by Robert Crais
"You got any fingerprints? You got any physical evidence that it was Joe, or is this another investigation like you ran with Dersh, you just working off an urge?"
"I'm going to let the prosecutor explain our case to Pike's lawyer. You're just here on a pass, Cole. Please remember that."
Behind us, Williams appeared, saying that everything was good to go.
Krantz nodded at me. Confident. "Let's see what the witness says."
They led us past six holding cells into a dim room where a uniformed cop and two detectives were waiting with a shrunken woman in her late seventies. Watts gave her the second cup of coffee. She sipped at it and made a face.
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Charlie whispered. "Amanda Kimmel. She's the wit."
Krantz said, "You okay, Mrs. Kimmel? You want to sit?"
She frowned at him. "I wanna get this done and get the hell outta here. I don't like to move my bowels in a strange place."
The wall in front of us was a large glass double-paned window that looked into a narrow room lit so brightly that it glowed. Krantz picked up a phone, and thirty seconds later a door on the right side of the room opened. A black cop with bodybuilder muscles led in six men. Joe Pike was the third. Of the remaining five, three were white and two were Hispanic. Four of the men were Joe's height or shorter, and one was taller. Only one of the other men wore jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt like Joe, and that was a short Hispanic guy with skinny arms. The other three wore a mix of chinos or dungarees or coveralls, and long-sleeved sweatshirts or short-sleeved tees, and all six were wearing sunglasses. Every man in the room except Joe was a cop.
I bent to Charlie's ear. "I thought they had to be dressed like Joe."
"Law says it only has to be similar, whatever the hell that means. Let's see. Maybe this works for us."
When all six men were lined along the stage, Krantz said, "Nobody on that side of the glass can see in here, Mrs. Kimmel. Don't you worry about that. You're perfectly safe."
"I don't give a rat's ass if they can see me or not."
"Is one of the men in there the same man you saw going into Eugene Dersh's yard?"
Amanda Kimmel said, "Him."
"Which one, Mrs. Kimmel?"
"The third one."
She pointed at Joe Pike.
"You're sure, Mrs. Kimmel? Take a careful look."
"That's him right there. I know what I saw."
Charlie whispered, "Shit."
Krantz glanced at Charlie now, but Charlie was watching Mrs. Kimmel.
Krantz said, "Okay, but I'm going to ask you again. You're
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saying you saw that man, number three, walk down the alley beside your house and go into Eugene Dersh's backyard?"
"Damned right. You can't miss a face like that. You can't miss those arms."
"And when the officers took your statement, that is the man you described?"
"Hell, yes. I saw him real good. Look at those damned tattoos."
"All right, Mrs. Kimmel. Detective Watts is going to take you up to my office now. Thank you."
Krantz didn't look at her when he said it; he was staring at Joe. He did not look at me or Charlie or Williams or anyone else in the room. He did not watch Mrs. Kimmel leave. He kept his eyes on Pike, and picked up the phone.
"Cuff the suspect and bring him in, please."
Suspect.
The big cop handcuffed Joe, then brought him into the observation room.
Krantz watched Pike being cuffed, watched as he was brought in. When Pike was finally with us, Krantz took off Joe's glasses, folded them, and dropped them into his own pocket. For Krantz, no one else was in that room except him and Joe. No one else was alive, or mattered, or even meant a damn. What was about to happen meant everything. Was the only thing.
He said, "Joe Pike, you're under arrest for the murder of Eugene Dersh."
23
Krantz handled the booking himself, taking Joe's fingerprints and snapping his booking photo and typing the forms. Hollywood Homicide raised a stink, trying to keep jurisdiction of Dersh's murder since it fell in their area, but Krantz sucked it into the Robbery-Homicide black hole. Related to the Dersh investigation, he said. Overlapping cases, he said. He wanted Pike.
I watched for a time, sitting with Stan Watts at an empty desk, wishing I could talk to Pike. One minute you're asleep in bed, the next you're watching your friend being booked for murder. You put your feelings away. You make yourself think. Amanda Kimmel had picked Joe out of a lineup, but what did that mean? It meant that she had seen someone who looked more like Joe than the other men in the lineup. I would learn more when I spoke with Joe. I would learn more when I heard the prosecutor's case. When I learned more, I could do something.
I kept telling myself that because I needed to either believe it or scream.
I said, "This is bullshit, Watts. You know that."
"Is it?"
"Pike wouldn't kill this guy. Pike didn't think Dersh was good for those killings."
