Майкл Коннелли - Fair Warning

“That’s a good idea,” Emily said. “I—”

“I’ll call first thing in the morning,” I said. “Try to get it set.”

“Tell them there will be two of you on the interview,” Myron said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I want you both to go down there,” Myron said.

“I think I can handle it,” I said.

“I’m sure you can,” Myron said. “But for security reasons I want you both to go. Emily, take the Canon and you can take photos.”

“I’m not a photographer,” Emily protested.

“Just take the camera,” Myron said.

“What about Anaheim PD?” Emily asked. “You want us to tag-team that too?”

“I was going to go down there tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll find Detective Dig.”

Emily said nothing. I was expecting a protest, with her claiming it was her lead, but she didn’t make one.

“Okay, fine, you go, Jack,” Myron said. “But listen, I don’t want this to be a competition. Work together. I’m devoting half our staff to this. We can’t waste time. Find out if there is something there and if not, get out and move on to the next story.”

“Got it,” Emily said.

“Okay,” I said.

The meeting broke up after that and we returned to our respective work stations. The first thing I did was call the Anaheim Police Department and try to get a line on Dig. This turned out to be easy. I asked for the detective bureau and asked the woman who answered, “Can I speak to Dig?”

“I’m sorry, Detective Ruiz is gone for the day. Can I take a message?”

“No, that’s okay. Will he be working tomorrow?”

“He is, but he’s signed out to court all day. Do you want to leave a message?”

“No, I guess I’ll see him at the courthouse. That’s the rape case?”

This was an educated guess based on Ruiz working the Jane Doe/Orton case.

“Yes, Isaiah Gamble. Who can I tell him called?”

“That’s okay. I’ll see him there tomorrow. Thank you.”

After disconnecting, I pulled up the Orange County District Attorney’s Office website and plugged the name Isaiah Gamble into the search window. This led me to an extract on the case — abduction and forcible rape — and the courtroom it was assigned to in the courthouse in Santa Ana. I would be good to go in the morning.

I was writing the information down in a notebook when I was interrupted by a text from Rachel Walling.

You want to get a drink tonight?

It came out of the blue. I drop in on her unannounced for the first time in more than a year and the next day she wants to have a drink. I didn’t wait long to reply.

Sure. Where? What time?

I waited but there was no immediate reply. I started packing up for the day, shoving into my backpack everything I might need in Orange County the next day. I was about to get up and leave when I got the return message from Rachel.

I’m in the Valley. I could meet now or later. How about that place you met Christina? I want to see it.

I stared at my phone’s screen. I knew that she meant Mistral. That seemed a bit weird but maybe there was going to be more to the meeting than a drink. Maybe Rachel had changed her mind about my proposal to her. I texted back with the name and address and told her I was on my way.

I went by Emily Atwater’s cubicle on my way out. She looked up from her screen.

“I located Dig,” I said. “His last name is Ruiz. He’s going to be in court tomorrow on another case.”

“That’s perfect,” Emily said. “You should be able to get to him there.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And also, I wanted to say sorry if it seems like I’m being a dick.”

“No, you aren’t. It was your story. I get it.”

I nodded.

“Thanks for understanding,” I said. “So if you want to go down with me to find Ruiz that would be fine. It was your lead.”

“No, I’m fine to stay up here, actually,” she said. “I was thinking that while you do that, I’ll see what I can come up with through the feds. I’ll start with the FDA.”

“They’re not doing anything on this,” I said. “They’re still in the ‘thinking about it’ enforcement stage.”

“Yes, but we need to get that on the record and ask why it is and when it’s going to change. The government is behind the curve and that’s a big part of the story.”

“Right.”

“So, I’ll do that and you go down to Orange County.”

“I’ll try to set something up with Orton through Rexford PR. I’ll let you know.”

She smiled. Somehow it made me think that I was still being a dick about things.

“So we’re good?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s see where things are tomorrow.”

I nodded and she spoke as I turned to leave.

“I would never apologize for being protective about my story, Jack.”

I looked back at her.

“You saw something and went after it,” she said. “You have every right to keep it.”

“Okay,” I said.

“See you tomorrow,” she said.

Rachel was already at the bar at Mistral when I got there, her martini glass half full. She didn’t see me enter and so I stood back and looked at her for a few moments. She had her eyes down on the bar, reading a document. She reached for the stem of the martini glass without looking and then took a small sip. My interactions with her had spanned nearly twenty-five years and had been hot and cold, intense and distant, intimate and strictly professional, and ultimately heartbreaking. From the beginning, she had left a hole in my heart that could never quite heal. I could go years without seeing her but I could never stop thinking about her. Thinking about where she was, what she was doing, who she was with.

I knew the moment I decided to visit her the day before that I was buying myself another round of hope and hurt. But some people are fated this way, fated to play the same music over and over like a scratched record.

The moment was ruined when the bartender saw me standing by the door and called out her version of my name.

“Jacques, what are you doing?” she said. “Come in, come in.”

Elle, whose last name I did not know, spoke with a French accent. She knew me as a regular, though she put a French twist on my name. Still, it was close enough that it caused Rachel to look up and see me. And my moment of reverie and hope ended.

I walked to the bar and sat next to Rachel.

“Hey, been here long?” I asked.

“No, just ahead of you,” Rachel said.

Elle came down the bar to take my order.

“The usual, Jacques?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

Elle went back down the bar to where the bottle of Ketel One was and started preparing my drink.

“Ze use-you-well, Jacques?” Rachel whispered mockingly. “You know that accent is fake, right?”

“She’s an actress,” I said. “The place is French.”

“Only in L.A.”

“Or maybe Paris. So, what brings you over the hill to the Valley?”

“Trying to hook up a new client and today we had the dog-and-pony show.”

“Background searching?”

“Our meat and potatoes.”

“So you go in there, flash the former-FBI credentials, and tell them what you can do and they give you their business?”

“That’s a little simplistic but, yeah, that’s how it works.”

Elle brought my martini over and put it down on a cocktail napkin.

“Voilà,” she said.

“Merci,” I said.

Elle moved back down the bar, smart enough to give us space.

“And this is your hang?” Rachel said. “The bartender with the phony French accent?”

“I only live a couple blocks away,” I said. “I can walk home if I get into trouble.”