Looking back on that moment, I wished I’d had the savvy to ask, “Who?”
But I just stood in stunned silence and tried not to look guilty as my heart skipped to about a thousand beats per second.
“We interviewed people who were in Mr. Glaze’s nightclub the evening he was shot, and your name was given to us by Attica Douglas,” Rosa said. “I ran a search, and guess what? I found you were in custody, so I called down here and convinced the chief there was no point holding you. The pub isn’t pressing charges, nor is the man you assaulted, and given the other charges you’re already facing—”
“I’m not a criminal,” I replied, maybe a little quickly, because I realized I’d interrupted her. “This has just been a difficult year.”
“Difficult few years,” she said, stepping closer. “Your life seems to have been one bad decision after another.”
Tell her what you did, Walter’s ghost said.
Yeah, tell her, Farah’s spirit chimed in.
“It’s just a run of bad luck.” My guts were being wrung out like sheets in an old laundry.
How do innocent people behave? I wondered.
“You haven’t asked who Walter Glaze is.”
I knew it.
“I think I saw the news a few days back. About the shooting.”
“I see.”
I think I was meant to fill the silence that followed, but the criminal justice system had taught me some hard lessons, one of which was to be economical with words, so I didn’t oblige the detective.
“The chief said you were arrested at Blooms Pub. I’m guessing your car is back there.”
Gun, Farah’s ghost whispered. She’ll find it.
I pictured the pistol nestled in the glove compartment, tucked beneath the ski mask.
“Let me run you down there,” Rosa said. “We can clear up a few things on the way.”
“That’s okay,” I replied, backing away. I was sweating in the morning heat. Or was it flop sweat? “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. My car is just right there.” She gestured at the lot to the side of the building. “I came all the way down here to talk to you. You’d be doing me a favor.”
I knew the way this went. If I didn’t take the easy offer, she’d have a couple of uniforms pull me in for questioning when I reached LA, and if they did a roadside stop, they might have cause to search the vehicle. At least this way I could keep her from the car or make a run for it if things went askew.
I nodded reluctantly, and she smiled and started toward her car, a late-model dark blue Chevy Tahoe.
“The passenger door sticks a little,” Rosa said as she unlocked the car. “You gotta give it a good pull.”
She got behind the wheel, and I did as instructed, but instead of sticking, the door came away easily and I winced as I fell back unexpectedly. The gift of pain from last night’s fight, as well as the beating from Frankie Balls and his crew, was now renewed.
“Well, what do you know?” Rosa exclaimed. “You okay there? You look like you’re in pain.”
Had that been a test? Was she trying to ascertain the extent of my injuries?
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just an old back thing from my army days.”
She gave a noncommittal grunt as I sat beside her. I made a point of slamming the door as hard as I could, but if my disrespect for her car bothered her, she didn’t show it. She just smiled at me, started the engine, and pulled away.
It didn’t matter how much chilled air she pumped into the car, it felt oven hot, stifling, and bitter, and I just couldn’t stop sweating.
“What took you to Ultima?” Rosa asked as we went under the freeway.
“I don’t know,” I replied, squinting as we emerged from shadow into bright California sunshine. The tops of the palms that lined the road were an emerald green against a cobalt-blue sky. “I’d heard some good things about it.”
“From whom?” she fired back as she pulled a left and joined the on-ramp that led to the freeway.
I hadn’t been expecting the question, so it took me a beat to answer.
“My buddy Jim.”
“Surname?”
“He doesn’t like cops.”
“What’s not to like?” She flashed a smile. “We’re having a friendly conversation here, aren’t we?”
“Steadman,” I replied.
“Regular there, is he?”
I shook my head. “I think he went with another buddy one time. Probably doesn’t even remember it now. He can party pretty hard.”
“I see.”
That was the second time she’d said those words and she managed to make them sound like “you’re damned guilty, you murdering freak.”
She drove on in silence, following a semi that proclaimed it was delivering beds and mattresses. I longed for the huge vehicle to stop suddenly so we’d crash into it and die in a flaming fireball. But I wasn’t that lucky.
“Did you know Walter Glaze?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I met him that night. Attica introduced us.”
“She says you got into it with Glaze.”
“We had a moment.” I tried to smile, but I was pretty sure it came across as the kind of grimace a hyena might give before it was eaten by a lion.
“Enough to want to kill him?”
“Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“You were in the army, right?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t at the business end of a gun. Engineering Corps. I built bridges and things.”
“Weren’t you just arrested for fighting?” she asked.
“For defending myself against three men.”
She didn’t seem convinced but said nothing and pulled off the freeway. We weren’t far now. I just had to hold my nerve.
What if she finds the gun? Walter’s ghost asked.
It’s game over, right? Farah’s spirit answered.
The specters of those evil people put a picture of that gun in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if Rosa found it. I felt sick.
“You okay?” the manipulative detective asked.
“Yeah. Just had a bit much to drink. I’m not used to it.”
I was so relieved to see the pub up ahead and almost punched the air when Rosa pulled into the parking lot and came to a halt beside my Range Rover.
“I believe this is yours,” she said.
I nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”
I opened the door and made to leave, but she grabbed my arm.
“Mr. Collard, when you get back to LA, please make sure you stay where we can find you in case we have any follow-up.”
Did I gulp? I think I gulped.
She smiled. “Don’t look so nervous. It’s just routine.”
“Routine?”
“Yeah. Routine.”
She held my gaze. If this was a shakedown, it was the most subtle, expert shake I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t underestimate this cop. She was either incredibly dumb or supersmart, and wise money would take odds on the latter.
She let go of my arm, and I climbed out and shut the door.
Moments later, I was in my Range Rover, heading north on the San Diego Freeway.
Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw Rosa Abalos in her Chevy Tahoe. She was somber, as though my every breath was a disappointment to her. The rear windshield of the Range Rover was made of opaque privacy glass, but I couldn’t shake the feeling Rosa could see into my soul and was judging me.
She followed me all the way to Los Angeles.