Stalking The Angel

Chapter 37

I spent most of the next day on the phone. I called Lou Poitras and found out that they would be holding Mimi at the L.A. County Correctional Medical Facility for an evaluation. I called Carol Hillegas and asked her to pay Mimi a visit and make sure Mimi had good people assigned to her. The black Fed Reese called me more than once, and so did the woman from the L.A. County district attorney's office. There'd been a lot of conference calling between L.A. and San Bernardino and Sacramento, but nobody was going to bring charges. Nobody was sure what the charges would be. Illegal rescue?

Terry Ito stopped by that evening and said he hoped he wasn't disturbing me. I said no and asked him in. He stood in my living room with a brown paper bag in his left hand and said, "Is the kid going to be okay?"

I said, "Maybe."

He nodded. "We heard somebody nailed Yuki Torobuni."

"Yeah. That happened."

He nodded again and put out his right hand. "Thanks."

We shook.

He opened the bag and took out a bottle of Glenlivet scotch and we drank some and then he left. By eight o'clock that night I had finished the bottle and fallen asleep on the couch. A couple of hours later I was awake again and sleep would not return.

The next day I watched TV and read and lay on the couch and stared at my high-vaulted ceiling. Just after noon I showered and shaved and dressed and took a drive over to the County Medical Facility and asked them if I could see Mimi. They said no. I left the front and went around back and tried to sneak in, but a seventy-five-year-old security guard with narrow shoulders and a wide butt caught me and raised hell. It goes like that sometimes.

I bought groceries and a couple of new books and went home to the couch and the staring and the feeling that it was not over. I thought about Traci Louise Fishman and I thought about what Mimi had said. I make up stuff all the time. Maybe it couldn't be over until I knew what was real and what wasn't. Some hero. I had brought Mimi back, but I hadn't saved her.

At a little after four that afternoon, the doorbell rang again, and this time it was Jillian Becker. She was wearing a loose Hawaiian top and tight Guess jeans and pink Reebok high-tops. She smelled of mint. It was the first time I had seen her in casual clothes. I stood in the door and stared at her, and she stared back. I said, "Would you like to come in?"

"If you don't mind."

I said not at all. I asked if she would like something to drink. She said some wine would be nice. I went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of wine and a glass of water for myself. She said, "I tried your office but I guess you haven't been in."

"Nope."

"Or checking your answering machine."

"Nope."

She sipped her wine. "You look tired."

"Uh-huh."

She sipped the wine again. "The police spoke with me, and so did Carol Hillegas. They told me what you had to do to get Mimi. It must have been awful."

I said, "How's Sheila?"

Shrug. "Her family has come here to be with her. I've been talking to her, and so have the doctors who've seen Mimi. She's going to join Mimi in therapy. She'll probably enter into therapy on her own, too."

"Have you seen Mimi?"

She shook her head. "No. I heard you tried."

I spread my hands.

Jillian put her wineglass down and said, "Is it always this hard?"

I stared out through the glass to the canyon and shook my head.

Jillian Becker sat quietly for a moment, swirling her wine and watching it move in the glass. Then she said, "Carol Hillegas agreed with me."

"What?"

"If the one who makes the pain stop is the one who loves them, then that's you."

I finished the water and put down the glass and looked out at the canyon some more. The cat door clacked and the cat came in from the kitchen. When he saw Jillian he growled, deep and warlike. I said, "Beat it."

The cat sprinted back into the kitchen and through his door. Jillian said, "What a nice cat."

I laughed then, and Jillian Becker laughed, too. She had a good, clear laugh. When the laughter faded, she looked at me. "I wanted to tell you that I'm leaving Los Angeles. There is no more Warren Investments. Even if there were, I would leave. I'm going to find a position back east."

Part of me felt small, and growing smaller.

"But I'm going to stay here in L.A. for another couple of weeks before I go. I wanted to tell you that, too."

"Why are you going to hang around?"

She looked at me steadily. "I thought I might spend some time with you."

We sat like that, me on the couch and Jillian on the chair, and then she put out her hand. I took it.

Outside, a red hawk floated high over the canyon, and was warm in the sun.