The Pallbearers

Chapter 17

We all sat there in that small den overlooking Vargas's empty pool in East L. A. trying to come to grips with that.

"Maybe it hasn't happened yet," Seriana suggested. She had risen to her feet and was now standing at the head of the table, her bodv a coiled spring.

"It's been over twenty-four hours since the funeral when we released the body to Forest Lawn," Diamond answered. "I think they always do cremations pretty much immediately after the service."

"Not always," Sabas said. "They usually wait a day for legal reasons, to make sure there are no problems or disputes over the last-wish provisions. I've also seen situations where, because of backlogs, it's taken almost as long as a week. Somebody should call Forest Lawn and see what the deal is."

"I'll do it," Seriana said. She quickly left the room. Jack was again leaning back in his chair, an insolent, judgmental little smirk on his lips. I wanted to kick the chair out from under him. I wanted to knock that smirk off his face. Obviously the guy didn't have to do much to piss me off.

"You should not get your hopes up," Sabas said. "Since it's been more than a clay, the odds are the cremation already happened." After he said that, he immediately shifted gears. "On the other hand, maybe Walt's body is still sitting in back in some embalming room or something. You never know. I don't think they'd burn the body until full payment's been made. Maybe there were payment problems."

"Walt had his mortuary services prepaid," Diamond said. "He knew he didn't have anyone to handle that for him, so he took care of it in advance."

We all sat there and fidgeted while Vicki and Seriana made their calls. Seriana was back first.

"Mortuary office is closed. Nobody to ask. Can't find out anything until eight or nine tomorrow."

Vicki came back a few minutes later and told us she couldn't get through to Oakcrest either. They'd also closed. She'd left the room before Diamond arrived and didn't know about the cremation. When we told her, her shoulders slumped. "When are we gonna catch a fucking break?" Vicki scowled.

It wasn't going to happen tonight, so we all agreed to meet back at Sabas's office first thing in the morning.

"If the body is still there, I'm gonna have to file papers with the court so Forest Lawn will release Walt's remains to us," Sabas said. "Diamond, didn't you say that Walt left the benefits of his life-insurance policy to the home?"

"Yes, but we can't collect it because of the suicide."

"Doesn't matter," Vargas said. "That's our legal hook. If the body's still there, I'll file papers with the court claiming that a bad city autopsy has potentially denied Huntington House its insurance benefit. As the party at loss, Huntington House can demand a new autopsy.

With no family to object, I don't see how the court could deny it as long as we foot all the expense. Diamond, you're the new executive director. I'll need you to be the one to file the papers on behalf of the home."

"Okay," she agreed. "I can do that."

Til write up the documents tonight, so we'll be ready to pounce on the off chance that we can still do this. In the morning, we'll know one way or the other."

We left Sabas's office, none of us thinking we had much of a chance. What were the odds that the body was still lying around someplace waiting to be cremated? Pretty slim was my guess.

I walked Vicki back to her car, a Toyota Camry that was parked a short distance away. It had somehow escaped theft or vandalism, which was strange because our auto-theft division lists Toyotas as one of the three most frequently stolen vehicles in L. A. When I opened the door, she turned to me.

"Walt's remains are toast, excuse the pun," she said somewhat harshly. "You and I already know that, even if the others don't. We're majorly fucked."

"Even if Walt's body is gone, there are still other ways to work on this."

She seemed skeptical as she got into her car. I leaned down and looked in at her.

"Listen, Vicki. I think Diamond is in way over her head. She's the new executive director of the home, but she told me she has to give up the secretary-treasurer job because the state says she can't hold both positions at once. She doesn't seem to be able to get anybody to take over that job. You're a CPA, I was thinking you should volunteer to take the position."

She was digging in her purse for her keys but suddenly stopped and was now holding my gaze with hard hazel eyes. I wondered if the hand in her purse had that Bulldog pointing at my crotch.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It would really help Diamond and it would be good to have somebody on the inside, going through the books, trying to figure out what the hell was really going on in that place."

She gave me a slow devious smile. "You re a tricky bastard, aren't you?"

I didn't answer that one.

"I could certainly do that," she said thoughtfully. "Matter of fact, it's something I'd really enjoy. They got anything left to look at? The building was completely torched."

"Diamond said they're rebuilding the files somehow. I don't know how they're doing it."

"Probably calling around to everyone they wrote checks to, getting all their accounts receivable to send them copies of old invoices and billing records, reconciling those against the bank statements. There'd be some holes, but it would be generally accurate."

"See you in the morning. Don't shoot anybody on your way out of here."

She smiled at me, then pulled her keys out of the purse, started the Camry, and left.

As I was driving out of the hood, my cell phone rang. When I picked up, Sally Quinn was on the line. "Just got your message, Hoss. What's up?"

"Sally, I need a little favor…"

"I've learned there're no little favors when it comes to you, buddy." She had a smile in her voice, so I knew she was just playing with me.

"I need a records run on a guy named Rick O'Shea. He drives a new maroon Escalade, license number one-Victor-May-Ida-three-six-six. I also need his sheet if he has one, along with his DM V and any current wants or warrants."

"Hang on a minute, gotta turn my computer back on."

While she worked on the information, I drove out of East L. A., heading west toward Venice.

"Got him," she said. "Twenty-nine years old. Lives at 3859 Lupine Lane in Calabasas. I think thats a pretty good neighborhood. I've got an aunt who lives out there, off Pine. He had some write-ups for violent assaults. Mostly ticky-tack-bar fights, stuff like that. Nothing that ever went to trial." She hesitated then added, "He could have a record from somewhere else. Want me to start a federal run, see what I get?"

"Yeah, that might help. And listen, can you check with the prosecutors office and give me some info on an attorney named Sabas Vargas? His office is in Boyle Heights."

"Done! Talk to you tomorrow," she said quickly. "I gotta run, Jeb's calling." She hung up before I could ask her to run Vicki Lavicki and Jack Straw.

When I got home, Alexa was waiting. She had on a cocktail dress and heels.

"We going somewhere?" I asked.

"Not unless you get rid of that long face," she teased. "Then I thought we'd go to the Tiki Hut restaurant for dinner. Closest thing to Hawaii I can come up with."

"Let's have a drink here first. It's been a long day."

We poured two scotches, then went outside and sat on the porch chairs. Alexa told me about a conversation she'd had that afternoon with our son, Chooch, who was in spring training for USC football and had just suffered a mild hamstring pull. He was on the bench carrying a clipboard, stressing that it could get him knocked down the list in the Trojan quarterback derby.

So Chooch was bummed about that, I was bummed about Walt, and Alexa and I were both bummed about not going to Hawaii. Scully family karma was low.

I told Alexa about the cremation and what we were planning to do if the body hadn't been destroyed, adding that I was pretty sure it already had been.

We went to dinner, then we came home and made love. Alexa held me close. I fought to keep my thoughts out of a negative spin. I had failed Walt and, in failing him, had failed myself. Alexa wouldn't let me go there. She whispered in my ear. She rubbed my back and brought me erect again. I hovered there between ecstasy and pain, strength and weakness, longing and despair.

In the end, I knew I had to get past my sense of failure if I wanted to finally be there for Walt. I had to deal with the fact that, like it or not, I'd run from him. I couldn't change what had already happened.

I can't rewrite history, I told myself. So get going and start writing the future instead.