The Prostitutes Ball

Chapter 31.

By the time we stepped outside the Men's Central Jail with Brooks it was after one A. M. The temperature was hovering in the low seventies and the Santa Ana wind condition had fully developed. Santa Anas clear the L. A. basin of pollutants, but they also drive up the pollen count and Claritin sales throughout the city.

As it turned out, Brooks had allergies, so as soon as we got outside he started sneezing. "You just gonna leave me here?" he whined, wiping his nose with his forearm after a big wet one. "Aren't you even gonna take me home?"

"We don't run a taxi service," Hitch said.

"Then how'm I s'posed to get there?" Another sneeze.

Hitch pointed at Brooks's four-hundred-dollar Gucci sneakers, which, miraculously, he'd not lost to his murderous cellmates. "The left one goes in front of the right one," Sumner said patiently. "If you keep repeating the process, you'll be doing something we call walking. Should get you home."

"Here's your copy of our permission to search Skyline Drive," I said, handing him the paper. "Do not talk about this to anyone."

He nodded, then sneezed again.

"You're just gonna leave me here?"

"That's the plan," I answered.

We got into the slick-back and left him standing there, wobbly and confused as a day-old changeling.

Hitch and I headed back to the crime scene. On the way, we stopped at the CSI equipment warehouse at the new forsensic lab at Cal State L. A. where we checked out a fire extinguisher-sized canister of Luminol spray with a nozzle.

As I signed for the stuff, I couldn't help but think about the paper trail I was leaving for Dahlia Wilkes. I pushed that troubling thought aside and in minutes we were again in the slick-back, heading to the Hollywood Hills.

When we arrived at the mansion, it was almost two A. M. We parked our black-and-white in the bushes off the road, then grabbed our equipment and briefcases and snuck up the driveway, through the main gate, and around to the far side of the house, where we wouldn't be visible from the Prentiss's second-floor windows.

The twenty-foot cypress trees in the yard swayed in the brisk Santa Anas over our heads, shaking their leaves like giant pom-poms. We paused at the back door and looked down at the big, commercial-sized Yale padlock.

"Shoulda brought some bolt cutters," Hitch said, studying the padlock. "We'll have to break a window."

"I'm not breaking a window," I answered. "If we don't find anything, I want to back out of here without leaving a trail. I'm still hoping this doesn't draw too much negative official interest."

"Including your wife's," Hitch said.

I hate keeping stuff from Alexa. Even when I was skating the edges of the rule book, I always eventually told her what 1 was doing because she's the smartest cop I know and one of my best crime-solving resources. But there was no way Hitch could appreciate that, and since we were taking some career chances, I decided for the time being to continue to honor my promise.

"Okay, okay. I won't tell her without at least talking it over with you first."

"Some vow of silence," he muttered. "How you planning to get inside if we don't break a window?"

I reached into my pocket and removed my little leather lock pick case. It's no bigger than a small manicure kit. I'd learned to pick locks from one of my training partners almost twenty years ago. It's actually not too difficult once you get the hang of it.

I unwrapped the leather case and pulled out the main pick. It was longer and thicker than the other ones and had a small right angle at the very end. Then I removed half a dozen shorter, thinner picks, each with a variety of different shaped bends at the end.

The idea was to slip the main pick into the guide slot, then jiggle it until it found the main tumbler. The smaller ones then slid in under it, fitting into the secondary tumblers, until you had enough traction to turn the lock. There are easier, more high-tech ways to open locks, such as master tap keys or electric magnets. This was admittedly a little old school, but I liked the fact it took some skill and that I had mastered it.

"Shine your Mini Mag on this," I said, and Hitch aimed the small LED at the lock while I worked.

It took me about two and a half minutes before I had the padlock open.

"When we do the movie, I think the Hitchens character should work the lock pick and the Scully character should hold the light," he said. "Those picks are way cool. Its exactly the kind of thing Jamie digs in a film."

I was still fighting the idea there was going to be a film, so I just let that go and pushed the door open. We stepped inside and closed it quietly behind us.

The house was dark and creepy. We stood in the back pantry and listened to the mansion creak and groan in the growing wind.

I saw a documentary once about a bunch of little birds in the Amazon who have this unique relationship with the river crocodiles who live and hunt along the banks of that mammoth river. Part of the film told how sometimes, when a croc had meat stuck in the back of his mouth, he would open it for one of the little birds to hop inside. The bird would then stand on the huge reptile s tongue and feed himself by cleaning the croc s sharp, deadly teeth. The narrator called it an extraordinary act of synergy and trust. I remember thinking there had to be a better way for those little birds to feed themselves. To me, it just seemed stupid.

As I stood in the back pantry of that creaking, windblown mansion, I felt just like one of those little birds.

One snap and a crunch from oblivion.