a newspaper account.”
“And?”
“Here is the seriously strange part. This guy, Douglas Aycock, went to the same high school as your nun friend and moved to L.A. sometime after graduating. Also—”
“What?”
“That’s just the strange part. I said there was a seriously strange part, and here it is. This guy has been missing for five years. They think he was kidnapped, and they presume him to be dead.”
Too many thoughts were buzzing around in my mind now. I wanted to swat them. “So a dead guy comes back to cyberstalk? Then why is he using the L.A. library system with his name attached? And he’d have to have an established residency.”
“You kidding? That can be faked easier than those Social Security cards they sell down at MacArthur Park. Plus, this could be somebody else using this guy’s name.”
“But why do that? Why take on some dead kid’s name, then risk being caught by using it to get a library card and all that?”
“Like I said, he’s a gamer. I think he thinks this is fun.”
134
I GOT BACK to St. Monica’s as it was getting dark. As I walked toward my trailer, I saw the glow of the little alcove, or whatever they call it, that has lighted candles. I went to it and did something I’ve never done before in my life. I took a long match, lit it by the flame of a candle, and then lit one that wasn’t already going. Out loud I said, “This is for Sister Mary Veritas, who deserves to be completely okay, okay? So there you have it.”
I blew out the match, wondering if there you have it had the same punch as Amen.
I walked across the grounds, over the basketball court, back to my trailer. I went inside and lay down on the bed and tried to think about the next day.
But I kept thinking about Sister Mary.
135
NEXT MORNING I went to court alone. I didn’t like it. It felt like there was a big hole underneath my feet, covered by thin wood, and I could fall in at any time. I had come to depend on Sister Mary not only for her insight, but for her very presence.
Because I didn’t have any witness to put on the stand, I asked the judge in chambers if we could pack it in and come back Monday.
“I don’t want this jury waiting around,” Judge Hughes said. “I’m sorry to hear about your assistant. But I have to think you have some evidence to present that’s been in the wings.”
“If I could just have the weekend,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Ty. I’m not going to do that. When can I expect you to have a witness on the stand today?”
I looked at my watch, purely as a fake-out. “How about eleven?”
“How about ten-thirty?”
Radavich leaned against the door with his arms folded, saying nothing.
“I’ll do what I can,” I said.
“See that you do,” the judge said.
136
I WENT OUTSIDE to the back of the courthouse and put in a call to my forensic guy, Dr. Harold Whitney. He knew he was possibly going to testify this week, and I told him I’d give him at least a day’s notice. Now it was an hour. I left a message.
I leaned against a low wall by the parking lot and tried to figure out what to do next. Maybe I could call in the parking attendant and have him testify about parking lots in general. And I’d figure out a way to make it relevant.
In other words, I was desperate.
And wasn’t expecting the tap on the shoulder I got next. I turned and looked into a familiar face. It took me a second to remember where I’d seen him. It was at Addie Qs, the bar on Sunset.
“How you doin’?” the Sopranos extra said.
“I’m just peachy,” I said.
“There’s somebody wants to talk to you.”
Now this was really sounding like the show. “Who?”
“You’ll be interested.” He pointed to the parking lot. “He’s in the black Caddy, with the tinted windows.”
I looked and saw the car. It stuck out like a Secret Service agent at a kid’s birthday party.
“Mr. Bacon is waiting,” Sopranos said. “He’s not alone.”
137
INDEED HE WASN’T. Through the open passenger window I saw Turk Bacon behind the wheel. Behind him was a woman with long, silky black hair, a striking amount of which cascaded over her shoulders. She had olive skin and deep brown eyes.
“Get in, Mr. Buchanan,” Bacon said.
“I’m good,” I said.
Sopranos, who was behind me, opened the door. I