Watts just stared at me, as blank as a wall. He'd sat with a thousand people who had said they didn 't do it when they had.
"What's next, Stan? The serial killer's dead, so you guys are going to declare victory and head for the donuts?"
Watts's expression never changed. "I realize you're upset 219
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because of your friend, but don't mistake me for Krantz. I'll slap your fucking teeth down your throat."
Finally, Watts took Charlie and me to an interview room where Joe was waiting. His jeans and sweatshirt had been replaced by blue LAPD JAIL coveralls. He sat with his fingers laced on the table, his eyes as calm as a mountain lake. It was odd to see him without his sunglasses. I could count on both hands the number of times I'd seen his eyes. Their blue is astonishing. He squinted, not used to the light.
I sighed. "All the people in the world who need killing, and you've got to pick Dersh."
Pike looked at me. "Was that humor?"
Inappropriate is my middle name.
Charlie said, "Before we get started, you want something to eat?"
"No."
"Okay, here's what's going to happen. The ADA handling your case is a guy named Robby Branford. You know him?"
Pike and I both shook our heads.
"He's a square guy. A pit bull, but square. He'll be here soon, and we'll see what he's going to show the judge. The arraignment will be this afternoon over in Municipal Court. They'll keep you locked down here, then bring you over to the Criminal Court Building just before. Once we're there, it shouldn't take more than an hour or two. Branford will present the evidence, and the judge will decide if there's reasonable cause to believe you're the guy popped Dersh. Now, if the judge binds you over, it doesn't mean there's proof of your guilt, just that he believes there's enough reason to go to trial. If that's the way it breaks, we'll argue for bail. Okay?"
Pike nodded.
"Did you kill Dersh?"
"No."
When he said it, I let out my breath. Pike must've heard, because he looked at me. The edge of his mouth flickered.
I said, "Okay, Joe."
Charlie didn't seem impressed, or moved. He'd heard it a million times, too. I'm innocent. "Dersh's next-door neighbor
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just picked you out of the lineup. She says she saw you going into Dersh's yard this morning just before he was killed."
"Wasn't me."
"You go over there last night?"
"No."
"Where were you?"
"Running."
"You were running in the middle of the goddamned night?"
I said, "He does that."
Charlie frowned at me. "Did I ask you?" He opened a yellow legal pad to take notes. "Let's back up. Give me your whole evening, say from about seven on."
"I went by the store at seven. Stayed until a quarter to eight. Then went home and made dinner. I was home by eig
ht. Alone."
Charlie wrote down the names of Joe's employees, and their home phone numbers. "Okay. You went home and made dinner. What'd you do after dinner?"
"I went to bed at eleven-ten. I woke a little after two, and went for a run."
Charlie was scribbling. "Not so fast. What'd you do between eight and eleven-ten?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing? You watch TV? You rent a movie?"
"I showered."
"You didn't shower for three goddamned hours. You read a book? Maybe call a friend, someone call you? Did your laundry?"
"No."
"You had to be doing something besides the goddamned shower. Think about it."
Pike thought.
"I was being."
Charlie wrote on the pad. I could see his mouth move. BEING.
"Okay. So you ate, took your shower, then sat around
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'being' until you went to bed. Then you woke up a little after two and went for a run. Give us the route."
Joe described the route he followed, and now I was writing, too. I was going to retrace his route during the day, then again at the same time he'd run it, looking for anyone who might've seen him.
Pike said, "I stopped at the bluffs on Ocean Avenue between Wilshire and San Vicente, where you can see the water. I talked to a girl there. Her name was Trudy."
Pike described her.
Charlie said, "No last name?"
"I didn't ask. She was meeting someone named Matt. A black minivan arrived. New Dodge, no license or dealer tag that I could see. Custom teardrop windows in the back. She got in and they left. Whoever was inside would've seen me."
I said, "When was that?"
"Got to the bluffs about two-fifty. Started running again just at three."
Charlie raised his eyebrows. "You're sure about the time?"
"Yes."
I said, "That's only fifteen minutes or so before the old lady heard the shot. No way you could get from the ocean to Dersh's in fifteen minutes. Not even at three in the morning."
Charlie nodded, thinking about it and liking it. "Okay. That's something. We've got the girl, maybe. And all this running could give us plenty of potential witnesses." He glanced at me. "You're gonna get started on that?"
"Yes."
Someone rapped at the door, and Charlie yelled for them to come in.
Williams stuck his head in. "DA's here."
"Be right out."
When Williams closed the door, Joe said, "What about bail?"
