True Detectives

CHAPTER 5

The big detective room echoed.

Just Moe Reed at his desk and D- 3 Delano Hardy in a far corner, on the phone, talking to someone about a court appearance.

Hardy had as many years on the job as Sturgis-had partnered with Sturgis back when the lieutenant still did that. Moe, still feeling like a trainee, had made it his business to eavesdrop when the older detectives talked.

Delano 's case sounded like a gang shooting, bad guy nabbed early, easy confession. Routine, nothing to learn. Moe was just about to pay attention to his own work when tension snaked into Hardy's voice and his volume rose.

Turned out this bad guy was a fifteen-year-old girl and her lawyers were pushing a child abuse/diminished capacity defense. On top of that, she was Hispanic and Hardy was black, so the race card was going to be used to sully the confession.

Hardy grunted, drank coffee, grunted.

Sturgis made those same sounds when he was pissed. Maybe that was the mark of decades on the job. Or getting old. Moe wondered if someday he'd end up sounding like a wounded steer.

He tasted his own coffee, long cold. Drinking out of one of those body-outline mugs from the coroner's gift shop. Present from Liz. Cute, but it didn't improve the taste of D-room swill.

Flipping through the Frostig file, he found Rory Stoltz's cell number, phoned, got voice mail. Rory sounding cheerful and confident. Whatever grief he'd mustered was long gone.

At the landline, Rory's mother answered and as Moe identified himself he searched the file for her name. Martha. Work number, the Peninsula in Beverly Hills where she was a room-service coordinator.

“Have you found Caitlin?” she said.

“Unfortunately not, ma'am. I'm trying to reach Rory.”

“Why?”

“Doing follow-up.”

“Rory's busy at school.”

“Any idea when he'll be free?”

“He's an adult,” said Martha Stoltz. “I don't keep tabs on him.”

“Does he still live at home?”

Silence. It's not a trick question.

“Ma'am-”

“I don't understand why you're calling, Detective Reed. You talked to Rory, what, three, four times? Asking the same questions over and over. It was very upsetting to Rory. He felt you were trying to trip him up.”

“I wasn't, ma'am,” Moe lied. “Sometimes we need to do that just to be thorough.”

“It really bothered him, that you could suspect him. Rory was so fond of Caitlin. No one was more upset when she disappeared.”

“I hear you, ma'am, but sometimes we need to reinterview.”

“Well, Rory's in plain sight, living his life.”

Before Moe could respond, she hung up.

Why all the anger? Maybe she'd had a bad day. Or she really was fed up with her only child being drawn into a murder investigation.

He called Pepperdine administration, tried to wangle Rory's class schedule out of a perky secretary, then her supervisor.

No go. Maybe someone with more experience could've pulled it off, maybe not.

At ten a.m. he took a walk, the way he'd seen Sturgis do, covering half a mile of the working-class residential neighborhood that surrounded the station.

No slam-bam insights. He phoned Liz. She answered, sounding groggy, but when she said, “It's you,” her voice lightened, and she appended, “Sweetie.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I'm just lying here with a monster headache and thinking about everything that's piled up while I was gone.”

“Poor baby.”

“What bugs me, Moses, is I know the physiology of jet lag, did everything I could to hydrate. But no matter how much water I pump, my eyes are gritty and my skin feels like crepe paper.”

Moe imagined that. Chocolate-brown paper, smoothing under his touch. “You'll be fine before you know it. How was the flight?”

“The usual delays and they ran out of beverages, except for booze, talk about dehydration.” She laughed. “The guy next to me was about a thousand pounds. He popped two Ambiens and snored like a choo-choo the entire flight. Try climbing Mount Fleshy to get to the john.”

Moe laughed along with her. “Well, now you're back and I'll take care of you.”

“Good, I could use some care, Moses. When do you want to hang?”

“Unless something breaks, I'll be free at four, five.”

“Caitlin?”

“Yup.”

“You transfer and they send it along,” said Liz. “Totally unjust.”

“It'll work itself out. You shutting in all day?”

“I was planning to go to the lab to clear my desk. But I'm feeling so punk I think I'll pass. So anytime. Want me to order something in?”

“Whatever you want. See you at five, with bells.”

“Bells, huh? Plan on sliding down the chimney?”

“Oh, man,” he said. “Symbolism this early in the day.”

Liz cracked up. “You bring it out in me, Moses. That's why we're going steady.”

Feeling better, he turned back, detoured for a maple bear claw from a coffee shop on Santa Monica, ate it on the way, and reapproached the Frostig file with elevated blood sugar.

Concentrating on the interviews with Rory Stoltz, trying to tease out anything he might've missed.

Across the room, Del Hardy said, “Well, look who the smog blew in.”

Chortles and palm-smacking high-fives made Moe glance over.

