“Where’s the gun? Does Linton even own one?”
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t even know for sure Pete and Linton Reed knew each other.”
“Oh, but I do. Pete met with Reed on July 12 out at UCST. I saw his name in the appointment book, and Ruthie has the properly validated parking ticket, so don’t be a shit.”
“I am a shit. That’s my job. I’m telling you what will fly and what won’t. All a defense attorney has to do is come up with a plausible explanation. All he needs is a story that covers the same points but with a different slant. You make it look one way? Fine. He can make it look like something else. Right now, there’s no eyewitness and the motive is imaginary. Some guy says he’ll expose you, you tell him to take a hike. You don’t fork over a couple of thousand bucks and then shoot his ass.”
I reached for the bag I had placed at my feet and took out the shrink-wrapped prescription bottle. “This is one of Dace’s prescriptions. He believed they put him on Glucotace, along with Antabuse and another drug to reduce his craving for nicotine. I asked Dr. Reed straight out if Dace was taking Glucotace or the placebo. He thought about it briefly and said placebo. Can’t you get these analyzed and find out what they are?”
“Why would we do that? There’s no case.”
“But if the pills turn out to be Glucotace, it would support my argument, wouldn’t it?”
“Tenuous at best.”
“You have a better theory? You even have a suspect? Because I’m offering both.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m saying I can’t sell this. The DA’s tough. She won’t file if she doesn’t think she’s got something solid under her feet.” I could see him turn the issue over in his mind. “Promise me your access to this information is legitimate.”
“Of course.” I tucked the pills back into my bag.
“No breaking and entering.”
I raised a hand as though swearing an oath.
“You never impersonated an officer.”
“I didn’t impersonate anybody. When I talked to Willard, I said I was a former colleague of Pete’s, which is true. I gave him my business card, so no funny business there.”
He shook his head. “An investigation like this would take months.”
“I understand. Just let me know if anything new develops. That’s all I ask.”
“Sure, but don’t hold your breath.”
34
I didn’t hear from Cheney until the following Tuesday morning. “The Ruger’s registered to a man named Sanford Wray.”
I don’t know what I thought he was going to say but it wasn’t that. “Who’s he?”
“Film producer. He started out as a venture capitalist and he’s been involved with Hollywood for the past six years. He lives in Montebello and commutes when he has a project in the works. Jonah’s been filling in the blanks. Wray’s heavy into charities and he’s on half a dozen boards. Big cheese in town.”
“Does he have a criminal history?”
“Nope. His record’s clean.”
“I never heard of the guy. Does the name mean anything to you?” I found myself pacing in front of my desk, telephone in hand.
Cheney said, “Hollywood moguls aren’t high on my list. The last movie I saw was Dirty Harry, so Clint Eastwood’s it.”
“How does Sanford Wray know Pete?”
“Remains to be seen. We haven’t talked to him.”
“When will you do that?”
“Jonah’s checking to see if he’s in town. Once we track him down, we’ll pay him a visit and have a nice long chat.”
“I’d love to be there when you do.”
Cheney made a sound that said, Not in our lifetime. “We don’t know how he’s going to react. He could barricade himself in the house, break out a window, and shoot at us. We might end up calling in the SWAT team.”
“Or not,” I said. I sat down, hoping to calm myself. I couldn’t tell if I was nervous, anxious, or excited, but my blood pressure was up.
Cheney said, “The explanation might be innocent. The gun was stolen and he wasn’t aware of it, or he knew the gun was gone and he hadn’t reported it. If we brought along a civilian, he could file a complaint.”
“That was just wishful thinking on my part,” I said. “I know I won’t be tagging along. Department policy, public safety, or whatever else you care to cite.”
“Good girl.”
“Will you tell me what he says?”
“Probably. The gist of it at any rate.”
“Not the gist. I want you to swear you’ll remember everything he says and repeat the conversation back to me. Word for word.”
“You got it. Word for word.”
• • •
I couldn’t think what to make of this odd turn of events. I was suddenly facing an information gap. Up pops Sanford Wray and until Cheney filled in the blanks, I had to let go. I returned to the office, happy to be picking up the old routines. No new business yet, but that would take care of itself in due course. I knew William was hard at work on his plans for the two funerals, and I was just about resigned to footing the bill. At least it would be something to occupy my time. I was sitting at my desk in the little bungalow downtown when I heard someone open and close the front door.
Anna appeared. Here it was October and she was in a tank top and a pair of short shorts. “Can I talk to you?”
I hadn’t seen her for days, but Henry had told me she’d picked up a job in a beauty salon on lower State Street, which allowed her to walk to work. She was still bunking at his place, but since he had no objections, I didn’t see how I could complain.
I said, “Sure. Have a seat. I hear you found work. How’s it going?”
She perched on the edge of one of my visitor’s chairs. “The job’s fine. Still minimum wage, but I like the place.”
“Good. What can I do for you?”
“Gee, well, let’s just get down to business here.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know you came to chitchat.”
“I think I made a mistake.”
This was interesting. I swear if she’d had a hankie in hand, she’d be twisting it. I noticed I wasn’t getting the benefit of those big blue eyes of hers. I waited.
“I talked to Dr. Reed. Henry lent me his car and I drove out to the university.”
“This was Thursday of last week?”
“Well, yes, but I haven’t seen you since then or I’d have told you earlier.”
“I wasn’t accusing you of anything,” I said.
“When I told Dr. Reed I was Terrence Dace’s daughter, he was confused about why I was there when he’d already talked to you earlier that day. He got all pissy and said he couldn’t understand why you hadn’t just passed the information along.”
“To which you replied?”
“I was so rattled I don’t remember now, but that’s not the point. I thought he knew what you did . . .”
“About what?”
“Your work. He didn’t know you were a private detective.”
“How did that come up?”
“I was just making conversation. I told him I hadn’t been in town long. I said I was staying with your landlord, who owns the studio you rent on the same property. I said it worked out well for both of you because you were sometimes on the road. Dr. Reed asked if you were in sales and then I mentioned what you did for a living. He got upset you never identified yourself. He said you acted like you were having any old conversation about a family member.”
“That’s what it was. I wasn’t there in any professional capacity.”
“But you asked all those questions about the program.”
“He volunteered. I didn’t even know enough to ask.”
“That’s not how he remembers it.”