I CALLED ELK Fenton and told him about Keenan Powell and the Idaho connection.
“That’s an interesting theory.” The tone of his voice put a lie to his words. “But right now we’re working on Turk’s alibi timeline. Once we get that nailed down, we’ll start working on alternative murder suspects.”
“Since I’m not a part of the timeline investigation, I’ll continue digging into Keenan Powell and Idaho.”
“Hmm.” A disconcerting pause. “That could be helpful. However, I’d prefer that you didn’t contact anyone directly. I want my investigator to be the first person to talk to any potential witnesses. We don’t want to come across as a split team.”
Or, I was suddenly a liability who couldn’t be trusted to talk to potential witnesses.
“I think I’d be coming across as a member of a single team.” I cinched down the lid on my temper. “I could save Coyote some time by getting preliminary information that he could prioritize however he wanted to.”
“Rick.” Solemn voice. “You haven’t worked a case in almost a year. Of course, that’s not your fault. However, it does make you out of practice for a murder defense. I’m sure, given the time, if you decide you want to continue as a private investigator that you can be an effective one once again.”
Effective. Hardly a ringing endorsement.
“This is about my misunderstanding with the old guy at La Sala, isn’t it?”
“We really need everyone doing what they do best to keep Turk from going to prison. And, right now, you being a visible supporter of Turk is how you can best help him.”
“A symbol.” I snapped off the words.
“That’s not how I see you.” Talking to a child again. “But I really have to return to getting my associates back up to speed on the case before I fly out of town. I’ll call you when I get back home on Monday night and we can discuss how to handle the press at the early disposition conference on Tuesday. Okay?”
“Roger.” I hung up.
Whatever confidence Elk had in me as an investigator, and rational human being, evaporated when he came out of the bathroom at La Sala and saw me about to pounce on an old man whose only sin was rolling on Dove deodorant that morning.
That didn’t mean I was going to sit still and wait for my next iconic appearance as a sidekick in front of the press.
I got online and made an appointment to visit Turk at the Central County Jail downtown tomorrow at 1:00 p.m. I didn’t bother to get Fenton’s consent. Firstly, because Turk wasn’t yet a potential witness in his own defense. And more firstly, because I didn’t want Fenton to tell me not to and have to defy him.
I just hoped Turk had forgiven me for stopping him from fleeing the police and would agree to see me. Or, agree to see me even if he was still mad. I needed to find out how much Turk knew about Shay’s childhood in Idaho.
I walked Midnight later that evening, sans my sunglasses. Streetlights gave off enough illumination that I could follow Midnight’s head at my side, slightly ahead of my left knee. After twenty-five steps, I folded up my cane and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans. Above the auras of the streetlights, I could make out the blurred three-quarter moon. I felt freer than I had since my painkiller-induced altered reality dreams in Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital nine months ago.
The rectangle forms of houses and parked cars slid shadows across the sidewalk, but I kept following Midnight’s head and listened to the happy tinkle of his license tapping against his metal name tag with each stride. He stopped when we got to the end of the block where it T-boned into Moraga Ave. Our normal routine was to go back the way we came and walk around the horseshoe cul-de-sac. Tonight, I wanted to push the boundaries.
“Let’s go.” I gave Midnight’s leash a gentle tug to the right, and we turned and descended the sloping sidewalk on Moraga. I kept a running step count in my head. Our walk downhill on Moraga left us no longer protected from the wind by the sets of parallel tiered streets above my house. A chilled breeze rolled over my face. A welcome reminder that I’d left my cocoon.
The sounds of Midnight’s sniffs grew louder and more frequent. Unknown territory. Back when I could see, I took Midnight to the massive dog park at Fiesta Island where he could chase balls, run with other dogs, and swim in Mission Bay. Or I’d take him to Marion Bear Memorial Park off Genesee just south of the 52 Freeway and let him roam off leash as we hiked to San Clemente Park and all the way down the Rose Canyon Hiking Trail. Now, his routine was relegated to my much narrower parameters.
Tonight, we were expanding those parameters by a few hundred yards. We continued to descend the hill. The night was still except for the breeze, which rattled the leaves of the occasional tree we passed. Midnight halted and shifted and I smelled the urine at the exact same time as I heard it spraying down on leafy-sounding ground cover.
