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Walker was attentive. “I’m with you so far.”
“The only snag is the threesome in the yellow school bus. We have to find a way to get them out of there.”
Walker ’s smile was slow. “Fu
“How?”
“First, I call the draft board and tell them where to find our friend, Greg. Then I stop by the bus and drop a hint to him. I figure fifteen minutes max we’ll see them tearing out of there. Your idea about Rain we can implement once we get the kinks worked out. What do you think?”
“Far out. You’re a genius. I take back every bad word I ever said about you. No offense.”
“None taken.”
32
I arrived at the office at 8:00, hoping to get a jump on the day. As I unlocked the door I could smell scorched coffee and realized with a flash of a
I hauled out my trusty Smith-Corona, popped off the hard cover, and placed it on my desk. I spread out my index cards and typed a report for Sutton’s file, covering what I’d done to this point. I included Henry’s speculation about the sequence of events, which added a little ray of sunshine. When I finished I put the report in his file. I put a rubber band around the cards, dropped them in the same file, and closed the drawer. I’d gone as far as I could go and I needed a break. Over the weekend I’d reshuffle the facts and hope to spot something I’d missed. In the meantime, it was a perfect April morning, clear and su
I stashed the typewriter under the desk again and caught sight of the light on my answering machine, which was blinking merrily. I swiveled once in my chair and pressed Play.
I could hear background noise.
“Kinsey? This is Michael Sutton. I gotta talk to you as soon as possible. After I left you, I went to get Madaline at her AA meeting and saw the same guy I spotted at the dig. He has two black eyes and his face is banged up, which is why I noticed him in the first place. We followed him to that Montebello Bank and Trust at Monarch and Old Coast Road. I’m calling from the gas station across the street. We’ve waited half an hour and he hasn’t come out so maybe he works there. Thing is, Madaline’s antsy to get home so I was hoping you could spell me while I run her back to the house. I guess not, huh. Anyway, when you get the message, could you call? If I’m not home, I’ll be here unless the bank closes in the meantime. Gotta go. Thanks.”
I wasn’t sure when the call had come in because the date and time function on my answering machine has been horsed up for months, claiming it’s perpetually noon on January 1. He must have called sometime after I’d talked to Joa
I locked the office, fired up the Mustang, and drove the twelve blocks to Hermosa Street in a matter of minutes. I pulled into his drive, slammed the car door behind me, and scooted up his porch steps. I knocked, then crossed to the front window and peered in. Lights were off in the living room and there were no signs of life in the areas beyond. I pulled out my notebook and scribbled a hasty message, indicating the time I’d been there and asking him to call. I jotted down both my home and office numbers, then stuck the note between the front door and the screen. I stood indecisively, looking out at the street. As though by magic, Madaline walked into view, Goldie Hawn ahead of her, tugging at the leash. I waited.
As she turned up the walk, she said, “Where’s Michael?”
My, my. The little lady seemed cross and out of sorts. I said, “I have no idea. That’s what I came to ask you.”
“He left the house this morning to go meet some guy. He didn’t say a word about what time he’d be back.”
“He didn’t mention the guy’s name?”
“Nuh-uh. He was in a rush and all goofy. He said maybe now people would believe he was telling the truth.”
I pondered the implications, knowing it would be a waste of time to press her further. Madaline would be no help. She was too wrapped up in herself. I said, “I left a note for him stuck in the door. If you see him before I do, tell him I stopped by.”
“Oh great. Now I’m stranded. He’s got the car and I have to be someplace.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really,” she said. “I have a job interview downtown. It’s, like, completely critical to be there on time. Michael promised me a ride and now what?”
“Guess you’ll have to walk.”
“In heels? By the time I get there, I’ll be all sweaty and out of breath.”
I looked at my watch. “When’s your appointment?”
“Ten-thirty.”
“So start now and walk slowly. You have plenty of time.”
“Fuck you.”
Smiling, I returned to my car and backed out of the drive. I was still hoping to catch Sutton on his way back to the house. No such luck. I drove one block up and three blocks over, picking up the southbound freeway on-ramp. If his meeting was over, he might have returned to his one-man surveillance at the bank. I was taking the chance I’d spot his car in the vicinity. I got off the 101 at Old Coast Road and cruised past Montebello Bank and Trust, searching for Sutton’s turquoise MG. No sign of him in the bank parking lot or the service station across the street. Twice I drove the length of the main drag without results. Finally, I pulled into the narrow parking strip in front of the bank, taking up the vigil myself.
I got out of my car and went to the double-glass doors. I pushed and found the door locked, then realized the place wouldn’t open until ten, forty-five minutes hence. I locked my car and walked to a coffee shop I’d passed two blocks down. I paused at the entrance beside a row of coin-operated vending machines. I plunked a quarter in one and pulled out the local newspaper. I bought a big container of coffee and doused it liberally with milk. If the coffee didn’t cause my bladder to swell to twice its normal size, I could make it last until the bank opened. I reconsidered and added sugar in case the coffee turned out to be lunch as well.
I walked back to the bank, cup in hand, and sat in the parking lot. I read the paper, keeping an eye open for Michael Sutton or any of the various and sundry bank officers who should be arriving for work. The paper didn’t offer much in the way of news, only column after column of items pulled off the wire, most of which I’d read the day before in the L.A. Times. I skipped the fu