something. I think we might need you.”
I nod and wait.
He pushes the file in my direction. “I want you to use the copy machine behind me and accidentally make a copy of this file.”
“I do tend to be accident-prone these days.”
The detective almost smiles. “It’s against policy for me to give you the file, as you know. But…” He raises his hands.
“Accidents do happen,” I finish.
I do not reach for the file because my hands are shaking badly. I do not want the detective to see how bad off I really am. His sudden change of heart might just swing back the other direction.
“Now, I’m going to leave my office and get a donut,” he says, standing. “I am, after all, a cop, and that’s what cops do when not chasing the bad guys. It’s in the handbook.”
“Right next to how to grow a regulation cop mustache.”
He shakes his head. “Always with my mustache. Anyway, I expressly forbid you to use the copy machine located directly behind me. I also expressly forbid you to press the green button and wait ten seconds for it to power on.” He stands. “When I come back, I want you clowns gone. And Booker?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not much of an actor, but I am sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He looks at me some more, then turns and leaves.
“You heard the man,” I say to Numi when the detective is gone. “Let’s hurry and not copy the file.”
“Americans are weird,” he says, and takes the file over to the copy machine and proceeds to not copy it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Laurel Canyon.
The day is bright. A smattering of clouds. The back road is quiet when Numi stops his Cadillac.
“You sure you’re up for this, boss?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
He gets out and comes around to my side of the car. Having a grown man help me in and out of a car is hard on the ego. When you’re sick and dying, the ego is and should be the first thing to go. I know there’re gurus who teach people how to release the ego, to conquer the ego. I get it now, but I didn’t back when I was healthy. It’s moot now. The guy who falls off the toilet and knocks himself out no longer has an ego.
Numi helps me out of the car as he wraps a blanket around me, followed by his strong arms. I’m weaker today. That happens sometimes. Weaker some days, stronger others. Admittedly, the weaker days far outnumber the strong days.
He helps me down a gentle incline and over to a bench that overlooks the canyon. Beyond are trails and wilderness and nature at its best. Southern Californians are sort of nature-deprived, but Laurel Canyon is a fair substitute.
Before the drive out here, Numi gave me one of his natural body cleanses to extricate the toxins. The cleanse consisted of green tea with organic honey, and he also made me a lentil soup he insists will help me feel better. I do not tell Numi that I don’t feel better. I act as if I do, although I’m certain he sees through my charade. Mostly, though, he sees in me a renewed purpose. A reason for living. And Numi is all for me living.
It’s been two days since my visit with Detective Dobbs and I’ve read and reread Olivia’s police file, making notes until I couldn’t write any more. I feel even closer to Olivia now. Which is odd to say. Once I study up on them and the case, I always feel closer to the victims. That closeness drives me to find them or their killers. As if the dead speak to me from within the pages of the case files.
As Numi and I sit together, I shrug off his arm that’s around my shoulder. I need my space, dammit. Of course, that’s the ego talking. Maybe I haven’t eradicated it yet, after all.
Fifty feet below us is a trail through the canyon. One of many trails. Olivia’s body was found not too far from here, just off the trail.
The location is just feet from where my own brother’s body was found nearly twenty-two years ago. The same canyon. The same damn hillside. I am stunned by the proximity of two
I nod and wait.
He pushes the file in my direction. “I want you to use the copy machine behind me and accidentally make a copy of this file.”
“I do tend to be accident-prone these days.”
The detective almost smiles. “It’s against policy for me to give you the file, as you know. But…” He raises his hands.
“Accidents do happen,” I finish.
I do not reach for the file because my hands are shaking badly. I do not want the detective to see how bad off I really am. His sudden change of heart might just swing back the other direction.
“Now, I’m going to leave my office and get a donut,” he says, standing. “I am, after all, a cop, and that’s what cops do when not chasing the bad guys. It’s in the handbook.”
“Right next to how to grow a regulation cop mustache.”
He shakes his head. “Always with my mustache. Anyway, I expressly forbid you to use the copy machine located directly behind me. I also expressly forbid you to press the green button and wait ten seconds for it to power on.” He stands. “When I come back, I want you clowns gone. And Booker?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not much of an actor, but I am sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He looks at me some more, then turns and leaves.
“You heard the man,” I say to Numi when the detective is gone. “Let’s hurry and not copy the file.”
“Americans are weird,” he says, and takes the file over to the copy machine and proceeds to not copy it.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Laurel Canyon.
The day is bright. A smattering of clouds. The back road is quiet when Numi stops his Cadillac.
“You sure you’re up for this, boss?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
He gets out and comes around to my side of the car. Having a grown man help me in and out of a car is hard on the ego. When you’re sick and dying, the ego is and should be the first thing to go. I know there’re gurus who teach people how to release the ego, to conquer the ego. I get it now, but I didn’t back when I was healthy. It’s moot now. The guy who falls off the toilet and knocks himself out no longer has an ego.
Numi helps me out of the car as he wraps a blanket around me, followed by his strong arms. I’m weaker today. That happens sometimes. Weaker some days, stronger others. Admittedly, the weaker days far outnumber the strong days.
He helps me down a gentle incline and over to a bench that overlooks the canyon. Beyond are trails and wilderness and nature at its best. Southern Californians are sort of nature-deprived, but Laurel Canyon is a fair substitute.
Before the drive out here, Numi gave me one of his natural body cleanses to extricate the toxins. The cleanse consisted of green tea with organic honey, and he also made me a lentil soup he insists will help me feel better. I do not tell Numi that I don’t feel better. I act as if I do, although I’m certain he sees through my charade. Mostly, though, he sees in me a renewed purpose. A reason for living. And Numi is all for me living.
It’s been two days since my visit with Detective Dobbs and I’ve read and reread Olivia’s police file, making notes until I couldn’t write any more. I feel even closer to Olivia now. Which is odd to say. Once I study up on them and the case, I always feel closer to the victims. That closeness drives me to find them or their killers. As if the dead speak to me from within the pages of the case files.
As Numi and I sit together, I shrug off his arm that’s around my shoulder. I need my space, dammit. Of course, that’s the ego talking. Maybe I haven’t eradicated it yet, after all.
Fifty feet below us is a trail through the canyon. One of many trails. Olivia’s body was found not too far from here, just off the trail.
The location is just feet from where my own brother’s body was found nearly twenty-two years ago. The same canyon. The same damn hillside. I am stunned by the proximity of two
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