“What’s the matter?” He came out into the hall half-dressed, but for once I didn’t pause to appreciate his bare chest.
“We need to go see Lenny Marlowe.”
“Why?”
I understood his confusion but we didn’t have time for it. “He might be in trouble.”
Understatement. I dressed in record time and sprinted for the Mustang. Chance joined me and put the car in gear. To simplify matters, I gave him my phone and let him listen to the message himself as he drove.
“Shit. Call Saldana and have him meet us there.”
That sounded great. It made a nice change to have a cop on our side for once, instead of being in the crappy position of trying to explain the wildly improbable. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him, but he was the one who had given us Lenny as a lead. Would he have done that if he intended to watch and kill him for showing a little initiative? Would he really go to that much trouble to confuse us?
I was starting to think . . . No. I hadn’t tossed out the dirty cop idea entirely; maybe somebody in the station was sneaking around his office, listening to his personal conversations? But then again, except for Saldana, I hated cops, so it made me happy to blame one.
Our pet policeman answered on the second ring. “Saldana.”
“I may have a problem that requires your assistance,” I said in lieu of hello.
He sighed. “You know, Corine, there’s a picture of you next to the definition of high maintenance. What is it now?”
Because I did need his help, I ignored the insult. “Our mutual friend Lenny Marlowe called me in the middle of the night. I was asleep and I missed it, but the message struck me as alarming, to say the least. We’re headed over there to check on him, but I’d appreciate your official presence on scene.”
There was a long pause, and background noise increased. Somebody must’ve come in. I heard him talking and a mumbled reply, maybe from his partner, Nathan Moon. I could go a long while without seeing that fellow and never miss the man. Finally Jesse came back on the line, speaking cautiously.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll take a ride over to check on your nephew. I don’t mind a bit, Miss Alice. No, it’s no trouble,” he added, although I hadn’t spoken.
Huh. He didn’t want his partner to know he was talking to me? Interesting.
“You’re good,” I said with a snicker. “You should do Vegas.”
“I will when you get me thrown off the force,” he muttered. “Who knew being a mentor would turn out like this? I’m on my way.”
I closed my phone with an audible click and glanced at Chance. “I think I may be wearing out my welcome with Officer Saldana.”
A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “His loss.”
The sky hung over us like a swathe of gauze. Unlike the almost blindingly bright and sunny other days, the air felt heavy this morning, sullen and threatening. In silence we followed the access road leading back to the trailer park where Marlowe lived.
Jesse managed to beat us there. We found him waiting in the tiny excuse for a front yard, beside the BEWARE OF DOG sign. Chance got out and went toward the porch and knelt as if he were listening to something I couldn’t quite make out. I studied Saldana’s grim expression and knew we were too late.
“Don’t go in,” he warned us. “I already called the forensic folks. It’s bad in there.”
“Pulled-apart-by-demons bad?” I ventured.
Shaking his head, he answered, “Shot-up-with-automatic-weapons bad. What did he say when he called you?”
I played the message for the third time. “I feel like shit. We told him to leave it be.”
Saldana eyed me with an expression of pure dislike. I didn’t expect I’d be fending off his advances anytime soon. “You told him enough to interest him and get him in trouble, the poor dumb bastard.”
“You’re saying this is my fault?” I didn’t know if I could argue that. “You gave me his name, so how about we spread the blame around some?”
“You think I’m not aware of that? Christ, I told you his name and now he’s dead. It’s as much my fault as yours. More. I don’t deserve to wear this badge.” Jesse yanked it off his belt and studied it for a minute, dull silver in the palm of his hand, and then crammed it into his jacket pocket. “I should resign right now.”
Oh. So that was it.
“Maybe you bent the letter of the law, but you had good intentions. You wanted to close the case and you thought—”
“Fuck what I wanted. A man is dead. Don’t talk to me about good intentions.” Saldana stalked to the end of the drive to wait for the coroner’s wagon, now driving down the dusty road toward us.
“We should get out of here. If Moon comes . . .” I trailed off when I realized Chance wasn’t listening to me.
With a sigh, I crunched over the gravel to see what had him so enthralled. At last he straightened with a tiny, blood-spattered dog in his arms. Butch had lost some of his attitude but not his red leather collar. Trembling, the Chihuahua curled deeper into Chance’s arms, as if he wanted to hide. He regarded us from damp, perplexed eyes, as if wondering how his day could possibly get worse.
“Shit,” I said. “We’re keeping him, aren’t we?”
Chance leveled his best look on me. “What do you think?”
Have Dog, Will Travel
The damn dog fit perfectly in my red spangled sari sling bag.
We left the scene just before the official vehicles arrived, and I had a feeling that was the last favor I could safely ask of Saldana. With guilt weighing on him, he might let his partner lock me up on principle, though it wouldn’t bring back Lenny Marlowe.