhead.
The two-lane highway led into a small, lush, wooded valley and then descended into the beauty of Lake Arrowhead. A-frame houses and log-cabin architecture dotted the roadside.
The buildings on the main street were rustic, the sidewalks narrow. They found Pine Tree Lane, and Shane pulled up to Mountain Cleaners. He and Barbara got out, entered, and found Larry Wright.
After Shane showed his badge, he gave Mr. Wright the shirt. The man walked into the back, leaving Shane and Barbara standing alone in the neon overhead lighting, looking into the area where the finished dry-cleaning hung on a moving conveyor belt. In less than two minutes, Mr. Wright returned.
"Got it." He smiled at them. "These were done for Jay Colter. He lives at 1276 Lake View Drive.