Robert Crais - L.A. Requiem

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 M1? 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 M1 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.”

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.

“Besides that, we're not dealing with the most stable personality here, are we? Look at this guy's record. You see all the shootings he's been involved in? You see how many people he's killed? Here's a guy, he thinks nothing of using deadly force to solve his problems.”

I was watching Krantz. Krantz nodded every time Branford made a point, but so far the points didn't add up to much. Yet here was Krantz, looking assured and confident, and not at all bothered by the pissant nature of things like “prior history.” Even Branford seemed amused, like he knew he was giving us nothing.

I said, “I don't get how you put it on Joe.”

They looked at me.

Branford said, “The old lady.”

“She knows Joe by sight? She called 911 and said she saw Joe Pike sneaking down the alley?”

Krantz uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Figure it out, Sherlock. How many guys run around at night with the no sleeves and the tattoos and the sunglasses?”

“Somebody who was trying to look like Joe Pike, Sherlock. ”

Krantz laughed. “Oh, please, Cole. You don't have to be Einstein to figure this out.”

Charlie put the papers Branford had given him into his briefcase, then stood. “You guys are light. Way light. Here I was, thinking you were going to lay out real evidence like Pike's fingerprints on Dersh's doorknob, and all I'm getting is that you don't like that he's in the NRA. This is lame, Robby. I'll have the old lady saying she saw Santa Claus, and the judge is going to laugh you out.”

Robby Branford suddenly looked smug. “Well, there is another thing. You wanna see it now?”

He didn't wait for us to answer. He went to the VCR and pressed the play button.

The flat blue screen filled with a soundless color surveillance video of the back of a house. It took me a moment to realize that it was Dersh's house. I had only seen it from the front.

Krantz said, “This is a surveillance tape of Dersh's house. See the date down here?”

The time and date were in the lower left corner of the screen. The date showed it to be three days before Karen Garcia's burial. That would be the day I had learned the truth about the five victims. It was the day Pike had gone to see Dersh.

We could see a large picture window off Dersh's studio, and inside, two blurred figures I took to be Eugene Dersh and another man.

I said, “That's not Pike.”

“No, it's not. Watch here, past the edge of the house where you can see the street.”

Krantz tapped the upper left side of the screen. Part of Dersh's drive was visible, and, beyond it, the street.

Krantz hit a button, and the image slowed. A few seconds later, the nose of a red Jeep Cherokee eased into the frame. When the cab was visible, Krantz hit the freeze frame.

Krantz said, “That's Pike.”

Charlie's face drained, and his mouth formed a thin, dark line.

The picture advanced frame by frame. Joe's head turned. Joe looked at the house. Joe disappeared.

“When a jury sees this, they're going to put it together with everything else we have and think just what we think. Pike was doing a drive-by to case the area, working up his nut to pull the trigger.”

Robby Branford put his hands in his pockets, pleased with himself and his evidence. “Looks pretty good now, doesn't it, Charlie? I'd say your boy's going to jail.”

Charlie Bauman took my arm and said, “Come on. Let's go outside and talk about this.”

Charlie kept hold of my arm until I shook him off in the booking area. “It's not what it seems. That was three days before Karen Garcia's funeral. Pike only went over there to see Dersh.”

“Don't talk so loud. Why'd he go see Dersh?”

“I'd just found out about the other victims, and that Krantz suspected Dersh for the killer.”

“So Pike wanted to go check out the suspect?”

“Yeah. That's pretty much it.”

Charlie led me to the elevators, making sure no one was close enough to hear. “He go over there to talk to Dersh? Ask him if he did it?”

“No. He just wanted to look at him.”

“He just looked at him?”

“He wanted to see if he thought Dersh could do it.”

Charlie sighed and shook his head. “I can see me trying to explain that to a jury. ‘You gotta understand, ladies and gentlemen, my client is a goddamned swami and he was just trying to vibe whether or not the victim was a killer.’ ” Charlie sighed again. “This really, really is gonna look bad for us.”

“Will it come up in the arraignment?”

“Sure, it's gonna come up. Look, I can tell you right now that Joe is gonna get bound over for trial. He's going to stand for this one. Our problem isn't with the arraignment judge anymore, it'll be with the jury.”