Scavenger hunt

Chapter 15

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Holt looked from Jimmy to where Rollo sat at the kitchen table. The two of them together always appeared guilty.

"Just the usual felonies and misdemeanors." Jimmy kissed her, lingering for a brief moment, and she hated the fact that she noticed how long their kisses lasted, trying not to compare the way they were now with the way they had been a few months ago. "Come on in. This is a pleasant surprise."

Holt hoisted her package, the brown-paper wrapping rustling as she handed it to him. "I hope this is too."

Jimmy pretended to shake it. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Not a thing. Open it anyway."

Jimmy tore at the wrappings.

"The DA has decided to present the Strickland case to a grand jury," Holt said lightly, pleased that the news immediately got his attention.

"That's great!" Jimmy looked as happy for her as she had felt nailing that son of a bitch. If Holt had her way, serial rape would be a capital offense-a point of view that would have shocked her before she became a police officer. Now she knew better.

Her parents had been appalled when she had decided to enter the Academy, to the point of getting the mention removed from her alumni newsletter. Her father said he knew he should have put his foot down when she opted for criminal law instead of corporate at Stanford. He had barely gotten used to the idea of a federal prosecutor or a district attorney in the family, but a police officer? "Our sort don't get their hands dirty, Jane," her father had intoned. " I do, Daddy," she had responded. Her mother said her father would get over it, but they both knew better.

Jimmy kissed her again. "If the jury indicts Strickland, I hope the case gets put on Cheverton's docket. Hang-'em-high Cheverton- that would be sweet."

"I'd like that too. The lieutenant gave me the afternoon off after the DA gave the go-ahead. He acted as if was a reward for a job well done, but we both knew he just wanted the TV cameras all to himself. I called you at the office, but they said you were on assignment. You have no idea what you missed."

"I have a vivid imagination," said Jimmy, warming her with his eyes. He broke contact just long enough to tear apart the wrapping paper and pull out a framed photograph. He was smiling so hard now that it had to hurt.

Out of the corner of her eye, Holt saw Rollo quietly shut down his laptop and disconnect it from the cell phone. He had either been accessing a porn site or hacking into someplace he shouldn't be.

"This is… wonderful." Jimmy stared at the photograph, an eleven-by-fourteen black-and-white casual portrait of the young Elvis, sensual and full lipped, gazing into the camera. The future King was sprawled in a lawn chair outside a mobile home. He held a bottle of Pepsi-Cola in one hand. A teenage boy with a bad haircut and a man sat nearby, looking surprised that anyone was taking a picture.

"What is it?" asked Rollo, craning his neck to see, his hands working independently, tucking telephones inside his jacket.

"I thought you would like it," said Holt. "I was at an auction, and it reminded me of you somehow. I don't know why. It just seemed so… unposed and authentic."

"I love it."

"I hate to interrupt this magic moment, but do I get to see?" complained Rollo. He squinted as Jimmy showed him the photo. "Who is it?"

Jimmy laughed. "It's Elvis, you fucking cultural illiterate."

"I don't think so," said Rollo, completely serious. "Elvis was fat, and he wore spangly jumpsuits with belt buckles the size of peanut butter sandwiches. This dude looks like he belongs pumping gas at an Esso station off the interstate."

"This is the way Elvis used to look," explained Jimmy, more patient with Rollo than Holt ever saw him with anyone else. "This photo was probably taken around 1957, before he hit it big, but close enough that he could smell it coming." He turned to Holt and kissed her. "Thank you." He kissed her again. Longer this time.

It took an effort for Holt to separate herself from him, flustered by Rollo's presence. "I don't know who the boy and the other man are," she said, pointing to the photograph. She could feel perspiration along the back of her neck.

"The kid is Elvis's cousin Donny, and the man who looks like he just came from checking the still in the woods, that's his dad, Vernon," said Jimmy.

"You know the names of his relatives?" Jane was astounded.

Jimmy tapped the photo. "Check out Elvis, Jane, just look at him. This was taken before Colonel Parker took over his career and cleaned him up, made him presentable to Ed Sullivan and Dick Clark and the rest of those white-bread motherfuckers. The Colonel let Elvis keep the hip swivel, but those hungry cracker eyes were too scary for prime time. No telling what nastiness that boy was thinking as he looked at the bobby-soxers on American Bandstand. This picture was taken at the last moment, when Elvis was still himself and unashamed of it, when he was still pure."

Rollo stood up, phones falling out of his jacket and clattering onto the floor. There must have been a dozen of them. "I got to go," he said, hastily retrieving the phones, not sure what to do with them, finally placing them in the sink. "Jimmy and I-we were doing an experiment, Jane," he said, hurrying for the door. "These phones, I found them in a Dumpster behind a Radio Shack. I was going to see if I could fix them up and donate them to some homeless shelter. Or maybe a battered women hideout."

"Here I was thinking they were stolen," said Holt. "I'm ashamed of myself."

