I shook my head. “I can’t. I want to stop in at Val Boyle’s memorial service. I’m worried about his mother.”
“How about tomorrow, then?”
I shook my head again. “I have to move. My place is trashed and the landlord wants me out.”
“Where you goin’?”
I laughed. “I have no idea.”
“How about my place?”
“Really?”
“Sure. I’m gonna be bunkin’ over here. You’d be doin’ me a favor.”
I remembered the lawn and hesitated. “Can I clean up the front of the house?”
“I told you, I’m turnin’ over a new leaf. I’ll haul all that crud to the dump myself.”
“You really don’t mind if I move in?”
He answered by hugging me tighter. “Only don’t go in the third bedroom. There’s some stuff in there you don’t want to see …or the shed out back.”
The ballpark was our final stop. It looked cold and beautiful in the twilight. Freddy sat in his van, the engine idling, while I got out and checked the abandoned one. Frank had said the keys were in the ignition and he hadn’t lied.
Freddy stuck his head out the driver’s-side window. “I’m kind of disappointed. I was hoping you’d, like, you know, totaled this one too.”
“One a day is my limit.”
By the time I’d gotten back to my apartment and found some dressier clothes that had survived Belly and Skinny’s rampage, day had turned to night. I expected the service to be over, but hoped Diana Boyle might still be there.
I found Reverend Phillips’s church five blocks from Diana’s house. It had a full parking lot, but the church itself was empty. Light and voices poured out an adjacent building so I walked in. The room surprised me. I expected a quiet and solemn collection of mourners. Instead, over a hundred people talked in normal voices while helping themselves to a huge potluck meal. Most wore black, but the room felt alive and full of energy.
Reverend Phillips spotted me in the doorway and frowned. He put down his plate and came toward me. “No press here. I told all your friends earlier, this is private.”
“I’m not here to take pictures. I came to pay my respects to Mrs. Boyle.”
He looked at my black slacks and matching jacket. “Do I have your word?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Your news director left a message for me this afternoon. Thank you.”
“If we’re making mistakes, we want to fix them.” I paused. “And I keep my word.”
“That’s why I’m letting you stay.” He walked back to where he’d set down his plate and resumed his conversation.
Now alone, I recognized surreptitious looks coming from some of the mourners. I wasn’t the only white person in the room, but I was definitely in the minority, and I didn’t have any friends or acquaintances to talk with. I located Diana sitting between Rachel and a woman I’d never met. I guessed she was Diana’s sister and Gideon’s mother. I wanted to pay my respects and leave, but the crowd around them was too large.
I took a plate and helped myself to some food. As I ate by myself, I observed the constantly shifting and changing group of people around the three women. I had feared the revelation of Val’s criminal activities would destroy his mother’s fragile state of mind. Examining her now, I decided it hadn’t. She looked slightly more animated than the day before, and as people expressed their sympathy and support, she appeared to draw strength from them.
I’d started on some lasagna when I noticed Rachel get up and go to the coffee urn.
I approached her cautiously. “Hi. I’m Lilly Hawkins, the shooter who came to Mrs. Boyle’s house yesterday.”
She glanced up from filling a styrofoam cup with steaming black liquid. “Thanks for coming. It’ll mean a lot to Diana.” She paused. “About yesterday …” She set the cup down. “I hope you don’t think badly of us for stopping the interview.”
“I would have done the same thing in your place.”
She frowned. “I know it looks like we were bought off by those lawyers, but …”
“I’m sure Val would have wanted you all to be taken care of.”
“You’re very nice to say that, but I can see how it looks. Especially now that the police are saying Val’s boss may be the one who killed him.”
I was surprised by how much I liked her. The clawing attention-grabber from the day before had been replaced by a friendly and intelligent young woman. I guessed the change was due to the absence of my camera. It wouldn’t be the first time a desire to get on TV had made someone temporarily insane.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Whatever documents you signed won’t prevent you from telling the truth in a criminal investigation, and I do believe Val would have wanted his mother taken care of.”
“Thank you.” Rachel glanced at Mrs. Boyle. “I better get back. You should come and say hi to Diana. Gideon’s around here somewhere too.”
Rachel picked up two cups of coffee and started to leave.
I eyed Diana as she took a man’s outstretched hand in both of hers. “Rachel?” She paused and I continued, “How is Diana, really? Is she going to be okay?”
Rachel looked around to make sure no one could hear, then leaned in close. “Between you and me, I was very worried. Yesterday afternoon, when Reverend Philips brought Val’s personal things from the police, she had a … I guess the word is breakdown.” Rachel glanced at Diana. “Her father’s watch was missing—the one she’d given Val when he graduated. It was the last straw.”
I didn’t know what to say so I fell back on an old standard. “I’m sorry.”
Rachel smiled. “Don’t worry. She’s stronger today. Maybe she needed to get it out of her system.”
I nodded and concern turned to curiosity. “That’s weird about the watch.”
Rachel dismissed the idea with a casual flick of her head. “Not really. Turns out Val left it in his desk at work. Gideon found it when he picked up Val’s things from the winery last night.”
