$200 and a Cadillac - By Fingers Murphy Page 0,124

at, it’s nighttime, it’s pitch black out here. They look inside. They see Vargas and this Pete guy. But they get all the way to here,” I took five long steps and stopped where we figured the shooter had been, “before they shoot? Why? What happens in the two seconds it takes to cover this space that causes the cop to shoot? What happens inside the room to go from a situation that doesn’t require shooting to one that does?”

I could see Jendrek running it through in his head, tracing my story along the path with his eyes.

“At least one explanation,” I went on, “is that nothing changed at all. Vargas and Pete were standing there when the cops first saw them and they were still standing there a couple seconds later. Same positions, Vargas holding the gun the whole time, nothing’s changed except the angle from which to shoot. One explanation is that the cop took his time, lining up his shot, like he knew he was going to shoot the whole time.”

Jendrek cracked a wide smile and said, “I think you’ve snapped, Ollie. Unless you can prove Vargas welched on a huge debt to this cop, I don’t think that theory is going to fly. Isn’t it much more likely that the cop’s just an idiot?”

I said, “Probably.”

Ed Vargas appeared on the path at the foot of the stairs leading down from the deck. “Mr. Jendrek,” he called out, waving something in his hand.

Jendrek turned and walked back toward him. “Please, call me Mark,” he said as he reached Vargas. I followed behind. We went back up the stairs and I noticed the girl in the T-shirt sitting in a lounge chair on the far end of the deck. She turned to watch us as we walked into the house through the French doors.

Vargas handed Jendrek an envelope and collapsed into a chair near a bar at the back of the room, away from the windows and the pool table. It was the second bar I’d seen on the main floor. It was as though the house was used for parties and little else.

Vargas rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair, almost crowding himself into the furthest corner of the house. He looked tormented, like a man who wasn’t sure about anything anymore and was just looking to sit still in a quiet, dim place until the world returned to normal.

“That’s a retainer,” he said, pointing to the envelope. “Should be enough to get things started.”

Jendrek didn’t look inside, he merely tucked it in the pocket of his tweed sport coat. Given the size and location of the house, I doubted money was anything we’d have to worry about. Putting together a winnable case, well, that was something different.

Jendrek cleared his throat. “I know this is a stressful time,” he began. “But we’re going to need to talk to people at the party, anyone who might have seen or overheard anything.”

Vargas waved his hand like he was batting a fly from the side of his face. He was irritated by something that didn’t seem connected with his father’s death. I studied the stubble on his chin. It appeared to spring from his flesh like worms escaping from something horrible inside him. He was suffocating on his own anger and exhaustion. Revenge and spite percolated through him.

He said, “Brianna’s outside on the deck. She was here. She lives here. She helped organize the party, she can give you a good list of who was here. I’m not sure what good I’m going to be. I need to get some sleep.”

Jendrek motioned for me to go talk to the girl on the deck. I crossed the room, running my fingers along the pink felt of the pool table as I passed it. “Now, I need you to understand a few things about the difficulty of a lawsuit against the police … ,” I could hear Jendrek say as I stepped back out into the bright, crisp daylight.

I stood by the French doors for a moment, watching her. She sat facing out at the city. It was one of those spectacular autumn days in Los Angeles where the air is completely clear and the temperature mild. It was the kind of day that made Angelinos remember why they lived there, and why so many others had lived there before them.

Women like Brianna were another reason people loved LA. She was aesthetically perfect, mesmerizing to look at. The kind of