such haste is that I'm expecting the governor any minute. He can explain the circumstances to all of us at the same time."
This keeps getting better and better, I thought. First the mayor. Then the governor. Who's next? The president?
The whole scenario was interesting. It was no secret the mayor and the governor were dating. He split his time between his personal home in Bel Air and the governor's mansion in Sacramento. It didn't surprise me that Pilar Luna wanted an explanation as to why some other woman would catch the attention of her governor boyfriend. I know if I were dating him, I'd be curious, too. But it did make me wonder how close they actually were since he hadn't already told her about the missing woman. Maybe their relationship was more for the tabloids than the real deal. Typical L.A.
A flurry of activity commenced in the outer office followed by a short rap on the mayor's door. Governor Preston Truesdale bustled into the room along with another man. Truesdale quickly introduced his chief of staff, Martin Bain, and they joined us at the large table.
Preston Truesdale's neon-blue eyes and dark good looks had served him well as an Oscar-winning actor in the 1990's. He'd used his fame to express disapproval of the policies and the state of affairs in the Golden State. The media and Tinseltown yuppies championed his platform of change, and propelled Preston into the political limelight. Now he was running California, and recent rumors hinted he might make a run for the White House.
Bain displayed a sculpted coif that balanced with his perfectly manicured fingers. He wouldn't look anyone in the eye. He reminded me of a used car salesman.
"Martin, pass out the photos," the governor directed. "This is Heather McCall," Truesdale said as photos of a young woman were placed in front of each of us. "She's twenty-eight, lives alone in Northridge and is a nanny. It appears she's missing." He paused and took a deep breath. "She's also the bone marrow donor for my daughter, Tiffany."
"Oh, Preston," Pilar whispered.
I examined the eight by ten headshot of Heather McCall. The woman was a knockout. She wasn't Latina, maybe Middle Eastern or some sort of Asian mix. Artful makeup emphasized sultry ebony eyes while thick black hair hung long and straight against a lavender sweater stretched across voluptuous breasts. Heather McCall looked nothing like any nanny I'd ever seen. Usually, in a missing persons case where the victim was a young female, I'd get a knot deep in my stomach. Although the woman in the picture looked delicate, there was something in her eyes that told me she'd seen a lot in her life.
"Governor, Maddie Divine, LAPD," I said, to remind him who I was. "Who reported her missing?"
Truesdale looked to his aide, Martin Bain.
"It was the hospital," said Bain. They had some problem with the paperwork for the transplant and tried all last week to reach Ms. McCall by telephone. They contacted me, and I tried for a day and a half without success."
"Did anyone check her apartment? Is there any evidence of foul play?" I asked.
Bain nodded. "I went over there the first day I was notified. No one responded to my knock and the Manager was nowhere to be found."
"Does Heather have a husband or boyfriend?" It's one of the first questions we ask when an adult female goes missing.
Bain shot me a dirty look while Preston shuffled through some papers. "Not that we know of," said the governor, "but you can see she's a pretty woman. I'd be surprised if she didn't have a man in her life."
"Governor, can you tell me how Heather came to be the bone marrow donor for your daughter? Is she a family friend or relative?" Darius asked.
"Actually, Detective," Bain said focusing his gaze on Darius, "we've done a ton of blood drives to, pardon the pun, pump up blood donations and raise awareness of the need for all kinds of donors. I believe Ms. McCall was found through one of the blood drives."
"What about any family?" Darius continued.
The governor closed the folder in front of him. "Honestly, I don't have much information about her. My people are working on it — mostly through medical records she submitted to donate her bone marrow to my daughter. Any information we learn will be forwarded to you." The governor shot Bain a pointed look, and Bain presented each of us his business card. We supplied him ours as well.
"Governor, any chance you can clear the way so we can get a copy of the medical paperwork faxed to us?" Darius asked, slipping Bain's card in his shirt pocket.
"Absolutely," said the governor, then his eyes hardened. "My daughter needs bone marrow and Heather McCall is the only suitable donor we've found. We've got to locate her, and we've got to do it quickly."
"Just how long do we have, governor?" Chief Fryer asked. "I mean, how long before your daughter…er…um …"
Truesdale looked at Fryer like the idiot he was.