Del was on his feet, grinning.

At Aaron.

Aaron pretended to ignore Moe, kept shooting the breeze with the older detective. Not deferential to Hardy. Relaxed, a peer.

Moe pretended to ignore Aaron back. Aaron said something to Hardy in a low voice and Hardy laughed again.

Something to do with Del 's case? Had Aaron been hired by the fifteen-year-old hit-vixen's lawyers to stir up trouble?

But if Del saw Aaron as the enemy, you couldn't tell from his posture. Just the opposite, two guys, shooting the breeze.

Two black guys. They could've been a rumpled dad and his much cooler son.

Moe the invisible man. He buried his face in the file.

“Moses!”

Aaron was standing over him, grinning. As if he hadn't just shined Moe on. Moe couldn't care less about clothes, thought his blazers and khakis were just fine for the job. But sometimes, when he saw how Aaron put himself together, he felt underdressed.

Today's haute-whatever was a slim-fit black suit, white shirt, orange tie as bright as a Caltrans cone, worn with one of those oversized knots that took up a whole bunch of space and screamed Serious GQ.

Moe's knot was always slipping. It felt loose, right now, but he resisted the urge to yank.

Now Del Hardy was staring at him, perplexed by Moe's unresponsiveness.

Moe said, “Hey.”

“Morning, bro. Busy?”

“Yup.”

“Busy on Caitlin Frostig?”

Moe's chest tightened. “Why?”

“She's mine now,” said Aaron. “In addition to being yours.”

Moe shut the file. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about free enterprise, Moses.”

“Who hired you?”

“Mr. Frostig's boss.”

“Why not Frostig himself?”

“Bookkeeper's salary affording my daily? I think not. We need to chat, bro.”

“Nothing to chat about.”

Aaron placed a hand on Moe's shoulder. Moe removed it.

“It's going to be that way, Moses?”

“There's nothing to talk about. The case is nowhere.”

“Maybe I can find a somewhere.”

“Miracle worker.”

Aaron grinned. “It's been known to happen.”

Moe turned away.

“Moses, on those marsh murders. I don't think I'd be exaggerating if I said I played somewhat of a role.”

“This is different.”

“How about a look at the file?”

“Nothing worth looking at.”

“C'mon, Moe.”

“Forget it.”

Aaron shrugged. “From what Mr. Frostig said, I guess I shouldn't be surprised.”

“About what?”

“His feeling is you never considered Caitlin worth your time.”

Moe's face got hot. He knew he'd turned beet red. Something Aaron could always avoid.

“He can feel what he wants. Not going to change the facts.”

“I agree,” said Aaron.

“With what?”

“Frostig's opinion not being worth much. He's a weirdo, strange affect-that's shrink-talk for off-kilter emotional responses. Who knows, he could be one of those Asperbergers-that's an autism-spectrum disorder-”

“I know what it is.”

“Been reading up on psychology?”

Actually, Moe had. Going through a pile of books Dr. Delaware had suggested. Interesting stuff, but none of it relevant to Caitlin Frostig.

Moe smiled. His face continued to flame.

Aaron said, “Maitland doesn't bother you?”

“Do I see him as a suspect? Nothing points that way.”

“Not a suspect, Moses. A factor-a contributing factor. As in Caitlin's got one parent and unfortunately that one parent is a weirdo and she finally has enough of living with him and decides to book.”

“A rabbit,” said Moe. “You've got evidence of that?”

“I've got nothing except a big fat retainer that I'd like to deserve. That's why I'm here instead of taking the C4S around the track at Laguna Seca. Which is what I'd planned to do before Mr. Dmitri- Frostig's boss-called me in.”

“Vacation time.”

“Well earned, Moses.”

“No one forced you to take the case.”

“Mr. Dmitri's an important client. He beckons, I come.”

“That makes you sound like a dog.”

Aaron laughed. “We're all dogs, bro. Only question is, are we going to eat quality chow or scrounge in the trash? Come on, give me a look at the file. I'll take you out to lunch and we can brainstorm-I pay.”

“Dmitri pays.”

“Either way, you don't. How about the Peninsula?”

Martha Stoltz's workplace.

Moe said, “Why there?”

“I like the menu.”

“That's the only reason?”

Aaron laughed. “What other reason would there be? C'mon, let's do it.”

Over the black silk of Aaron's broad shoulders, Moe spotted Del ano Hardy's eyes.

Watching, taking it all in.

Moe thought of the jovial exchange between Hardy and Aaron.

Aaron said, “Be flexible, bro.”

Moe stood. Placed the file in a drawer and locked it.

“Okay, I get it, bro,” said Aaron.

“Get what?”

“You're the man, I'm hired help.”

“ Peninsula 's fine,” said Moe.

“Great menu,” said Aaron. “I hear the room service is pretty good, too.”