The Prostitutes Ball

Chapter 22.

We left Jeb s office and returned to our cubicle.

"I'm gonna take my own car out there," Hitch said. "Ive got a thing I'm doing after work and it's out of my way if I have to come back here."

"Okay, see you out on Skyline."

I waited as he gathered up his stuff and left. I was glad to have a minute alone because I wanted to run something down. I opened my crime scene book to the page where I'd noted the Realtor's name I'd seen on the sign at the side of the Skyline Drive house. I found it on the second page. I'd written:

Prime Properties Real Estate

Beverly Bartinelli

Listing Agent I called Information for the phone number and dialed Prime Properties. When the switchboard answered, I asked for Beverly Bartinelli.

"She doesn't work here anymore," the receptionist said. "Hasn't for a while."

"I'd like her number and current address if you still have it."

"I do have it, but I don't want to give it out to just anybody without her permission."

"My name is Shane Scully. I'm a homicide detective with the LAPD," I told her. "I'm working a case that she may have information on. You can call me back to make sure I'm telling you the truth. I'm at Homicide Special, extension 5675."

A minute later my phone rang and the receptionist came back on the line.

"Guess you're legit," she said.

"What about the phone number and address?"

"It's her residence. 1616 Maplewood Drive. I just checked the phone number I have but it's no longer current and I don't believe it's listed."

I thanked her and hung up. Rather than going to the trouble of running that number down through the department's reverse directory, I decided I'd just drop by. Maplewood ran parallel to Ventura Boulevard and was only about three miles away from Skyline, so it was on the way.

When I got to the parking garage I saw that Hitch's Carrera was gone. I climbed into my car and headed out to the Valley.

I was telling myself the reason I hadn't mentioned this errand to Hitch was because I was just indulging a stupid hunch that would undoubtedly go nowhere and it wasn't worth wasting his time on it. But the real truth was some part of me still didn't trust him. Hitch could be very efficient one minute, and the next, go totally off the reservation, like that smart-ass remark to Dahlia about those two old cases she'd lost.

Most prosecutors will only take slam dunks to trial and will plead out everything else so they all have at least a ninety-five percent trial win rate. Hitch had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to find the few losers in her package so he could jam them in her face. But for what purpose? It just pissed her off and now we were going to spend one and maybe two more days with CSI digging for lead and brass that probably wasn't even there. And that, I told myself, was why I was not confiding my hunch to him.

Despite all my rationalization, it really didn't matter, because when I pulled up in front of 1616 Maplewood Drive, Hitch's Porsche Carrera was parked at the curb. He was already inside talking to Beverly Bartinelli.

The guy had obviously spotted the same old real estate sign by the side of the house that I had. Worse still, he'd beaten me here.

The duplex was a neatly cared for two-story building with light yellow siding and white trim. I walked up the path to the front porch.

Before I could ring the bell, the door was opened by the Hitch-meister himself. He had a mug of Beverly's steaming black coffee in his hand.

"Saw you coming up the steps, dawg." He was grinning. "Guess you probably want to come inside."