I went back to my office, opened the slider, sat at my desk, called Detective Mike Ott, LAPD. As the phone rang I pictured Ott sitting at his desk, combing his perfect head of hair. Starting at the part and making nice long strokes one way, then nice long strokes the other way. I have no idea why.
“Ott, Darvelle.”
“Yeah.”
“Wondering if you can run a check on someone for me.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Man named Lee Graves, runs a company called Prestige Fish. White, I’d say thirty-five, lean, six-one, blue eyes, clean bald head now but who knows how recent that is. Curious if you have anything on him. Priors, any trouble in his past.”
“Yeah, might be a few Lee Graveses out there, but let me see if I can match something up. Gimme a day. Busy down here.” And then he added, “Prestige Fish, is that a restaurant?”
I laughed. “Sounds like one, doesn’t it? No, it’s a tropical fish business. Graves is a tropical fish broker.”
“Jesus Christ. That’s where your investigation has taken you? To a goddamn pet store?”
“Not exactly. The fish this cat deals with sell for real money. Five, ten, twenty large a pop. Sometimes more.”
“It’s a fucked-up world, Darvelle. It really is. I’ll run a check on Graves.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“By the way, my niece got a part in some show. She’s over the fucking moon. You made me look good.”
“I knew something was up. You were being way too nice to me.”
“Don’t get used to it. Me running this check? This is thank-you. This is thank-you. Then we’re back to square one.”
“Sounds good. And believe me, I would never get used to it. Because fundamentally, at your core, you don’t like me that much.”
“That’s true,” he said. And then he paused, and I could see a pensive look fall over his granite face, even though I couldn’t actually see him. “That’s very true.”
I said, ending the call, “All right, Ott.”
“I’ll call you when I got something.”
After I hung up with Ott, I got online and bought my friend Gary Delmore a present, a new Ping-Pong bat. I bought him a Butterfly BalsaCarbo X5. I know, not a super-high-end bat, but, truth is, Gary Delmore can’t handle a super-high-end bat. The BalsaCarbo X5 is just a really solid—hell, pretty damn nice—paddle. I had it shipped to him overnight. I have to say, giving Ott’s niece a part was nice, really nice. And I know it meant a lot to Ott, which, in turn, will help me. Just now, sure, but probably again too. He’d said this was thank-you. But I’d get another favor or two out of him as a result of Delmore’s string pulling. So Delmore deserves a little love in return. Got to give back, right?
A few minutes after I’d finished my online shopping excursion, my phone started vibrating on my desk. Shaking around, pulling the old spaz move again. My first thought, before I looked at it, was that Ott had forgotten to say something or ask me something and was calling me back. But when I looked, I realized I was wrong. It was Dave Treadway calling.
“Hi, Dave,” I answered.
“Hey, John. You’ve got me in your caller ID. Nice.”
“I do. What’s up?”
“Well, Jill and I were talking. Wondering if you and your girlfriend wanted to come down for the day, day after tomorrow? Saturday? We’re members of a little beach club down here in La Jolla, and we’re going to have a beach day. Have lunch, swim in the ocean. Know it’s last-minute, and I guess you’re in the middle of a case, but we enjoyed meeting you the other day, so I thought I’d throw it out there.”
This I didn’t see coming. A call from someone I’d talked to about a case that wasn’t a call relating to the case but was rather an invitation to do something social with another couple.
Some thoughts quickly hit me. One: I never do stuff like this, I’m always working. Two: If I were on anything other than a cold case there’s no way I would, or probably even could, accept. Three: I had just put a fire under Graves, but I needed to let that fire build a bit, see what he would do with a little time to think. And four, the most important thought: the look in Nancy’s eyes the other day when she’d said: “I like it when you hear me, John.” Saying to me, You are pulling away from me, and I’m hurt by it, and I will eventually pull away from you.
I know, I know, balance doesn’t work. But I knew, somehow I knew, that I owed this to Nancy. I had to go against my belief here. I had to work a little at the relationship. I used to hate it when people would say: you have to work at a relationship. I used to think, Yes, you have to work at a relationship, but only in proportion to how much you compromised in the beginning. Meaning that if you don’t compromise in the beginning, then you don’t have to work that much. The relationship just sort of flows, always. But I’ve learned, I think, that that’s not really true. Because I don’t feel like I compromised at all with Nancy, and yet I know I have to put in work at times, make a conscious effort at times, to keep the magic alive. Now, is that work? Or is it just doing your part, not being selfish? I don’t know. I’d say yes. But whatever you call it, I’m submitting that sometimes you have to do things purely in the other person’s interest. Now, this? Going down to La Jolla for a little sun and surf? Yeah, that sounds fun for me too. But I’d say no if there was no Nancy in the picture.
But there was a Nancy in the picture. So I said, “Dave, that’s really nice. That sounds fun. And I think Nancy, my girlfriend, would really enjoy it. So you’re making me look good.”
I’d made Ott look good. Now Treadway was making me look good. How nice.
Treadway chuckled. “Happy to help.”
“Let’s do it,” I added, not believing that I was actually going to take a day off. Well, I thought, I will be with someone from the investigation, maybe I’ll learn something. And maybe a day off will be helpful, will refresh my mind a bit.
“Yeah?” Treadway said. “Great. Cool. Want to meet at my place at noon or so on Saturday?”
“See you then.”