A car approached from below on Moraga as we started walking again. Probably coming from Balboa Avenue, the main artery that connected Clairemont to Pacific Beach. The sound of the engine told me it was a sedan before I could make out the boxy form approaching. Sounded a lot like Moira’s car. An Accord or similar sedan. Had Moira decided to drop by unannounced? The car slowed as it approached. I stopped walking, tightened the grip on Midnight’s leash, and kept my left ear angled at it instead of my eyes. One ear was better than two eyes. At least for now.
The car picked up speed when it evened with us and continued up the hill. The engine sound dissipated, then silenced somewhere behind us. It wasn’t Moira.
We walked down another block and turned around before we hit the Balboa intersection. I kept my eyes trained on Midnight’s head as he led along the sidewalk. My left foot stepped on something that gave and my ankle rolled. Sharp pain. I hopped a couple steps yanking on Midnight’s leash and managed to stay upright. But I’d tweaked my ankle. A sprain. Not too bad. I could still walk, but the pain was building and my left stride was more of a drag than a step.
I removed my cane from my back pocket and unfolded it. Not for support, but to tap what I couldn’t see. Apparently, I wasn’t ready yet to break through the next barrier.
Midnight angled left at step number four-hundred-seven. I looked up from Midnight’s head and my cane and could tell by the open space to the left that we’d reached my street.
We walked toward my house. Two houses in, Midnight growled and snapped tension in the leash. This wasn’t a growl ending with a bark, noting another dog or a cat. This was low and guttural. Danger. Defend by attacking the danger head-on. I stopped and strained my eyes to try to see what Midnight saw. All I could make out were rectangle shapes and shadows.
My home was only three houses away. I sniffed the air and caught a whiff of a neighbor’s pine tree. No Dove deodorant. I held tight to Midnight’s leash and we edged forward. Midnight’s growls intensified. He wasn’t a trained attack dog, but I trusted his instincts more than my own. He risked his life to save mine once. I didn’t want him to have to do it again.
Two houses from my own, Midnight jerked toward the street, almost knock me over.
“Wait,” I commanded. He settled but continued his attack growls.
I still couldn’t even make out the outline of what he saw, but I followed the angle of his head to the middle of the street. Someone or something was out there. And Midnight sensed danger. I led him along the sidewalk toward my house, but he strained against me. I could hear saliva in his constant growl.
“My dog is usually friendly, but for some reason he doesn’t like you,” I said to whoever or whatever was there in the street.
No response. We continued forward, but Midnight’s attention and menace stayed directed to the right, somewhere in the street or on the other side of it.
My fifty-seventh step in from the corner of the block put me at the edge of my front yard. A car door clicked open and then shut directly across from my house on the other side of the street. I snapped my head in that direction and saw a blurry rectangle. The car’s ignition started and the sound of the engine moved slowly away. But I lived on a cul-de-sac. The car would have to circle back by my house to exit the street.
Midnight quieted once the car moved away. Danger contained. For him. I followed the car with my eyes but lost it in a couple seconds. I waited. The sound of the car grew louder as it rounded the cul-de-sac and started back toward us. I aimed my face at the sound. An outline emerged and moved slowly along the street toward me. It paused for half a second directly across from me. All I could see was a rectangle outline. The car accelerated and drove away.
My head followed its path. I lost sight of it, but listened until the sound of the engine faded into the night.
Someone had parked across the street from my house. The driver had gotten out of the car and approached my home. At the least. At the most, he’d gone onto my property, then watched me as I approached. If he had an innocent reason for coming to my house, he would have answered when I called out to him. Who was he? What did he want? Did he wear Dove deodorant?
The Invisible Man?
I walked up the path to the front door and ran my hand along the jamb feeling for a business card. Nothing. I sniffed around the porch, which was slightly enclosed by the eaves hanging overhead. No Dove. Just the gluey smell from the rubber plants that bracketed the front door.
Maybe he’d gone to my neighbor’s house. Or was just leaving there after visiting. I hadn’t noticed his car when I left my house earlier, but my limited vision had been pointed at the Midnight’s head.
Or, maybe he was afraid of dogs. Especially those that growled at him.