Rollo pushed back his glasses, not sure if she was serious. He was intelligent but a bad liar, which meant that lying still bothered him- he was still salvageable. As Rollo shifted from one foot to the other, Holt got a glimpse of what Jimmy saw in him.

"Good night, Rollo," said Jimmy.

"Right." Rollo's eyes darted from side to side. "I'll work on that stuff we talked about."

Holt watched the door close after him, then turned to Jimmy. "Stuff?"

"It's code. You'll never crack it."

"I'll just have to guess." Holt took off her jacket and neatly folded it across the back of a chair. "I hear you've been calling around trying to locate the lead detective on the Heather Grimm homicide. Evidently you're still looking into Garrett Walsh's death," she said, trying not to make it sound like an accusation, almost succeeding.

"The cop's name is Leonard Brimley. He's retired, and nobody knows where he's living. His retirement checks are directly deposited into a bank in Oxnard, but that's as close as I can get."

"Why would Brimley help you reopen a case that he already got credit for clearing?"

"Maybe he's more interested in getting it right than getting credit." Jimmy smiled. "Or maybe he's not going to know that I want to reopen the case."

"Why turn this into a crusade? The autopsy report was conclusive: 'accidental death, precipitated by drug and alcohol intoxication.' Why isn't that good enough for you?"

"I never had much faith in the official version of events. It's not a matter of conspiracies or evil intent. Human error, Jane, it's everywhere."

Holt couldn't disagree with that, but she wasn't about to admit it to him. She wandered over to the kitchen sink and took a look at the jumbled phones, smiling at the thought of Rollo donating them to a homeless shelter.

Jimmy leaned against the table, not bothering to hide the paperwork spread out there.

"Quite a collection of phone logs you have here." Holt shook her head at the computer printouts, the legal pads filled with notations, knowing immediately what he had been up to. "How lovely not to need court orders or due process to get information."

"Walsh was murdered."

"Not according to Helen Katz. I'm not a fan of her methodology, but she runs a tight investigation. She says it was an accident. Dr. Boone says it was an accident. You're the only-"

"Boone?" Jimmy looked angry. "Katz told me she was going to make sure that Rabinowitz did the autopsy. I read the report-it had her signature on it."

"Rabinowitz is chief medical examiner; she signs off on all official documentation. But I got a look at the autopsy notes, and Dr. Boone did the actual work. Don't worry, he's a good pathologist."

"Not nearly as good as Rabinowitz." Jimmy slowly smiled, and Holt knew she was in trouble. "You looked at the autopsy notes, didn't you?"

"Just a glance."

"That Walsh case wasn't in your jurisdiction. You wouldn't even run a phone number for me when I asked-you said it was a violation. Now you tell me you're checking out Boone's raw notes?" Jimmy eased closer to her. "Had to be a reason."

Holt picked up the Elvis photograph. "Let's see how this looks in your room."

"You're not getting off that easy." Jimmy was right behind her. "You believed me, didn't you? You thought I was right and Katz was wrong."

"Not at all." Holt held the photograph on the wall opposite the bed, set it down on the dresser, and stepped back to check it out. "It was a slow day at the office. I thought I'd make some calls."

"I don't think so." Jimmy was right behind her now.

"I was talking to a friend of mine in the ME's office about a blood-spatter seminar he's leading. The autopsy report just happened to come up." Holt led Jimmy over to the bed. "This is probably the best place to view your new photo. What do you think?"

"I think you believed me."

Holt kicked off her shoes, lay down, and stretched. "I think you should get a bigger bed."

Jimmy joined her on the bed, nuzzled her neck. "You believed me," he whispered.

Holt unbuttoned his shirt and slid a hand against his bare chest, pinching his nipple hard enough that he jumped. "I was curious, that's all." She undid his jeans. Mr. Up and Ready. "You've actually been right once or twice before. I thought you might be due."

"I'm overdue." Jimmy eased his hand up her skirt and played with the lace of her panties, higher now, caressing her. "I'm right about Walsh, Jane." He kissed her as he gently slipped two fingers inside her. His hands were strong, but his touch-it was silk. "I'm right, and you know it."

"Shut up while you're ahead," gasped Holt, and Jimmy did as he was told. This time, anyway. She never knew what he was going to do the next time. She rocked gently against his grip for a long time, just long enough, then eased away, kicking off her panties, unhooking her skirt. She watched as Jimmy peeled off his shirt, then helped him out of his jeans, the two of them moving faster now, all bare arms and legs, kisses and bites.

"Be right back," said Jimmy, getting up and crossing the room, his white ass stark against his deep tan. He turned the photo of Elvis to the wall and slid back into bed beside her.

Holt bounded over to the dresser and turned the photo back so the King could get a good view, his pompadour and knowing smirk lending just the right tone to the action. A couple of bad boys and a bad, bad girl. She took her time returning to bed, giving Jimmy a little show as he lolled on the sheets, enjoying his reaction. "I was never a big fan of Elvis," she said, straddling him, "but I just know I'm about to change my mind."