made in the freezer for some later date and make new ones. Jae would find them, and he would question my sanity. They would be easy enough to eat later when heated up in a microwave, but tonight I really wanted them hot and charred.
Also my face still kind of hurt from where the blown-out glass cut me, and it was hard to believe it was just a few days ago that I’d stood on Arthur Brinkerhoff’s front porch, about to knock on his front door and offer up my services to find out who murdered his wife.
“So would you say you were in the Downtown Los Angeles area at about four thirty?” O’Byrne’s handwriting was precise, but she didn’t lift her pen up when she wrote, so everything was connected. It looked more like the lettering on the sign of our favorite Indian food place—swirls and dips connected with lines in between. It didn’t matter really, except it made it impossible to read upside down. “Where does Dawson live again?”
I gave her Dawson’s address, pointing out that my brother Ichi lived with him since they were married, so technically it was the Dawson-Tokugawa residence, but that just got me a withering look. I once again reevaluated my determination to offer up hot grilled cheese sandwiches to her instead of the soggy cold ones waiting in the kitchen. It was all going to depend upon how much I liked her at the end of this interview and whether or not we ended the interview with me in handcuffs going down to Central. Because in that case, the cat would probably get the grilled cheese sandwiches, and I would have to make yet another phone call to Jae to come bail me out of jail.
Except California no longer had a bail system, and my release would be dependent upon a judge deciding whether or not I was a flight risk.
With my luck, the judge would not only decide I was a flight risk but find me a cellmate I’d arrested when I’d been a cop.
“Did they take Ivan to the same hospital Arthur is in?” Not knowing the protocols about taking care of detainees who needed severe medical attention, there was a good chance he ended up in Cedars-Sinai, right alongside his uncle. “What time did they find him? Should I get a lawyer? Am I going to get my Miranda rights read to me? Are you Miranda?”
“What the fuck does that mean? You know my name is not Miranda.” So not only did O’Byrne deserve a cold grilled cheese sandwich, she also did not recognize a line from one of my favorite movies. Now I was going to have to reevaluate our friendship, but still, no sign of handcuffs or a Miranda card. “I’m going to ask for your guns just to totally exclude you, but the timeline for you to have gotten to him, gotten off a shot, and knocked out the policeman outside of his door is too tight. Especially with LA traffic. I’m not saying you’re free and clear, Mac, but it looks unlikely. I’ve got to have all of my t’s crossed on this because Marlena Brinkerhoff is kicking up a stink. Ivan was two stories below Arthur, and now she’s convinced someone is going to come and kill her grandfather.”
“She’s not wrong,” I pointed out. “Even assuming our fake Marlena was the shooter at the house and we’re pointing at Ivan as the guy who killed her out on the street, we now have a third person who popped him in a guarded hospital room. And we still don’t know why they came after Arthur and killed Adele. Although I do have a theory.”
“Why don’t you make me that sandwich you promised me while I go lock up your guns in the trunk of my car?” Dell stood up, stretching out her lean body until I heard her back and hips crack. “Then you can tell me all about the crazy theory you’ve got. Because right now, I’ll take anything to get the captain off my ass and to close this case.”
“I can do that,” I murmured, moving Honey off of my right foot. “It might take a bit to make those sandwiches. Takes a while to burn the bread just right, and I still like you, so do you want two or are you hungry enough to choke down three?”
“Two, but I’ll take mine with a beer,” she replied, closing her notebook. “I am