Gabray dropped the cigarette and stomped it out hard.
“She lies,” he said. “Fucking bitch.”
“She made your bail.”
“She owned me. She still owes me.”
“I’et it go, Robert. Think of those letters.”
“Yeah,” said Gabray, tapping his foot. “Whatever. I’m cool with it.
I got a good attitude about life.”
When we were out of the maze and back on San Pedro, Milo turned on his
penlight and studied the Identikit face.
“Think he’s reliable?” I said.
“Not very. But in the unlikely event a real suspect ever shows up,
this might help.”
I stopped for a red light and glanced at the composite. “Not very
distinctive.”
“Nope.”
I leaned over and gave a closer look. “It could be Huenengarth, minus
the mustache.”
“That so?”
“Huenengarth’s younger than the guy Gabray described-midthirties-and
his face is a bit fuller. But he’s thickly built and his hair’s styled
like that. His mustache could have been grown since March, and even if
not, it’s very faint-might have been hard to spot from a distance. And
you said he might be an ex-con.”
“Hmm.”
The light turned green, and I headed back toward the freeway.
He chuckled.
“What?”
“Just thinking. If I ever actually make sense out of the Herbert
thing, my troubles will just be beginning. Sneaking her file out.
Moving in on Central’s territory, offering Gabray protection I had no
permission to authorize. Far as the department’s concerned, I’m a
goddam clerk.”
“Solving a homicide wouldn’t impress the department?”
“Not nearly as much as rank conformity-but hell, I suppose I can work
something out if it comes to that. Give a gift to Gomez and Wicker-let
them take the glory and hope for halfa gold star. Gabray may get sold
out in the process. . . Hell, he’s no innocent screw him. If his info
turns out to be real, he’ll do okay.”
He closed the kit and placed it on the floor.
“Listen to me,” he said, “talking like a goddam politician.”
I drove up the ramp. All lanes were empty and the freeway looked like
a giant drag strip.
He said, “Putting some bad guys out of commission should be enough
satisfaction, right? What you guys call intrinsic motivation “Sure,” I
said. “Be good for goodness’ sake and Santa will remember you.”
We arrived back at my house just after three. He drove away in the
Porsche and I slipped into bed, trying to be silent. Robin awoke
anyway and reached for my hand. We locked fingers and fell asleep.
She was up and gone before my eyes cleared. A toasted English muffin
and juice were at my place on the kitchen table. I finished them off
while planning my day.
Afternoon at the Joneses’.
Morning on the phone.
But the phone rang before I could get to it.
Alex,” said Lou Cestare, “all those interesting questions.
Branching out into investment banking?”
“Not yet. How was the hike?”
“Long. I kept thinking my little guy would tire but he wanted to play
Edmund Hillary. Why do you want to know about Chuck Jones?”
“He’s chairman of the board of the hospital where I used to work. He
also manages the hospital’s portfolio. I’m still on staff there, feel
some affection for the place. Things aren’t going well there
financially, and there’s been talk ofJones running the place down so he
can dissolve it and sell the land.”
“Doesn’t sound like his style.”
“You know him?”
“Met him a couple of times at parties. Quick hello-goodbyehe wouldn’t
remember. But I do know his style.”
“Which is?”
“Building up, not tearing down. He’s one of the best money managers
around, Alex. Pays no attention to what other people are doing and
goes after solid companies at cut-rate prices. True bargains-the
stock-buys everyone dreams about. But he finds them better than anyone
else.”
“How?”
“He knows how to really figure out how a company’s doing.
Which means going way beyond quarterly reports. Once he ferrets out an
undervalued stock about to pop, he buys in, waits, sells, repeats the
process. His timing’s impeccable.”
“Does he ferret using inside information?”
Pause. “This hour of the morning and you’re already talking dirty?”
“So he does.”