SATISH
The truce between Satish and Dr. Levi held through AnnaSophia’s private goodbye to Maverick. If the air between them crackled like lightning on the walk to the parking lot, they managed to speak without sniping. When Satish promised to let AnnaSophia know about Maverick’s funeral arrangements, Dr. Levi made a huffing noise.
Bad boy, the shrink telegraphed him.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, waiting. In case the good doc brought out the ruler he figured she wielded when shrinking failed.
Foul. She’s worried.
She’s controlling.
“My personal opinion?” she said. “I don’t think you need more stress, AnnaSophia.”
AnnaSophia hooked her arm around her friend’s shoulders. “But I need the release, Dr. Straight-Shooter.”
Release, not closure, Satish noticed.
Neither if the press connects Alexandra and Maverick.
“You didn’t know him.” Dr. Levi said, fine-tuning her point with perfect logic.
“I think I’d’ve liked knowing him.” AnnaSophia stopped at the Porsche, and the doc stared at Satish.
A breeze scudded across the car’s roof and cooled Satish’s face. What could he say? Oops, forgot my car accommodates only two people?
Dr. Levi recovered first. She cocked her hip and held out her hand for his keys. For a fraction of a second her idea of commandeering his car made sense. His eyes burned from no sleep, but his brain kicked ON. He kept the keys in his pocket.
“I’ll take AnnaSophia home. A friend owes me a favor. She can pick you up and have you at AnnaSophia’s within minutes after we get there.” His tone wasn’t precisely mocking, but it took on the upper crust English accent he fell back on to irritate pains-in-the-ass.
“AnnaSophia and I need to talk.” Dr. Levi lifted her chin.
“Sanna, let’s go back inside. I’ll call a cab. No reason for Satish to hang around.”
Perfect. “Works for me.” Relieved instead of offended.
“I used to own a 987,” Dr. Levi said as if he’d disagreed with AnnaSophia’s idea.
A Boxster. He pointed the remote. The lock clicked. He stepped toward the car. “AnnaSophia, you’ve got my number.”
“Thank you.” She stepped away from the Porsche, bumping into Dr. Levi.
He acknowledged her thanks with a two-fingered salute, climbed behind the steering wheel, and fired up the engine. Christ, he was exuding more testosterone than Maverick. The childish impulse to peel out of the parking lot died. He checked the rearview mirror.
AnnaSophia lifted her hand. He returned the gesture and drove into the acrylic-orange sun.
Sunday evening traffic was slow through Los Altos—the other LA—so Satish drove on autopilot. Tension from the duel with Dr. Levi still knotted his neck muscles. He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. God, he wanted a gin and tonic.
Make that two.
Ten minutes from home, his cell phone chirped. The number didn’t register. Not the night for playing a silent guessing game. He answered, identifying himself without his former title. One more old habit he’d broken. Not that Cassie Nixon realized this factoid. She simply said her name and got to the point.
The reason Mr. Yappy Chihuahua hadn’t barked early this morning? He and his human companion left for San Diego two days earlier. The reason she’d missed their departure?
“Mr. Yappy’s human companion and I aren’t the most congenial neighbors.” Her voice rang with a note of pride.
“Why not?”
“I don’t do business from my home, but the rare occasions when I’ve had a real date, Mr. Yappy has barked like a Rottweiler. I started out quietly noting the problem to the human companion. I now resort to loud, nasty, anonymous phone calls.”
“Anonymous, huh?” Satish turned right off San Antonio, past the LAFD, and slowed to 25 MPH. Speeders never got a break in the posh ’burb.
“The little piss-ant pisses me off. He’s a dwarf with a Napoleonic complex—a cliché that reinforces the truth. He has gender issues—with mine in particular—” She broke off, screamed, in the background, and let the silence drag out a nanosecond before she came back on. “I swear those damn hormones have turned me into a blithering idiot. Not that I was ever the most logical male, but— See? There I go again. Excuse me a second.”
Several thuds later, she said, “A few head whacks. Works every time.”
“What?” Satish cruised by Almond Elementary School, lit up at twilight by dozens of lights in the parking lot. The normalcy grounded him. He repeated, “What?”
“Not literal whacks to my head. I was pounding the sofa—wasting your time. So here’s the skinny. The neighbors on either side of Mr. Yappy agree he and Jorge left early Friday morning for San Diego. They don’t agree who was driving. That’s a different story.”
Satish laughed. Laughing was an old habit he hadn’t broken. Violent death threatened to break a cop’s spirit. Laughing closed a few of the fissures in a cop’s soul.
“You’ve got a nice laugh,” Cassie said. “I’ve been watching Seinfeld reruns since I left the garage. Whenever life knocked Maverick down, he and I binged on Seinfeld.”
Satish pictured the two on her purple sofa laughing like people with no cares to drag them into a downward spiral. He turned into his cul-de-sac. “Maybe I should attempt that sometime with my mother. She’s visiting for a while. My father died ...”
He stopped. Why the hell was blabbing his head off?
“Been a tough day. One of those tough days that resurrects all kinds of memories.” Her lounge-singer contralto wrapped him in velvet. “I recommend a tall Scotch with an hour of Seinfeld before bed. Sleep well, Satish.”
The warmth of her voice stayed with him as he pulled into the driveway. He’d skip the booze tonight, ask Mère to watch TV, force himself to stay awake until she called bedtime. An image of Maverick in his makeshift bedroom. Satish tasted bile in the back of his throat. Damn, Alexandra Romanov. She was AnnaSophia’s kid, but she was somehow the key to an innocent kid’s brutal murder.
He cut the engine and stared at the welcoming lights in his house. I’m sorry, AnnaSophia, but I will find whoever is responsible.