Cat In An Indigo Mood

Chapter 17

Cold Case

"You know this guy, Lieutenant?"

Molina was glad Alch was studying the name he had just jotted on his notepad instead of her face.

"Not really," she said evenly. "What's more important is, what do you know about him?"

One side of Alch's mustache quirked, a sure sign that he hadn't gotten all the information he had hoped for.

"Rafi Nadir," he said, savoring the unusual name. "Made Sergeant, but he isn't with the LAPD anymore."

"Since when?" Molina kept her voice from sharpening.

"June of last year."

"Retired?"

"He's a little young for that. Forty-one." Alch shook his head.

"Moved," she suggested, rapid-fire.

Alch shook his head again. "Too bad you wanted my inquiry to be 'discreet.' l could have gotten much more if I hadn't been."

"So . . .he's not with the LAPD for a serious reason. Not retired, not moved." She cleared her throat. "Dead?"

"Worse than that."

"Worse?"

"Bad case. Civil suit. Lost the suit, lost his job."

"Just last summer?"

Alch nodded.

"Hmm- Any personal data? Wife, kids?"

"Neither. Had a girlfriend a while back, I guess. Nobody much knows where he went, and I get the impression nobody much cares. A rogue cop gives us all a bad rap."

"That's for sure. Your contact's name written down there. Detective?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Give it to me and I'll follow up on a higher level."

"This have something to do with the corpse at the Blue Dahlia!"

She shook her head. That theory would be too farfetched even to mention. "Hardly. A cold case l had in LA. Wanted to follow up on it, but it looks too cold. Thanks."

She copied a name and number from his notebook and gave him a perfunctory smile to indicate the report was over.

Alch's lips pouted as he slapped his notebook shut.

She'd seen that expression on his face in interviews when a witness's or a suspect's answer hadn't been satisfactory. Good detective, Alch. Too good sometimes.

She smiled at his wrinkled suit-coated back (Las Vegas will do that to wool blends) as he shuffled out of the office. You couldn't trust that shuffle; it looked indifferent, but it meant that he was thinking, hard.

She glanced down at the name and number. This wasn't who she really needed to call, but she couldn't make that unwelcome call from here. A pay phone that was quiet, maybe. Not easy to find. Too bad there was no other way. She knew her next step: She had to call a woman about a man, neither of whom she liked asking for favors, to get the number she needed. Not easy to ask the devil you don't know to find out about the devil you do. She'd just have to make it sound like a demand, rather than a plea.

Something to do with this case? She hoped to God not.