nine.”
I
helped him carry file boxes out to his Navigator.
Wilson
needed to go out again for a few minutes. It was ten after one when I crawled
into bed.
I
didn’t sleep well. I dreamed about the scene in Esposito’s office, getting shot
and Monica trying to stop the bleeding. Then, in the dream, I was with Monica
in a meadow by a stream. We were walking and holding hands and laughing. Then,
I was in a dark and foreboding forest full of thorns and thistles and a
malevolent presence, and Monica was gone. I was calling out for her. At first,
I could hear her voice. It was nearby. But then it began to recede until it
faded out and was gone. I woke up four times during the night. At five-thirty I
got up and told Wilson it was time for our morning run.
I
was fixing an omelet for breakfast when my cell rang. It was Frank McGarry.
“Morning,
Frank.”
“How
you doing, Jake?”
“As
well as can be expected.”
“Listen,
I just wanted to apologize for not being more involved, not helping more than I
have.”
“Not
necessary, Frank. I understand. You've got a job to do.”
“Four
homicides across my desk since Monica was taken. There's only so much I can
delegate.”
“Frank,
I understand. There's no need for you to apologize.”
“Like
hell there isn't. You're a friend. So is Monica. I need to be more involved.”
“Any
level of help you can offer, Frank, is deeply appreciated. Bringing in
Detective Branch was helpful.”
“Really?
What has she contributed so far?”
“She’s
looking into the Esposito-Pipestone angle.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s
doing what she can, Frank. I appreciate her help.”
“I
cleared my desk last night,” Frank said. “What do you need?”
I
had to think fast. I didn’t actually need anything. Alex could get me whatever
I needed. But Frank wanted to help. “Well,” I said, “I could use an address for
Gary Moller. He was just recently released from Chino Men's.”
“You
got it. What else?”
“I
need to know where I can find Albert Humphries and Gretchen Petersen. Hold on a
minute. Let me get you their socials.” I retrieved their files and read off
their social security numbers.
“So
who are these people?” Frank asked.
I
explained.
“All
right,” Frank said. “Give me a few minutes. I'll get back to you.”
I
had just finished eating my omelet when Frank called back.
“Moller
lives out in Norco.” He gave me the street number. “He's on probation, going to
welding school at a place called Strong Steel.”
I
wrote down the information about the school.
“Petersen
lives in Utah. Somewhere outside of Provost. May not
even be a town. Just some place out in the sticks. Her probation file says she
tends bar at a place called Peek-a-Boo.”
“Peek-a-Boo,”
I said.
“Humphries,”
Frank said, “lives in Fontana. Rides with a club called the Marauders. They got
a couple of strip clubs there. One called Pandora's Box ,
the other one’s called Tops and Bottoms. Probably sell drugs through the clubs.”
“Probably.
Clever names for the clubs, though. Don’t you think?”
“The
Marauders are a rough bunch,” Frank said. “Want some company?”
“Thanks,
Frank. I appreciate that. But Alex is planning on going with me today. I think
we'll be okay.”
“Your
call. If you change your mind, let me know.”
I
thanked him again and clicked off. I showered and dressed: Levis, Kevlar vest,
light blue Oxford button down, shoulder holster, .357 Magnum, tan corduroy
sport jacket. The well dressed private investigator.
Chapter 10
Wednesday Morning
Wilson and I were just about
to leave for the office when someone knocked on my door. It was too early for
visitors. I whispered for Wilson to go into the bedroom. He did. I stepped to
the wall at the side of the door and pulled my .357.
“Who is it?”
“Jake, it's me, Heidi.”
I took a deep breath and let
it out. I put my gun away and opened the door.
“I know it's early,”
I
helped him carry file boxes out to his Navigator.
Wilson
needed to go out again for a few minutes. It was ten after one when I crawled
into bed.
I
didn’t sleep well. I dreamed about the scene in Esposito’s office, getting shot
and Monica trying to stop the bleeding. Then, in the dream, I was with Monica
in a meadow by a stream. We were walking and holding hands and laughing. Then,
I was in a dark and foreboding forest full of thorns and thistles and a
malevolent presence, and Monica was gone. I was calling out for her. At first,
I could hear her voice. It was nearby. But then it began to recede until it
faded out and was gone. I woke up four times during the night. At five-thirty I
got up and told Wilson it was time for our morning run.
I
was fixing an omelet for breakfast when my cell rang. It was Frank McGarry.
“Morning,
Frank.”
“How
you doing, Jake?”
“As
well as can be expected.”
“Listen,
I just wanted to apologize for not being more involved, not helping more than I
have.”
“Not
necessary, Frank. I understand. You've got a job to do.”
“Four
homicides across my desk since Monica was taken. There's only so much I can
delegate.”
“Frank,
I understand. There's no need for you to apologize.”
“Like
hell there isn't. You're a friend. So is Monica. I need to be more involved.”
“Any
level of help you can offer, Frank, is deeply appreciated. Bringing in
Detective Branch was helpful.”
“Really?
What has she contributed so far?”
“She’s
looking into the Esposito-Pipestone angle.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s
doing what she can, Frank. I appreciate her help.”
“I
cleared my desk last night,” Frank said. “What do you need?”
I
had to think fast. I didn’t actually need anything. Alex could get me whatever
I needed. But Frank wanted to help. “Well,” I said, “I could use an address for
Gary Moller. He was just recently released from Chino Men's.”
“You
got it. What else?”
“I
need to know where I can find Albert Humphries and Gretchen Petersen. Hold on a
minute. Let me get you their socials.” I retrieved their files and read off
their social security numbers.
“So
who are these people?” Frank asked.
I
explained.
“All
right,” Frank said. “Give me a few minutes. I'll get back to you.”
I
had just finished eating my omelet when Frank called back.
“Moller
lives out in Norco.” He gave me the street number. “He's on probation, going to
welding school at a place called Strong Steel.”
I
wrote down the information about the school.
“Petersen
lives in Utah. Somewhere outside of Provost. May not
even be a town. Just some place out in the sticks. Her probation file says she
tends bar at a place called Peek-a-Boo.”
“Peek-a-Boo,”
I said.
“Humphries,”
Frank said, “lives in Fontana. Rides with a club called the Marauders. They got
a couple of strip clubs there. One called Pandora's Box ,
the other one’s called Tops and Bottoms. Probably sell drugs through the clubs.”
“Probably.
Clever names for the clubs, though. Don’t you think?”
“The
Marauders are a rough bunch,” Frank said. “Want some company?”
“Thanks,
Frank. I appreciate that. But Alex is planning on going with me today. I think
we'll be okay.”
“Your
call. If you change your mind, let me know.”
I
thanked him again and clicked off. I showered and dressed: Levis, Kevlar vest,
light blue Oxford button down, shoulder holster, .357 Magnum, tan corduroy
sport jacket. The well dressed private investigator.
Chapter 10
Wednesday Morning
Wilson and I were just about
to leave for the office when someone knocked on my door. It was too early for
visitors. I whispered for Wilson to go into the bedroom. He did. I stepped to
the wall at the side of the door and pulled my .357.
“Who is it?”
“Jake, it's me, Heidi.”
I took a deep breath and let
it out. I put my gun away and opened the door.
“I know it's early,”
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