Could I have missed a watch hidden among Val’s things? I’d looked through the entire box carefully, and there hadn’t been much in it. “Did Gideon bring Val’s things home in an old cardboard box?”
Rachel nodded. “The winery people packed it up that way.”
“From his desk at Dewey Ridge?”
She nodded again. “Diana made a big deal this morning about giving the watch back to Gideon, as the man of the family now. It was very emotional.”
Why would Gideon lie about finding the watch? I could think of only one possible answer—he couldn’t say where he’d really got it.
TWENTY-THREE
I asked Rachel several follow-up questions, culminating with where Gideon lived. She hesitated, confusion and curiosity both apparent on her face, but told me anyway. I asked her not to repeat our conversation, but her excited eyes reminded me of the attention-hungry girl from the day before. I drove quickly to the address she’d given me in the hopes I could get in, find some proof, and get out before she was tempted to tell someone.
The house was dark and empty. I knocked on the front door just in case, but I already knew no one was home. I got my hiking boots out of the back of the van and switched them with the suede pumps I’d worn to the memorial service. After slipping on my blue coat, I checked my camera and loaded it with a fresh battery and tape. I found an open bathroom window and climbed in with my camera.
Even in the dim light I could see the shabbiness of the place. It wasn’t modest but clean, like Diana’s house. This home was small and the residents were careless with what they did have. I found Gideon’s bedroom and turned on a light. A giant poster of a woman in a bikini hung above the bed. A flat-screen TV, still in the box, sat on a desk next to a new video-game system.
I turned on the camera and set it on the desk so it would have a wide view of the room as I searched. I began by thoroughly checking his dresser. Next I turned to the bed and lifted up the mattress. Wads of hund
red-dollar bills sat next to a stack of dirty magazines. There had to be tens of thousands of dollars in the careless bundles—not nearly the missing amount, but still suspicious.
Removing the money and taking it to the police wouldn’t prove much. It would only be my word where I found it. I took a cell-phone picture and sent it to Lucero along with a brief text message explaining where I was.
I continued searching. A solid mass of laundry covered the floor of the closet. I tapped it with my foot and felt something solid. I pushed back the clothes and found a new black suitcase. I opened it. A large gun rested snugly on top of more money than I’d seen in my entire life.
Somewhere in the house a door burst open. Pounding footsteps charged down the hall. I barely had time to stand before Gideon was in the room. He saw me. He saw the open suitcase.
“I can explain.” He wore a brand-new black suit and took huge gulps of air as he tried to catch his breath. “It’s not like it looks. I can explain. Please let me explain.”
“Okay.” I picked up my camera. It was still recording, but I didn’t care. I just wanted something heavy I could use as a weapon. “I’m listening.”
Gideon finished catching his breath. He looked at the open suitcase. “He called me for help. He was scared. He was going to that orchard and he wanted me to come get him. I only went there to help. I thought it would be like the old days. I thought, I have to go, my brother needs me.”
His face contorted, but then he suppressed whatever emotions threatened to escape. “That’s why I took my mom’s gun. He was scared, but wouldn’t tell me why. It would’ve been stupid to go without protection.”
I nodded.
Gideon shut the door and began pacing around the room. “When I got there and saw all that money …all that money and he wanted to leave it for his rich boss to take. Can you believe that? Leave all that money.” His pace quickened. “He wouldn’t listen to me. He said I was stupid. He said I’d end up in jail like my father.”
Gideon stopped pacing and looked at me. “That’s not going to happen. I’m going to have what I want and I’m going to be strong and I’m going to take care of Aunt Diana and my mom and everyone else.”
He pointed to the watch on his wrist. “I’m the one who cares about family. Not Val.” He took a step toward me. His voice became louder and more emotional. “Val wasn’t staying. He was going to some fancy school and ditching us first chance he got. You should have heard the way he talked—even to his mom—like we were embarrassments or something. But I’m staying. I’m the one who’s going to be here. I’m the one who knows what’s important.”
He waited for me to respond. I had no idea what to say. In the ensuing silence we both heard a siren.
“You called them?” He made a noise like a scream and lunged. Without thinking I swung the still-recording camera at him. He took a blow to the head and staggered back. He swayed as though disoriented and reached for the wall.
I dropped the camera and ran. The front door stood open at the end of the hallway. I was steps from making it when my legs went out from under me. He pulled me down and clutched the lower half of my body. I kicked myself free. Instead of running out the door, I turned. My fist connected with his face. Crippling pain shot up my arm.
That’s when I felt hands pulling me from behind and saw the uniformed officers.
I didn’t put up a fight as they cuffed me, but Gideon freaked out. He began sobbing and wouldn’t get off the floor.
Lucero arrived and ordered me taken to the kitchen. I refused medical assistance and waited. I don’t know how long. It felt like hours. Sheriff’s Department and Bakersfield PD came and went. I saw Handsome, but he didn’t respond to my calls, and the officer who was babysitting me said to be quiet. A team of Sheriff’s Department TIs arrived and was directed to the rear of the house. After a while one came in and took my prints.
