Time Bomb

36

Ambulances. Crime-scene van. Another domino spill of squad cars, roof-flashers pulsing in counterpoint to my heartbeat.

All the old mechanical vultures, familiar as pets… A street without them would look naked.

Burden pulled the van behind one of the black-and-whites. A very young-looking cop came over to the driver’s window and said, “If you people don’t live around here, you’ll have to move.”

Milo said, “It’s okay, Sitz.” Propping himself up on his elbows, his face just visible over the driver’s bucket seat.

The officer tensed and peered in.

“It’s me, Sitz.”

“Detective Sturgis? You okay, sir?”

“Big trouble out in Van Nuys. Fire, multiple deaths. I was lucky- all I lost was my shirt and ID. These good citizens helped get me over here. Possibly related to one of my cases. What’s the situation?”

“Attempt One-eighty-seven. Detective Hardy’s up there. We haven’t heard much-”

As Milo reached over and opened the door, Sitz backed away from it. I was out of the van like a bandit, running, hearing Milo’s voice behind me: “It’s okay, let him go.”

Racing up the walkway to the apartment, past a pair of technicians carrying crime-scene kits, a handful of gawkers in nightclothes lounging behind a tape line.

Ducking under the tape. Someone said, “Whoa, he’s stressed out.”

Another cop came forward, one hand on his gun. Tall, thin, beach tan over pimples. Heavy underbite. God, they were hiring them young.

I said, “I need to get up there.”

He held me back with one arm. “Are you a resident of the building, sir?”

“Yes.”

He raised the clipboard. “Name and apartment number?”

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. I contemplated violence.

Underbite sensed it and touched his gun.

A voice at my back. “It’s okay, Stoppard.”

Milo was trying to look dignified with his wounds and his tattered undershirt.

Underbite stared at him and said, “Sir?”

“I said it’s okay, Stoppard.”

Underbite stepped aside.

I raced forward, legs churning. Into the green-foil lobby. Another uniform holding the closet/elevator open. When he saw me, he touched his pistol too. A second later, when he saw Milo, he gave a B-movie double take.

Milo said, “Out of the elevator, Buell. Stay in the lobby.”

A silent, maddening ride up three flights. So slow. Endless. Me punching the walls of the elevator. Milo just standing there, close to me. I knew he could smell my fear, but he made no effort to distance himself.

When the elevator finally bumped to a stop, I squeezed myself through the door before it was completely open. More green foil. Racing to the far end.

Cop at the door. Always cops. Suspicious eyes. Milo giving the okay.

“Yes, sir.”

Through her door, now tagged with an LAPD crime-scene label. Into her living room. Bright lights. Perfume smell. Oyster walls. Fresh vacuum tracks in gold carpeting- what an organized young lady. Stretched out on the carpet, something human-sized in a black zipped bag.

I broke down, sank to my knees.

A gray-haired, bearded man in a bottle-green blazer and gray flannels sat at the butcher-block table holding a mini-recorder. Black Gladstone bag at his feet. Stethoscope around his neck. Different kind of house call.

He looked up at me. Diagnostic appraisal. But no sympathy- just curiosity.

Sounds from the bedroom.

I got up, staggered in.

More perfume. Cloying.

A slender balding black man in a navy-blue suit stood by the brass bed, holding a note pad and gold pen. The covers were in disarray.

Linda sat on the bottom sheet, shoulders hunched, knees drawn to her chest, wearing a pink quilted robe. Staring off into space.

I ran to her. Held marble.

The man in the navy suit turned. Such a nice suit. He’d always had a thing for clothes. Dapper half of the “odd couple” when he’d partnered with Milo. Tonight no exception… sky-blue broadcloth shirt with white pin collar, red-and-blue paisley tie…

Rust-red. Just a shade lighter than the muddy spots on the mirror above the dresser.

Rust on the plaster too. Three holes, radiating spider-leg cracks, left of the mirror, tight formation. The top surface of the dresser a wasteland of tipped perfume bottles, free-form blood blotches, shattered mirror-tray. Blood looped down the front of a drawer. The carpet was a collage of glass shards, more mud, something metallic. A snub-nosed revolver with a walnut grip. To my unpracticed eye, identical to the one Milo carried when he carried.

Delano Hardy looked at me with surprise and said, “Doc. She talked about you. Was worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“She’s gonna be fine too.” The power of wishful thinking.

I held her tighter, stroked her back. Still frozen.

“… and she did a good job,” Del was saying. “Protected herself, which is what it’s all about, right?”

He pointed to the revolver.

I’m a crack shot…

Very softly, he said, “Tough lady. She’s got my vote for sheriff. Gave her statement really coherently. Then, when we were through, she got real quiet, sank into the way she is now- the shock’s settling in, according to the coroner. Not physical shock, psychological-your neck of the woods. Physically she’s okay, the vital signs and everything. Coroner checked her out, said she was tough, gave her something to take the edge off, make her sleepy. Said she looks fine physically, but should go in for a couple days observation. Ambulance from UCLA is on its way.”

Talking faster than I’d ever heard Del Hardy talk. Despite all the years, all the bodies, still able to be affected. I remembered why I liked him. Apart from the fact that he’d saved my life. Once upon a time…

I said, “It’s down there already, Del.”

“What’s that?”

“The ambulance. It’s here.”

“Oh.” Del looked at me diagnostically too.

I held Linda closer, tried to engulf her, be everything for her. Finally she molded to me, but remained cold and inert as modeling clay.

Milo came into the room.

Del’s eyes widened. “Must have been some kind of party, guy.”

