“Your cynicism saddens me, Mary.”
“Your sadness makes me cynical, Jake.”
“Are you done now?” Jake said.
“No.”
“There will be something besides food you’ll appreciate. And no, I don’t mean me.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
If she’d been at the Hump, her favorite sushi place in L.A., she would have ordered the sashimi, and had it while watching Tom Cruise take off in his P-51 Mustang from the little Santa Monica airport, just off of where the Hump was located.
But this was the Sushi King.
So she ordered a spider roll and an Asahi Dry.
Jake’s order took a full three minutes for him to complete.
“You know, the ocean’s fish resources are scheduled to be depleted by 2050. You’re not helping,” Mary said.
“You’re supposed to have fish three times a week — I have it once but eat three times as much,” he said.
“Very efficient,” Mary said. “So why the luxurious offer to this swanky place?”
“I just wanted to check out your body again close up,” he said.
“Very sensitive, Jake,” Mary said. “A woman barely survives an assault and you immediately start leering at her. I hope you’re not the department’s grief counselor.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I’m surprised any of those old bastards survived. I can’t believe you only shot one. You must be getting old.”
“It’s sort of hard to be menacing when you’re buck naked. Except for your girlfriend, Davies.”
The waitress brought Mary’s beer and Jake’s sake.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jake said, after the waitress had left.
“So what it is it you wanted to tell me?” Mary said. She didn’t want to get into this again. Maybe it was Chris McAllister, or maybe it was something that needed to be talked about seriously, and she wasn’t ready for it. Not just yet.
“I’m dying of curiosity,” Mary said. She stuffed a piece of spider roll into her mouth and studied the poster on the wall describing all the different kinds of sushi.
“We have a confession in the murder of your uncle,” Jake said.
He glanced up at Mary, a curious expression on his face.
She looked down from the poster at him.
“Was it some loony homeless guy who wandered in to the station from Ocean Avenue and gave a confession for a free meal and a warm bed?” Mary said.
Jake shook his head again.
“Mark Reihm,” he said.
Mary remembered him immediately — he had been one of the crew at Aunt Alice’s house whom she’d questioned. He’d been the one with the acne scars and the buzz cut.
“So, what, his guilty conscience drove him to confess?” she said.
“Actually, it drove him to suicide. He confessed in a note.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said. “He’s dead and he confessed in a note? And you believe it?”
Jake shrugged. “We’re checking it out.”
Mary started to tell him not to bother, that whoever was behind these killings wasn’t the kind to be plagued by a guilty conscience. But she stopped herself. She sort of liked the idea of Jake and the Shark running around, following up silly leads that would go nowhere. That would give her time to find out the real killer.
“Wow, that’s great,” Mary said. “Maybe they’ll put you on the cover of Police Weekly. Or, even better, Playgirl,” she said. “Detective Jacob Cornell. He fights crime! He protects society! He talks on the phone naked!”
“Oh, I bet you could picture me naked,” Jake said. He smiled a sly smile at her.
She could picture him naked and on top of her gazing down into her eyes. Actually he looked incredibly hot right now, with that stupid little grin on his face. Like a boy peeking through a peephole at the girly show.
“If I want an image of you naked, I’ll order the river eel,” she said, pointing with her chin toward the sushi bar.
He rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m not apologizing yet again for what happened. You dumped me. I got shit faced and made a mistake. Get over it. In fact, I think you’re already over it, but you’re pretending not to be so you don't have to admit to yourself just how much you still love me.”
She made a face at him, smeared a big dab of wasabi on her salmon and popped it into her mouth. The wasabi’s heat made her eyes water and her face flush. Which is what she’d hoped for, because she knew she was blushing. Jake was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Mary felt embarrassed and a little ashamed of herself, which had probably been Jake’s intention.
He watched her with that stupid grin on his face. It was getting wider.
He glanced up at the waitress and got her attention. “More sake, please,” he said. “Lots more.”
Chapter Sixty
Mary snapped her eyes open, saw her bedroom wall, and realized she’d been having a nightmare. A nightmare where a bunch of old men hyped up on Viagra had their way with her over and over again.
“And I thought I’d seen it all,” she said, as she swung out of bed.
She showered and drove to Aunt Alice’s house. The owner of the house was parked on the couch, watching Animal Planet.
“What do you know about Mark Reihm?” Mary asked.
“Limp-dicked wussy,” Alice said, without taking her eyes from the television.
“Nice,” Mary said. “Very colorful.”
“Thank you.”
“So could he kill someone?”
“With his breath, yes.”
Mary took a deep breath. Dealing with a Cooper was never an easy proposition.
“Mark Reihm couldn’t kill anyone,” Alice said. “The man was a useless pile of flesh with bad breath and the occasional good punch line.”
“Your memories are so heartfelt,” Mary said.
“He was a wimp,” Alice said. “Sorry, but it’s true. He didn’t have the balls to kill anyone. His nuts were probably like mini brussel sprouts. They should make those, you know, like those mini corn cobs in Asian stir-fry…”
Mary took yet another deep breath. “You’re absolutely sure,” she said. “Well, I don’t plan to pursue it, and hope I’ll gain a lot of ground on the cops. If I’m wrong, I’ll blame you.”
“He didn’t do it,” Alice said. “I’m positive. I know psychopaths are always the guys who the neighbors thought were nice, but quiet. But I knew this Reihm guy pretty well. Maybe fooled around with him a little bit.”
Mary raised her eyebrow.
Alice’s face took on a slightly naughty expression. “Well,” she said. “His last name was Reihm.”
“Too much information,” Mary said.
“Oh, yeah, who’d you have sex with?”
“What?” Mary said.
“I can tell. You don’t seem so manly. I figured you must’ve gotten laid. About time. Was it Braggs?”
Mary headed for the door.
“It was Milton Berle,” Mary said.
“He’s dead!” Alice called out.
Just before the door closed, Mary got in the last word.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Chapter Sixty-One
The next day, Mary was arrested outside her office by a pair of young patrolmen.
“Exactly what are the charges?” she said when they placed her in the back of the squad car headed for downtown.
The young cop in the passenger seat answered her. “You’re under arrest for sexual battery.”