Robert Crais - The Forgotten Man

"You the one was on TV?"

"No, he was the other one."

"I wasn't trying to be rude. I remember seeing you on the news."

I didn't say anything. He watched me a moment longer, then turned to the alley.

"Guess you've seen a homicide scene before."

"More than one."

The body was crumpled beside a Dumpster midway down the alley, but my view was blocked by a woman in a T-shirt and shorts, and two men in dark sport coats. The woman's T-shirt was fresh and white, and made her stand out in the dingy alley as if she were on fire. The older suit was a thick man with shabby hair, and the younger detective was a tall, spike-straight guy with a pinched face. When the uniform reached them, they traded a few words, then the woman came back with him. She smelled of medicinal alcohol.

"I'm Diaz. Thanks for coming out."

Kelly Diaz had short black hair, blunt fingers, and the chunky build of an aging athlete. A delicate silver heart swayed on a chain around her neck. It didn't go with the rest of her.

I said, "I'm not going to know this man."

"I'd still like you to take a look and answer a few questions. You okay with that?"

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

"I'm just making sure you understand you don't have to talk to us. You have any doubts about it you should call a lawyer."

"I'm good, Diaz. If I wasn't good, I would have shot it out with these guys up in the hills."

The younger cop laughed, but his partner didn't. Diaz lifted the tape, and I stooped under and walked with her to the Dumpster. When we reached the others, Diaz introduced us. The senior detective was a Central Station homicide supervisor named Terry O'Loughlin; the other guy was a D-l named Jeff Pardy. O'Loughlin shook my hand and thanked me for coming, but Pardy didn't offer to shake. He stood between me and the body like I was an invading army and he was determined not to give ground.

O'Loughlin said, "Okay, let him see."

The cops parted like a dividing sea so I could view the body. The alley was bright with lights they had set up to work the scene. The dead man was on his right side with his right arm stretched from his chest and his left down along his side; his shirt was wet with blood and had been scissored open. His head was shaped like an upside-down pyramid with a broad forehead and pointy chin. His hair showed the stark black of a bad dye job and a thin widow's peak. He didn't look particularly old, just weathered and sad. The crucifix inked into his left palm made it look like he was holding the cross, and more tattoos showed on his stomach under the blood. A single gunshot wound was visible two inches to the left of his sternum.

Diaz said, "You know him?"

I cocked my head to see him as if we were looking at each other. His eyes were open and would remain that way until a mortician closed them. They were brown, like mine, but dulled by the loss of their tears. That's the first thing you learn when you work with the dead: We're gone when we no longer cry.

"What do you think? You know this guy?"

"Uh-uh."

"Ever seen him before?"

"No, I can't help you."

When I looked up, all three of them were watching me.

O'Loughlin flicked his hand at Pardy.

"Show him the stories."

Pardy took a manila envelope from his coat. The envelope contained three articles about me and a little boy who had been kidnapped earlier in the fall. The articles hadn't been clipped from the original newspaper; they had been copied, and the articles clipped from the copies. All three articles made me out to be more than I was or ever had been; Elvis Cole, the World's Greatest Detective, hero of the week. I had seen them before, and seeing them again depressed me. I handed them back without reading them.

"Okay, he had some news clips about me. Looks like he copied them at the library."

Diaz continued staring at me.

"He told me he was trying to find you."

"When this stuff hit the news I got calls from total strangers saying I owed them money and asking for loans. I got death threats, fan letters, and time-share offers, also from total strangers. After the first fifty letters I threw away my mail without opening it and turned off my answering machine. I don't know what else to tell you. I've never seen him before."

O'Loughlin said, "Maybe he hung around outside your office. You could have seen him there."

"I stopped going to my office."

"You have any idea why he would think he's your father?"

"Why would total strangers think I'd loan them money?"

Pardy said, "Were you down here or anywhere near here tonight?"

There it was. The coroner's office was responsible for identifying John Doe victims and notifying their next of kin. Whenever the police took action to identify a victim, they were acting to further their investigation. Diaz had phoned me at four A.M. to see if I was home; she had sent a car to confirm I was home, and asked me down so they could gauge my reaction. They might even have a witness squirreled nearby, giving me the eye.

I said, "I was home all night, me and my cat."

Pardy edged closer.

"Can the cat confirm it?"

"Ask him."

Diaz said, "Take it soft, Pardy. Jesus."

O'Loughlin warned off Pardy with a look.

"I don't want this to become adversarial. Cole knows we have to cover the base. He's going out of his way."

I said, "I was home all night. I spoke to a friend about nine-thirty. I can give you his name and number, but that's the only time I can cover."

Pardy glanced at O'Loughlin, but didn't seem particularly impressed.

"That's great, Cole; we'll check it out. Would you be willing to give us a GSR? In the interest of helping us. Not to be adversarial."

O'Loughlin frowned at him, but didn't object. A gunshot residue test would show them whether or not I had recently fired a gun-if I hadn't washed my hands or worn gloves.

"Sure, Pardy, take the swabs. I haven't killed anyone this week."

O'Loughlin checked his watch as if he suspected this was going to be a waste of time, but here we were and there was the dead man. Diaz called over a criminalist, and had me sign a waiver stating I knew my rights and was cooperating without coercion. The criminalist rubbed two cloth swabs over my left and right hands, then dropped each into its own glass tube. While the criminalist worked, I gave Pardy Joe Pike's name and number to confirm the call, then asked O'Loughlin if they made the murder for a botched robbery. He checked his watch again as if answering me was just another waste of time.

"We don't make it for anything right now. We're six blocks from Skid Row, Cole. We have more murders down here than any other part of the city. These people will kill each other over six cents or a blow job, and every goddamned murder clears the same. He sure as hell wasn't carrying government secrets."

No, he was carrying news stories about me.

"Sounds like you've got it figured out."

"If you'd seen as many killings down here as me, you'd have it figured, too."

O'Loughlin suddenly realized he was talking too much and seemed embarrassed.

"If we think of anything else to ask you, we'll follow up. Thanks for your cooperation."

"Sure."

He glanced at Diaz.

"Kelly, you good with letting Jeff have the lead on this? It'll be a good learning experience."

"Fine by me."

"You good with that, Jeff?"

"You bet. I'm on it."

Pardy turned away to call over the coroner's people, and O'Loughlin went with him. Two morgue techs broke out a gurney and began setting it up. I studied the body again. His clothes were worn but clean, and his face wasn't burned dark like the people who live on the streets. When I glanced up at Diaz, she was staring at him, too.

"He doesn't look homeless."

"He's probably fresh out of detention. That's good news for us; his prints will be in the system."