were folded on papers. She was alone.
John entered and stopped by the door. His stomach did a little flip-flop.
“You’ll have it first thing. I promise.”
Harriet picked up the papers and dealt them across the table. They were photographs printed on regular printer paper.
“How do you explain these?”
John stepped closer to see. The photographs showed John at the impound yard. They showed him entering, handing his creds to the gate guard, and standing by the SUV. The pictures showed John inside the SUV, squatting beside the SUV as he reached into his equipment case, lasering the door as he looked for prints, and dusting the prints he found.
John, feeling as if he would vomit and totally panicked, stammered.
“This looks like me.”
Harriet sat back and stared.
John hiccupped and tasted acid. He flushed, and stammered again.
“What is this?”
“This is you. The vehicle was associated with a kidnap filing approximately eight days ago. A case to which you were not assigned. Care to explain?”
“Who took these? Was it Ganowski? It was!”
“The driver of this vehicle has since been murdered. Another case to which you have not been assigned, yet here you are, collecting evidence. I ask again, for the last time, do you care to explain?”
John’s mind reeled with a panic-driven cacophony of thoughts. He couldn’t tell her the truth. The truth would be an admission of guilt, and, even worse, implicate Joe. He grasped for an excuse.
“Instinct.”
“Excuse me.”
“Just a, um, feeling I had. Yes, you’re right, not my cases, but I had this weird feeling—”
John was flying blind and making it up as he went.
“—that, you know, Bender knew his murderer, so I thought maybe I could—”
Harriet raised her palms.
“Stop it, John. Don’t lie. Saying nothing is better than lying.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Are you working for a private entity or individual?”
“No!”
LAPD criminalists were forbidden to work for any other entity. The potential for conflicts of interest and claims of tainted evidence were too great.
“I’m not, Harriet! C’mon. I know the rules!”
Harriet closed her eyes. She sat with her eyes closed for several seconds, then gathered the pictures together.
“You do, John. I know you do. I’ve heard rumors for years.”
“Lies! They suck up to you by shitting on me! It’s envy! They get ahead if they bring me down!”
“You’ve done the job for them.”
Harriet stood, and the mortician’s mask was gone. She looked sad.
“Despite your eccentricities, I’ve always respected your work. You’re so good at this, John. You’re excellent.”
John made a last desperate grab at saving himself.
“Hancock Park. I’ll have it on your desk in the morning. First thing, Harriet. The very first thing!”
She stepped out from behind the table and went to the door.
“No, John. You’re done. You’ll receive a disciplinary notice tomorrow. As of now, you’re suspended until such time a hearing is scheduled.”
John Chen grew smaller and smaller. He felt himself shrinking.
Harriet stopped in the door, and gave him a final glance.
“You won’t have trouble finding another job. But please, don’t ask me to recommend you.”
Harriet walked away. Each footstep sounded like the boom of heavy artillery. Each thundering shell headed his way.
John didn’t move.
He felt empty, so empty he faded away.
30.
Joe Pike
Pike flipped back to Carly. He was concerned about Cole, but he didn’t want to alarm her even more, or leave her alone.
“Eight minutes now.”
“They haven’t come back.”
Carly had gone home to ask if her mother knew Ted Kemp, or anything about him. She’d changed clothes, and stopped for a coffee on the way back to Isabel’s. When she had reached Isabel’s house, a dark 4Runner was at the curb.
Pike said, “Did you get a picture?”
“I didn’t realize it was them until I was in the driveway. OhmiGod, I almost hit the porch. The one man, he was on the sidewalk. They were looking at me. I was so scared, but he got in and they left.”
Their leaving when Carly arrived was good. This meant they didn’t want to involve anyone else, or draw attention to themselves.
“You saw their faces?”
“Yes! They were right here, looking at me.”
“Tell me what they looked like.”
Carly described two men, one behind the wheel, and the man on the sidewalk. Longish dark hair on the driver, a broad face, looked mean. A big man. She thought he had a mustache, but wasn’t sure. The man on the sidewalk was wide and thick; she used the word burly. Short hair, a weathered face with lines and creases, and a zigzag scar on his forehead. Bulging eyes set wide apart, like a pug dog, but not cute.
Pike