Gideon’s mother returned and a nasty scene ensued. I didn’t see anything, but her voice carried. Later I heard sobbing and guessed it was her. For the first time in the evening I was glad to be sequestered in the kitchen and away from the emotional carnage.
Finally Lucero, looking cranky and tired, walked in. He pointed to me. “Get those off her.”
The Bakersfield PD officer leaned in and unlocked the cuffs.
“Thanks, you can go.” Once we were alone, Lucero joined me at the small table. “You okay?”
I looked at my hand. The knuckles were red and swollen. “I think I may have broken my thumb when I hit him.”
“Why didn’t you tell the EMT?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“That’s you in a nutshell.” He gave me a paternal smile and reached for my hand. He gently touched the thumb.
“Ow.” I winced and pulled away.
“Next time you punch a guy, don’t wrap your fingers around the thumb.”
Before I could reply, Handsome walked in. He spoke to Lucero as though I weren’t in the room. “He’s going to have to go in the ambulance. He’s got a bad concussion.”
“I swung my camera at him.”
Handsome didn’t look at me, but Lucero turned. “We know. You recorded it, along with his confession. Not that I’m complaining about the confession, but next time you trespass, don’t bring a camera along to provide proof of your crime.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“You were,” Lucero said, “but I doubt his mom will press charges. When she found out what he’d done, she tried to kill him herself.”
I relaxed and for the first time became aware of just how much my hand hurt. “Will the confession hold up in court?”
“Doesn’t matter. The money and gun are going to hang him.” Lucero shook his head. “Not a real bright kid. He should have at least gotten rid of the gun. I guess his cousin was the smart one in the family.”
How many times had Gideon heard that? How much of what happened was because of simple greed and how much because of anger?
“He was smart enough to make the 911 call from gang territory,” I said. “If I hadn’t been at the winery last night and searched Val’s things, no one ever would have found out about the watch. He might have gotten away with it.”
“Maybe,” Lucero replied. “But most likely he’d have spent the money and got caught that way. You don’t want something bad enough to kill for it and then leave it in your closet.”
I shook my head. “The murder wasn’t just about the money. It’s more complicated than that.”
Handsome grunted and looked at me for the first time. “It’s never complicated. You know how many of these cases I’ve seen? It’s always the same. If a woman gets killed, it’s almost always her husband or boyfriend. If a young black man gets killed, it’s almost always another young black man. People don’t change. Even the way they die is predictable.”
“You’re wrong.” I returned his stare. “Gideon really loved Val. Maybe if he hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been enough anger in him to pull the trigger. It wasn’t simply the money. People aren’t just one thing. You don’t always know what they’re going to do.”
Handsome rolled his eyes and walked out.
Lucero watched him go and then turned to me. “You know, I really hate that guy.”
After getting a splint for my thumb, Lucero made me come to the Sheriff’s Department headquarters on Norris Road to make my official statement. While I waited, someone from Gang Enforcement stopped by to give me an update on Jason. He’d already been disowned by the Eastside Crew as their new leadership tried to consolidate power, and it was doubtful I’d face any retaliation. Jason himself was looking at a long prison sentence and wasn’t likely to be a threat.
It was early morning by the time Lucero returned me to Gideon’s house and my news van. I drove back to my apartment, laid newspapers down on the floor, and slept next to the remains of my bed. Later that day I finished packing everything salvageable and loaded it in the news van. I was going to be short on clothes until my new credit card
s arrived, but at least some of my books had survived.
I made the short drive to Oildale and found Bud had kept his word. The front yard wasn’t well landscaped, but the lawn garbage had all been removed. A small rental truck sat at the curb so I expected to find Bud inside the house moving his things.
I was wrong.
Rod sat on the living-room floor stocking a bookcase from an open carton. The collar and tails of a rumpled white dress shirt peaked out from the top and bottom of his striped sweater. His hair was a little less perfect, but it made him look even more like an ad from a fashion magazine. About half a dozen open boxes peppered the room.
I took several more steps into the house. “Rod?”
He saw me and relief showed all over his face.
“What are you doing here? I thought you went to L.A.?”
“I came back.” He put down the books and stood. “Callum called and told me what happened last night. Are you all right?”
“Sure. I’m fine.” I held up my hand with the splint. “It’s only my thumb this time.”
He appeared on the cusp of saying something, but instead his entire demeanor shifted from intense to cheerful. “Guess what? I followed your advice.” He reached for the books he’d set down. “I told Trent he was either taking me off the air or I’d quit.”
I tensed. “What did he say?”
“Starting Monday I’ll be writing for the six.” He smiled and resumed stocking the bookcase.
“That’s fantastic. The six? That’s our most important show.”
“And when Susan goes on maternity leave, I’m going to produce. You were right. I needed to be more aggressive.”
“This is so great.” My excitement turned to confusion as I watched him place another book on the shelf. “Wait a minute. What are you doing here?” I glanced around the room. In addition to the many half-opened boxes I saw a chenille throw, some decorative pillows, and what I can only describe as an elf chessboard. “Why are there elves in my uncle’s house?”
A Bad Day’s Work Page 26