Sharon exited the Parker Center. The 1950's glass shoe box was named after the former police chief best remembered for running a department long on corruption and short on civil liberties. On the other hand, Chief William H. Parker did a fine job making sure the Dragnet scripts polished the L.A.P.D.'s image.
Leaving the cop shop on the Los Angeles Street side, Sharon avoided looking at The Family Group, an angular bronze sculpture depicting a man, woman, and son. A reminder of her lost life, the artwork as subtle as an arrow to the heart.
A strange thought then. If Jimmy didn't find Tino's mother, if the boy was left without a parent, did her ex think he could keep him like some stray cat? And something else. Did he think that Tino was the key to recreating the family, to getting back together with her?
She could picture Jimmy saying it.
"He's got nobody but us, Sharon."
To Jimmy, there was still an "us." Something else he hadn't come to grips with.
Sharon had walked a block when she heard, "Detective Payne!"
She turned to find Rigney on her heels, jabbing at her with an index finger. She hated finger jabbers. Rigney wore a regulation wrinkled brown suit with a mismatched tie.
"You hear about your ex?" Rigney's tone as nasty as a rabbit punch. "The feds picked up his Lexus coming from Tijuana with eighty kilos of coke."
"So why don't you go down there and check it out?"
Rigney hawked up a wet laugh. "Why would I do that? We both know it's bullshit."
She stopped at the Temple Street intersection, waiting for the Don't Walk to change.
Rigney moved closer and whispered, "Payne dumped the Lexus in Mexico, and it ended up with some narcotraficante."
"I wouldn't know."
"Really? How was lunch today?"
Sharon tried to read the look on his face but couldn't get past the smirk.
"California Club, right?" he said. "Your TV star fiance is a member."
"Wow. You've been playing detective again."
"I got a waiter who puts Quinn at table nineteen, dining with a tall woman with reddish-brown hair. The woman used the private phone booth in the dining room. Want to take a wild guess who called the club from some diner at 12:38 p.m.?"
"I'm impressed, Rigney. Maybe someday you'll pass the sergeant's exam."
"Where's he headed?"
The light changed, and she headed up Temple toward City Hall. "Who?"
"Royal Fucking Payne! You're helping him, and we both know it."
"If you can prove that, take it to Internal Affairs."
"I'll take it to the D.A. I'll throw the going-away party when they ship you to Chowchilla."
"You know what I think, Rigney? I think you're taking a lot of heat because you ran a sting that got a judge killed. The more blame you can shift to Jimmy, the better off you are. And as long as you can't find him, why not pick on me?"
"Bullshit. Payne's dirty and you're protecting him."
The Criminal Court Building loomed ahead.
"Where the hell you going?" he demanded.
"Back off, Rigney."
She moved at a brisk pace. Her legs were longer than Rigney's, and he hustled to keep up.
"You going to court?" he asked.
"No."
"Then, what-"
"I'm going to church, okay? Our Lady of the Angels."
"Why? You catch another priest diddling an altar boy?"
She wheeled and faced him head-on. "My maiden name's Lacy. The Lacys of County Clare. I missed Mass this morning. I've got six brothers who could each beat the shit out of you, and I could, too."
She turned and swept past the Hall of Records, toward the downtown cathedral. She was so angry it took another moment to realize that she had jabbed her own finger at Rigney, denting his polyester tie.