"You've got your business. You've got a home. All of that is to the good when I'm trying to convince a judge you won't run. But when you're talking murder, it depends on the strength of their evidence. Branford will make a big deal about this old
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lady, but he knows—and so does the judge—that eyewitness testimony is the least dependable evidence you can admit. If all he has is the old lady, we're in good shape. You just sit tight, and don't worry, okay?"
Pike put the calm blue eyes on me, and I wished I knew what was behind them. He seemed peaceful, as if far worse things had happened to him, and nothing that could happen here would be as bad. Not even here. Not even charged with murder.
He said, "Don't forget Karen."
"I won't, but right now you have to come first. Edward Deege is dead. He was found murdered."
Pike cocked his head. "How?"
"Dolan says it looks like a street beef, but Hollywood has the case. They're investigating."
Pike nodded.
"I'll see about finding Trudy."
"I know."
"Don't worry about it."
"I'm not."
I took my sunglasses from my shirt pocket and held them out.
Pike's eyes flicked to the glasses.
"Krantz would just take them."
Charlie Bauman said, "Come on, for chrissake. We don't have all day."
I put the sunglasses back in my pocket and followed Charlie out.
Robert Branford was a tall man with large hands and bristling eyebrows. He met us in the hall, then walked us into a conference room where Krantz was sitting at the head of a long table. A TV and VCR were in the corner, and a short stack of files and legal pads were on the table. The TV was on, showing a blank blue screen. I wondered what they'd been watching.
Even before we were all the way in the room, Charlie said, "Hey, Robby, you meet your eyewitness yet?"
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"Mrs. Kimmel? Not yet. Gonna see her after the arraignment."
"Better see her before."
"Why is that, Charlie? She got three heads?"
Charlie made a drinking motion. "Booze hound. Jesus, Krantz, I'm surprised you could stand being so close to her at the lineup. Damn near knocked me out when she walked past."
Branford had gone to his own briefcase and was taking papers from different manila folders. He raised his eyebrows toward Krantz.
To his credit, Krantz nodded. "She's a drinker."
Charlie took a seat at the table without bothering to open his briefcase. "Did Krantz tell you about the Ml? If you're going to her place, you'd better wave a white flag before you get out of your car."
Krantz said, "I told him, Bauman. What does that have to do with anything?"
Charlie spread his hands, Mr. Innocent. "Just want to make sure Robby knows what he's getting into. A seventy-eight-year-old lush gives a visual on a guy she's trying to plug with an Ml Garand rifle. That's going to look real good when you get to court."
Branford laughed. "Sure, Bauman. You're thinking about my best interests." Branford took a slim stack of papers from his briefcase and handed them to Charlie. "Here's Mrs. Kimmel's statement, plus the reports written by the officers responding to her call. We don't have anything in from the CI or the criminalist yet, but I'll copy you as soon as we get anything."
Charlie flipped through the pages absently. "Thanks, Robby. Hope you got more to offer the court than Mrs. Kimmel."
Branford smiled tightly. "We do, but let's start with her. We've got an eyewit who puts your man at the scene, and picked him out of a line. Second, the swabs came back positive, confirming that Pike recently fired a weapon."
I said, "Pike owns a gun shop. He shoots every day of his life."
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Krantz leaned back. "Yeah. And today he took one shot too many."
Charlie ignored him. "SID match the slug and Pike's gun? "
"SID has the weapons at the shed now, running them."
Krantz said, "You know how many guns we found at his place? Twelve handguns, four shotguns, and eight rifles, two of which are fully automatic assault weapons. This guy's a friggin' poster boy for gun control."
Charlie made a hurry-up gesture. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, and every one of those weapons is legally registered. Here's a prediction, Robby. You're not going to get a match."
Branford shrugged. "Probably not, but it doesn't matter. He's an ex-cop. He knows enough to dump the murder weapon. Does he have an alibi?"
Now Charlie was looking annoyed. "Pike was in Santa Monica. At the ocean."
"Okay. I'm listening."
"We're locating the wits now."
Branford didn't quite manage a smile. "And all I've got to do is believe you." He took the chair near his briefcase and leaned back. Maybe he and Krantz had rehearsed it. "For the motive, we've got Karen Garcia. Pike blamed Dersh for murdering his girlfriend. Here he was, inside the investigation, and it was killing him that everybody knew that Dersh was the one, but that the police couldn't put together a case."
I said, "Their relationship was over years ago. Talk to her father and check it out."
"What does that matter? Men get weird when it comes to women."
Branford brought another manila folder out of his briefcase and tossed it on the table.