stood on the sidewalk across the street and watched. The entrance to the Do Prop Inn was open, and people kept coming and going from it.
Next to the ambulance were a couple of uniform cops, standing around smoking cigarettes. An EMT was loading a large plastic equipment box into the back of the ambulance, and two guys in regular clothes were leaning against an unmarked car, talking through some notes one of them was holding.
I stared at the profile of the older of the plainclothes guys. He looked familiar in the darkness, but I couldn’t be sure from across the street. I was nervous about getting any closer. I didn’t want to piss anyone off. But then, I figured there wasn’t any barricade or anything, so I stepped off the curb and walked toward them, trying to get a better look.
The older guy must have heard me coming because he turned to look at me when I was halfway across the street. I recognized him for sure then. And from his grimace, it was clear he remembered me. He said, “There’s no way I’ll believe this is a coincidence, even if you lie to me. What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Detective Wilson.” I smiled at him and walked the rest of the way to the car. Wilson looked exactly as he had four years ago. Still had the crew cut. Still looked like he ran five miles a day and could do a hundred pushups without breaking a sweat. His hair might have been a little more silver, but it was hard to tell in the pulses of red and blue light.
The other guy was looking at me now, so Wilson said to him, “Chuck, this is Oliver Olson. He was the kid who broke the Steele case a few years back.” Chuck nodded in recognition. Then Wilson turned back to me and said, “I assume you actually became a lawyer after that?”
“Sadly, yes,” I joked. But Wilson didn’t smile. Despite his gruffness, I always felt like Wilson kind of liked me. He knew putting the Steele thing together had nearly gotten me killed. He seemed like the kind of guy who respected things like that, even if he would never admit it.
He studied me for a moment and said, “So what the hell are you doing here?”
“Got a call.” I turned and studied the ambulance and cop car. Their lights blinked in the darkness, splashing red and blue light over the entire street. Then I said, “I heard there was a light show over here on Gower. I’m an insomniac, so I figured I’d come check it out.”
“You gotta few more years to go before you become a good bullshitter, Olson. Quit fucking around. The kid call you?”
“Nope.” Now I was wondering who the kid was.
He rolled his eyes and barked, “Spill it, Olson. I got a woman at home who’s a lot better looking than you. I’d like to mother up to her before sunrise.”
I smiled at him. “Detective Wilson, you’re such a romantic.” I shrugged, and said, “I was just curious why the key witness in one of my cases ends up dead only a few hours after I talked to him. That’s all. I’m having a hard time believing that’s a coincidence.”
“He hung himself, Olson.”
“If you’re so sure of that, why’d you go to Don Vargas’s house to talk to people?”
“You represent Vargas, eh?”
“I can’t tell you who I represent.” I could see in Wilson’s eyes that he knew I had him cornered. He was trying to change the subject from his presence there to mine. So I added, “But what I do know is that they don’t send homicide cops out in the middle of the night to take a look at a clear cut suicide.”
Wilson raised his eyebrows at Chuck and then came around the car and walked past me. I followed him to the other side of the street. “Look,” he spoke in a soft, confidential voice. “Stick hung himself. The ME already signed off on it as a suicide. Stick’s blood alcohol level was about point two-five, which would have you or me stumbling around trying to remember our own names. Guy got drunker than shit, got depressed, and did himself. Unless the coroner finds something interesting, that’s the way it’s going in the books.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that he happens to kill himself right after Vargas, his business partner, is murdered?”