Sue Grafton - V is for Vengeance

We said little on the drive over, each of us contemplating the possible repercussions-she from Rafe and I from Sergeant Priddy. We presented ourselves as model citizens, the equivalent of Good Samaritans turning in a wallet full of money found on the street. The deputy at the desk made a phone call and the matter was redirected to a Sergeant Detective Turner, who came out to the counter. We signed in and were given self-adhesive passes that we stuck to our shirts. He escorted us through the inner offices to his cubicle. Once seated, I launched into an explanation of how we’d come by the cash. Vivian nodded frequently but managed to remain silent, lest anything she said could and would be used against her in a court of law.

Once I got into the spirit of the tale, I was even so forthcoming as to fill them in on Audrey’s arrest and subsequent death leap. I made no mention of Sergeant Priddy as the detective investigating the shoplifting incident. They could figure that out for themselves. I did explain Marvin’s hiring me and my enlisting Vivian’s assistance in searching Audrey’s place. We did a bit of hand-waving when it came to the issue of how she’d ended up with the package, though it actually made perfect sense. If the cash was connected to a criminal enterprise, better to turn it over to the authorities than see it fall into the wrong hands. Even the investigator we spoke to didn’t seem to think we’d done anything wrong. If we were dishonest, we could have filled our own coffers and no one would have been the wiser.

It occurred to me to suggest Sergeant Detective Turner count the cash before we let it out of our sight, but I didn’t want to insult the man. Since we were busy persuading him of our honorable intentions, it didn’t seem wise to question his. The package was booked into evidence and whisked away to Property, where it would sit on a shelf until somebody decided what to do next.

When we finally left the station and drove back to Vivian’s house, we were feeling sweaty with guilt even though what we’d done was honest and aboveboard. It was 2:00 by then, and I was eager to hit the road. I followed her to the kitchen, where she filled an electric kettle with water and plugged it in.

“Thank goodness that’s over with. Do you have time to join me in a cup of tea?”

“I should be getting back. Would you mind if I took a quick look at your phone book?”

She removed the phone book from a kitchen drawer close to the wall-mounted phone. “What are you looking for?”

“A charity called Helping Hearts, Healing Hands. Ever heard of it?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

I started with the yellow pages, checking for social service agencies. I tried the white pages as well and bombed out on both. “They’ve got a couple of donation bins in Santa Teresa, but the organization isn’t listed. I thought it might be headquartered here.”

“What’s the relevance to Audrey?”

“Sorry. I should have brought you up to speed.” I told her how I’d identified Georgia Prestwick and ended up following her that morning. The story was almost as long and boring as the surveillance itself. “I remembered your mentioning a white panel truck parked next door on the nights Audrey worked late.”

“Absolutely. It was always there when she was in town.”

“If you see it again would you let me know? I snapped a couple of photos as it was speeding away. I also took a shot of the logo on the bin. Once I get the film developed, I’ll let you take a look. It would be great if you recognized either one.”

It was 2:20 when I finally turned onto the southbound 101. I maintained a sedate sixty miles an hour. It was a gorgeous afternoon with perfect road conditions, and I used the drive time to assess my discoveries to date. I was happy with the progress I’d made. I wasn’t certain how Marvin would feel or whether he’d be willing to underwrite my continued investigation. I’d have to have a long chat with him before I did anything else.

As is so often the case in life, I pictured myself in a holding pattern, like an airplane circling a field. I knew where I’d been and I had a sense of where I’d land. All I needed was clearance from the tower. In hindsight, I see how complacent I was, lulled by a feeling of accomplishment. If I’d been alert and kept an eye on the rearview mirror, I might have spotted the pale blue sedan that had fallen in behind me as I left Vivian’s house.

I left the freeway at Capillo and kept to surface streets as I worked my way through town to the lower part of State. When I passed the pawnshop I’d visited with Pinky, I turned right at the corner and parked on the side street. I walked the half block to State and went into Santa Teresa Jewelry and Loan. As far as I could tell, everything was exactly the same, from the paintings mounted on the wall to the guitars strung together in a line to the glass cases filled with watches and rings. Now I wondered if there was any turnover at all. Perhaps when we’re forced to forfeit what we own, we lose any sentimental associations. Perhaps pawning our valuables frees us in the same way a house fire destroys not only our worldly goods, but our attachment to what’s gone.

June was at the register when I entered the shop, and she looked up as I approached. She’d re-dyed her hair since I’d seen her last. Gone was the wide ribbon of gray roots she’d shown the week before. Her eyeglasses were also different. This pair was framed in lime green and seemed better suited to her wavy red-gold locks.

I said, “Hi, June. Kinsey Millhone. I came in with Pinky Ford when he reclaimed his wife’s engagement ring.”

She fixed me with a shrewd look. “You’re the private detective.”

“I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I saw your name in the paper after that woman went off the bridge. The way I read it, the reporter had it in for you.”

“Thanks for saying so. I thought I was being paranoid.”

“Not a bit of it. She made it sound like you were just plain uncooperative.”

“And ‘fanciful.’ Don’t forget that.”

“The vice detective was the one who threw that in. He’s a piece of work. I’ve had dealings with him before and didn’t much care for the man. I couldn’t believe he’d pooh-pooh the idea of organized retail theft. He knows better or why would he be in here chatting with me?”

“Probably following up.”

“About time,” she said. “Too bad he was so arrogant or I’d have given him an earful.”

“Try me. I could use the education.”

“What in particular?”

“Well, I know professional thieves are out there-Audrey Vance being one. I’m trying to get a line on where they set up shop. They have to have places to lay off merchandise.”

“You bet. With stolen property, there’s always a fence. Nothing comes through us, in case you’re wondering.”

I smiled. “It did cross my mind.”

“It’s a common misconception. People think pawnshops are a magnet for stolen goods, but nothing could be further from the truth. We’re strictly regulated. By law, we are required to get a photo ID, a thumbprint, and a detailed description, including serial numbers, for every item we take in. We forward the information to the police department so they can check it against reported thefts. It works the other way too. If they’re investigating a burglary, they notify us so we’re aware of what’s in circulation.”

“So how does it work? Someone has to be on the buying end or the market would dry up.”

“Depends on the goods. Articles of clothing are stripped of store labels and moved out of the area. Same thing with items like athletic shoes. Who wants to pay full price if you can get the same thing for half? There’s a big market for brand-name goods overseas. Here too for that matter.”