"I think the governor would feel better to have Ms. McCall found as quickly as possible," the mayor interjected.
Bain glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "Sir, if we're going to run to your house to see Tiffany, we need to get going. You've got to be back in Sacramento for the Capitol Building re-dedication dinner in less than four hours."
Now I know where my tax money goes, I thought. The governor jets back and forth to Sacramento a couple of times a day. No wonder the state is broke.
Preston rose from his chair and approached the mayor. "Pilar, thank you so much for arranging this meeting so quickly."
I watched while he leaned in and buzzed her with an air kiss and she responded in kind.
It wasn't lost on me the way his hand drifted to the small of the mayor's back.
Preston turned to Chief Fryer, his gaze searing. "I expect I'll get a report daily?"
"Of course, governor."
"Good. My daughter's life hinges on your efforts. Don't let me down."
Within seconds, Preston and his chief of staff were gone.
Darius leaned over and whispered in my ear. "No pressure on us, huh?"
"Yeah, right," I said. "Let's hope the nanny's got a boyfriend and is staying with him."
The mayor turned to us. "Thank you both for coming. Chief Fryer assured me he'd keep me apprised of your progress. Good luck."
Elevator silence wasn't a problem on the way back to the ground floor. The chief made it clear to us that he wanted an update on the case twice a day. "You can call my office directly. If you can't get me, speak to Lieutenant Keever."
I nodded and smiled in reply, but inside I was dreading a daily chat with Granite-Face.
On the ground floor of City Hall, the chief turned to Keever. "You notify Lieutenant Conrad," he said, referring to our boss. Then, with the intensity of a general leading a charge in a fifties war movie, he told us to 'go out there and find Heather McCall.'
On our way back to the Police Administration Building, known as PAB for short, Darius and I grabbed grande cups of caffeine from a Starbucks. We knew it might be our last break for a while. I debated about calling Travis back, but I wanted to unwind a little from the meeting before I tackled talking to him. I knew he'd be pissed that Darius had hung up on him. Lost in our own thoughts, my partner and I entered the glass-faced lobby of the modern police building.
I'm not comfortable in the angular structure that smells of new carpet and paint. The command center shines like a starlet on the red carpet, shiny and sleek, but with no fortitude. Oh, it's got the latest techno-gear, and the chief's office even features a private patio where he can hold soirees for his command staff and other political cronies.
But I mourn the old Parker Center with its centuries of stale air, dingy long hallways, and questionable elevators. The outdated and abandoned police headquarters had been all business —bad guys were quietly and unobtrusively put behind bars. No fuss, no muss.
Returning to our office, I plopped my fanny in my city-issued, predictably uncomfortable desk chair. "So partner, how do you want to divide this case?"
Before Darius answered, our immediate supervisor, Lieutenant Larry Conrad, also known as, Larry-the-Wife-Beater,
marched toward us. His eyes were locked on us like we were a couple of gangsters slinging dope. I swallowed a groan as Darius sat up a little straighter.
Years ago, long before a famous football player went on trial for the murder of his wife, our boss had gotten into hot water over a fight with Mrs. Conrad. She wound up in the hospital with a pair of black eyes and couple of broken ribs. Lawrence Conrad had immediately been christened Larry-the-Wife-Beater. Rumor had it that Conrad was ordered to a closed-door session with the chief. Four months later, Larry-the-Wife-Beater was promoted to Lieutenant.
"Cutter and Divine, I want to see you in my office. Now." A florid rage radiated from our boss.
Once we were assembled in Conrad's office, he directed Darius to close the door. Then our boss pointed to two chairs against the wall and indicated we should sit. "Cutter, just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" he fumed while he paced in front of us. "Why didn't you call me and let me know you were meeting with the chief about a missing woman?"
I bit my lip to keep from grinning. If Conrad was pissed we'd met with the chief, he'd probably have a coronary knowing the mayor and the governor were there too.
"Lieutenant, when Chief Fryer's office called and ordered Maddie and me to a meeting, they said drop everything. We left directly from here to the mayor's office."
The Wife-Beater stopped pacing. "The mayor? The mayor? You attended a meeting with the chief and the mayor and didn't call me?" Conrad's voice
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