Milo said, “Hot time in the old town, Del. Shoulda been there.” Battered, but oddly authoritative. His gaze rested on Linda. He and Del traded cop-to-cop eye signals. As in the past, I felt like an outsider. Didn’t mind.

Hardy repeated the few facts he’d just told me, seemed to be talking even faster. Pushing comfort.

Linda began to tremble violently. I held on to her but it wasn’t enough to make her stop.

Milo’s big face drooped with pain and empathy. He said, “Let’s talk outside, Del.”

Del nodded, put away his pen and pad and said, “Keep her warm, Doc. Pull the covers over her. She’s supposed to be resting.”

They left.

I lowered her down on the bed and gathered the comforter around her. Stroked her face, her hair. She was still shaking. Gradually it slowed, then ceased. She began breathing rhythmically. I touched her cheek. Kissed it. Kissed her eyes. Waited until I was certain she was deeply asleep before returning to the living room.

Del and Milo were walking the green-jacketed coroner to the door. His trousers had a sharp crease. Everyone had dressed for tonight.

Milo had on a couple of handages.

After the coroner was gone, Del pointed to the body bag.

“Intruder got in by picking the lock.” he said. “B-and-E tools, professional set. But he made too much noise doing it and woke up the victim- Dr. Overstreet. Not that it was a particularly sloppy job- pretty good, actually.”

Pointing to the doorjamb. I couldn’t see any scratch marks.

Milo examined it and said, “Spick-and-span, no print dust. No dust in the bedroom either. I saw the print boys down there. What’s the delay?”

“My orders,” said Del. “Haven’t authorized them yet. The uniforms who got here don’t think they touched the jamb but they did touch the knob and they trampled the bedroom pretty darned good charging it- it was a Code Three. They were after prevention, not preservation.”

Milo said, “Yeah.”

Del said, “Let me ask you. Any reason to go through the whole shebang, trash her place? Most of it’s light surfaces- that means the black dust. You know what a godawful mess that makes. Seems like a clear-cut self-defense situation. Coroner says height of the spatters backs up everything she said.”

Milo thought and rubbed his face and said, “No reason.”

“I mean, if we’re going to get into a giant hassle, let’s do it, Milo. But I just don’t see the point.”

“No point,” said Milo. “I’ll handle any procedural hassles.” Glance at the body bag. “Tell me a bedtime story, Del.”

Del said, “Okay, so she hears the door opening, wakes up. She’s normally a good sleeper but tonight she was jumpy because of the doc’s call.” He looked at me. “Something about your being followed, some weird Nazi stuff that I couldn’t really make out. What I did get was that ’cause you sounded worried, that worried her.”

“Goddam good reason to be worried,” said Milo.

Del stared at Milo’s wounds and said, “Your hot party’s related to this?”

Milo let out a long sigh; suddenly he looked weak and wasted. “It’s a long story, Del. You wouldn’t believe it if I tried to give it to you for free.”

“I’m open-minded,” said Del.

Milo smiled. “It’s a four-drink story, Delano. You buy; I tell.”

“After the paperwork?”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Hardy shrugged. “You’re the D-Three. Someone gets on my case, I blame it all on you. You sure you don’t want a blanket?”

“I’m fine,” said Milo. “Tell the story.”

“Where was I,” said Del. “Yeah, she was jumpy- so jumpy she took her gun out of storage. S and W Police Special. Apparently it used to belong to someone named Mondo back in Texas where she’s originally from- she didn’t want to talk about that. I couldn’t get that part real clear. If the reg isn’t kosher, I imagine we can work that out, too, right? No Bernie Goetz illegal weapons bullshit. Anyway, she had a box of bullets for it, loaded it up, put it on her night stand, and had it ready to grab when she heard the intruder out in the living room. Intruder came tippy-toeing in. There was light from the window above the bed. She could see the intruder swinging something- we found it over in the corner. Louisville Slugger with nails sticking out of it, real pretty. She yelled at the intruder to stop. Intruder kept coming. She yelled again, kept yelling. Intruder didn’t pay any mind. So she emptied the gun. Three slugs in the intruder, three near-misses in the wall. She’s a damn good shot, considering the situation. Hope she doesn’t waste too much time on guilt.”

He knelt beside the bag. “Now for the interesting part.” Tugging down and parting a foot of zipper. It sounded like something ripping.

A face stared up at us.

Female. Capuchin-monkey face under dirty-blond hair. Mussed hair. Eyes closed, the left one puffy and plum-colored. Skin tinted gray- the greenish-gray reserved for Death’s palette. A quarter-sized, black-edged ruby hole in the left cheek. Dry lips, parted. Between them a sliver of corn-niblet tooth.

“A woman,” said Hardy. “Can you top that? No ID, nothing on her. One thing we should have them dust is the bat. Hopefully we’ll pull something off of that.”

“She calls herself Crisp,” I said. “Audrey Crisp. That may or may not be her real name.”

“Yeah?” said Del. “Well, Crisp got herself crisped.” Shaking his head. Tugging the zipper another inch lower. “Want to see more?”

“Anything to see?” said Milo.

“Just two more holes down below.”

Milo shook his head.

Del zipped up the bag. “Lady with a baseball bat- all those spikes, like one of those medieval things. Mace, or something. Gotta be one for the books, right? Ever see that before, Milo?”

I walked back into the bedroom. Sat on the bed. Linda opened her eyes, muttered something that could have been my name.

With no evidence to the contrary, I decided it had been my name.

The power of wishful thinking…

I brushed hair away from her brow and kissed it.

She whimpered and turned on her side, facing me, looking up at me.

I lay down beside her and closed my eyes. When the ambulance attendants came for her, they had to wake me. Had to pry my arm from around her waist, and hers from mine.