Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

“Oliver, leave me alone or I’ll sic the Loo on you.”

“Bringing out the heavy artillery, huh?”

I smiled. When in doubt, punt to Dad.

?

After breakfast and girl talk/therapy with Hayley (no mention of Oliver’s visit, of course), I arrived at the station house a few hours before I was due to go on shift. I looked up any kind of information I could on Hermano or Germando. I didn’t know his last name because Alice Anne hadn’t known it, but there was a section for distinguishing marks and the tiger tattoo qualified under that category. When I typed it in, I was shocked at Alice Anne’s accuracy. A lesson well learned: Never discount anyone.

Germando El Paso was now eighteen and a half, with a warrant out for his arrest for unpaid traffic citations, specifically a speeding ticket and three parking violations. In the past, he’d been picked up for two DUIs, and his license was currently suspended, but hey, when did that ever stop bad guys from driving? He had also been arrested for a misdemeanor possession of marijuana, and had a sealed juvenile record. Since he wasn’t on probation, he had no probation officer. But there had been a juvenile officer who had worked with him. I took down his name and gave him a call.

I got voice mail, so I left a message.

I went down into the locker room and changed into my uniform. Homicide Detective Justice Brill snagged me right before I entered the roll-call room. Brill was in his mid-thirties, around five-ten, and good-looking in that seamed Steve McQueen/Paul Newman kind of way. They didn’t make movie stars like that anymore. Instead, it was all these slender pretty boys that I could probably beat in an arm wrestle. Brill was married but had a penchant for frequenting gentlemen’s clubs. I stayed clear of him.

“We think we found the SUV. It was a stolen vehicle with stolen plates, but you did get the last four digits right. Good for you.”

“You impound it?”

“No, I put it up on eBay.” Brill smiled, his eyes oozing sincerity. “You did a good job, Decker.”

I took the compliment with grace and aplomb, and a gallon of salt.

He said, “Here’s the thing. The front bumper of the car was an inkblot of smashed body parts, but the rear bumper was clean.”

“She wasn’t hit on the rear bumper.”

“Very good, Decker, I see gold in your future.” He rolled his eyes. “Now since the plates were stolen, the lab dusted it for prints. Guess what?”

“There were none.”

“Bingo. But the lab did find a smear of fresh blood on the top right screw, where you screw the license plate onto the bumper.”

“Was the smear enough for a partial?”

“There was a partial, but nothing popped up in the system.”

So much for that. “Did the blood match the victim’s?”

“We don’t know for sure because the tests are preliminary. But the lab did run a simple ABO-victim’s blood was O, the smear was B. There was nothing else on the plate.” He looked at me. “Any ideas?”

He was giving me a hurdle to jump. I thought about it for a moment. “And the lab didn’t find the B blood type anywhere else on the SUV?”

“No.”

I tapped my foot. “It’s on the screw but not on the license plate.”

“Right.”

Suddenly sparks popped in my brain. “If there were no prints on the license plates, maybe instead of just wiping it down, he wore gloves. Thing is, license plate edges are sharp. Could be the plate cut the latex while he was fiddling with it. Maybe the edge was sharp enough to cut through the latex and exposed part of his fingertip-hence the partial. Maybe it also cut skin. But he didn’t notice it because it was only a few droplets. The blood could have leaked out onto the screw as he attached the plate to the bumper.”

Brill stared at me.

I shrugged. “You asked what I thought. It’s a theory.”

The nod came slowly. “Yeah, it’s a theory.”

That was as much of a concession as I’d get from him.

He gave me a wise-guy smile. “You know what? When I find out more, we’ll discuss it over a cup of coffee.”

Why was it that every time a guy wanted play, he offered me a lousy cup of coffee? What ever happened to dinner and a movie?

“Thanks for filling me in, Detective.”

“We’ll keep in touch, Decker,” he said. “You’re good.”

I smiled. I had so wanted things to work out with Koby. I had genuinely liked the man. But even if I hadn’t, he would have been worth dating just to keep the others off my back.

Germando El Paso’sjuvenile officer hadn’t returned my call, so I figured I might as well spend another fruitless night following up theories that evaporated like steam. I headed for Boss’s twenty-four-hour coffeehouse, a place that catered to freaks, chumps, hypes, and other ne’er-do-wells who couldn’t hack it in daylight hours. I was hoping to espy “Mr. Tiger Tattoo” himself. Alice Anne had produced a solid hit, so I made a mental note to slip her another ten-spot the next time I saw her.

I was seated by a toothpick of a guy with bad acne who appeared to be coming off a bad jones. Lucky for me, he was the maître d’ and not my server. That position was given to a captivating lady with blue spiked hair who dressed in black vinyl. She had a pierced upper lip and a pierced nose and small silver chain connecting the two metal studs together. I wondered if it hurt when she sneezed.

She poured me some coffee and left me the pot. I had brought the morning paper and was skimming the usual bad news, having made myself comfortable in a torn Naugahyde booth in the far end of the restaurant after sweeping bread crumbs off the tabletop with my hands. I kept a sharp eye out for my prey, and though I saw a good sideshow, Germando wasn’t part of it. I sipped coffee and munched on dry lettuce leaves of what was professed to be a dinner salad. When my cell phone rang, I jumped. I had forgotten to turn it off.

“Decker.”

“I just got off shift. Are you still in the neighborhood?”

The voice from the netherworld. I didn’t want to lie, but I definitely did not want to see him. “It’s late.”

“You could come to my place,” Koby purred. “I’ll fix you something to eat… give you a massage…”

As anger played inside my gut, I tried to keep my voice even. “Sounds like a booty call.”

Silence over the line.

“No, Cindy, not at all.”

“Then explain it to me.”

The seconds ticked.

“Let’s try it again.” His voice was more somber. “I’m off all day Sunday. I’d love to see you. How about brunch and we go from there?”

That meant spending money on me. A step up, but I still wasn’t interested. So now I did lie. “I’m working Sunday.”

“Actually, I’m off Saturday night through Monday morning. Actually, Friday night through Monday, but Saturday is Shabbat. But if Saturday is your only time, I can see you then. Please. Just give me a time.”

What in the world was going through that man’s head? Nothing for four days, then “Mr. Solicitous.” More than likely, he was horny. “Saturday I meet my mother for lunch. It’s sacrosanct.”

Another pause. “What does that mean… the word?”

“ ‘Sacrosanct’? It means if I miss a weekend with her, she goes ballistic.”

“Maybe after lunch, then…”

Not missing a beat. Tenacity had probably been a very useful asset for him. I relented, probably because he had asked me what “sacrosanct” meant. For some reason, I found it endearing. Still, I was cautious. “Actually, I’m still in the neighborhood. I’ve got a couple of odds and ends to pick up. How about I call you in a half hour? If I’m up to it, we’ll meet for coffee. All right?”