man looked impressed, and stuck out his hand.
“Lloyd Trent. That James Garner could act. I liked him.”
A woman called faintly from inside the house.
“Who are you talking to?”
Trent flushed bright red, and he snapped over his shoulder.
“SHUT UP, GODDAMNIT!”
Cole ignored the outburst, and plowed forward. He gestured next door.
“I drove up to see Mr. Kemp. Do you know how I can reach him?”
“Get yourself a swami. He’s dead.”
Cole glanced over at the yellow tape.
“Dead. Dead how?”
“Found his body in an orchard over in the Leona Valley. Some bastard killed him. Been raining cops around here ever since.”
The woman called again.
“What did he say?”
“I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU!”
Cole had a bad feeling about Isabel. He hoped she hadn’t come up to Palmdale. He hoped she wasn’t involved.
“When did this happen?”
“Couple of weeks ago, maybe? He was feeding worms before they found him.”
Long before Isabel, so Cole began to feel hopeful.
“Have the police made an arrest?”
“Ain’t told me if they have. You ask me, some turd he locked up evened the score.”
Cole studied Lloyd Trent.
“He was a police officer?”
Mr. Trent snorted.
“A fed. With the hat, y’know?”
Trent raised his hands to his head, as if Cole might not know what a hat was.
“A marshal?”
“That’s right. A marshal. Hear him tell it, he was Wyatt Fucking Earp.”
Trent snorted again, as if he never thought much of Ted Kemp.
Cole showed him the picture of Kemp with Isabel at her graduation.
“Maybe you’ve seen her next door.”
“Nope. She the one killed him?”
Cole put away the picture.
“He was a friend of her family.”
The old man leered.
“Puttin’ the old love stick to her?”
Cole ignored him again, and asked another question.
“Did Mr. Kemp leave behind a wife, or someone else I could speak to?”
“He was divorced. If he had kids, I couldn’t tell you.”
“What about a girlfriend?”
“He had women next door every so often, but I don’t know as any were what you’d call girlfriends. Looked like whores to me.”
The woman’s faint voice came again, weaker this time, and delicate. Cole wondered if she was bedridden.
“Who are you with out there?”
“SHUT. YOUR. DAMN. TRAP!”
A tiny pain throbbed behind Cole’s right eye. He decided Trent had reached the end of the information train, but showed him the picture Isabel took of the 4Runner.
“One more thing. Have you seen a 4Runner like this next door? Black or gray. Maybe dark blue.”
The old man looked down his nose at the picture.
“A 4Runner?”
“Cruising past. Parked outside. Maybe in Kemp’s driveway.”
Trent squinted, and looked suspicious.
“Why in hell would I notice another damn car? You sure you ain’t a reporter?”
The woman called softly again, her voice as light as smoke on a breeze.
“I hear angels.”
Trent’s face boiled with crimson fury.
“I’M NOT GONNA TELL YOU AGAIN! YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
The pain behind Cole’s eye grew sharp as a lance. He stepped close, and made his voice soft.
“Lower your voice.”
The old man’s head whipped around. His eyes crinkled to nasty, thin slits.
“What the hell did you say?”
Cole inched closer, so close they touched.
“Lower.”
Closer.
“Your voice.”
Trent scrambled backward, and slammed the door.
Cole listened, but heard nothing.
Cole stood outside Lloyd Trent’s door until he felt foolish, then returned to his car. He opened the door, and started the engine. The interior raged with terrible heat. The air conditioner seared his face with a nuclear wind.
Cole watched Ted Kemp’s house for almost a minute. The yellow tape X-ed across the windows and door made Kemp’s home look like a giant cartoon. Cole didn’t find the face funny.
Murder changed everything. Karbo and Bender attacked Isabel, and now they were dead. Ted Kemp, a man Isabel called Uncle, had also been murdered. Isabel Roland connected the murders, and now she was missing.
Cole was thinking about Isabel when the drapes on Lloyd Trent’s window moved. Trent peered out through the break, and held up his middle finger.
Cole returned the gesture, and pulled away.
Turd.
18.
Joe Pike
Christopher Karbo was murdered in a faux-brick triplex on a winding hillside street overlooking the Glendale Freeway. Karbo had occupied the center unit of a side-by-side triplex built above a three-stall carport. A steep set of stairs beside the carport led from the street to a landing.
Two black-and-whites blocked the carport when Pike arrived. An SID wagon and an unmarked D-ride sat across the street. A uniformed officer and a detective stood talking outside an open door on the landing. An open door always marked the crime scene. Pike drove past, and did not look.
Pike continued until he was hidden from the police, then pulled over and stripped off his sweatshirt.