X, Page 34

  There was a pause while she tried to place me. “I don’t believe I do, but that was some years ago.”

  “Never mind. It was just the one occasion. Listen, I hear Christian’s back from Lompoc and I was hoping to catch up with him. Is he there?”

  “He’s not.”

  “Do you expect him anytime soon?”

  “Well, honey, I have no idea. You know him. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

  “If I leave my number, could you have him get in touch as soon as he comes in? Nothing urgent, but I’d appreciate it.”

  She took down my office number as I recited it slowly.

  Then I said, “Is he still hanging out at that little bar up the street from you?”

  “He’s there most nights. If you don’t hear back, you drop in after nine o’clock, you can’t miss him. I might see you there myself.”

  “I’ll do that. Thanks so much.”

  • • •

  Lou’s Bar and Grill was right where I’d seen it last, at the corner of Dave Levine and Oliver, half a block north of Trace. The interior was small and dark, except for two pinball machines in the rear that gave off a garish glow and tinkled merrily like the slots in a Las Vegas casino. I was decked out in my usual jeans and turtleneck, but I’d swapped out my tennis shoes for my boots and I’d shrugged into my blazer, which I fancied contributed a jaunty air of confidence.

  I had to park around the corner, but the walk was only a half block. I arrived at 8:45, allowing myself time to get a feel for the place, which was half full—all men, and half of them with lighted cigarettes. Like many neighborhood establishments, there was a certain proprietary air among the patrons. These were the drinkers who showed up after work and stayed until closing time. They didn’t appreciate strangers in their midst. A number of them turned and stared at me pointedly before looking away. I ignored the hostility and found a seat at the bar with an empty stool on either side.

  The bartender, middle-aged and male, appeared, and I ordered a Diet Pepsi just as a change of pace. Sitting at a bar alone can be a tricky proposition. On the whole, I thought it was better to be judged haughty and aloof than as a woman on the prowl. If I’d had a paperback mystery in my shoulder bag, I’d have pulled it out and buried my nose in it.

  At ten after nine, the door opened and Christian ambled in. I could see him do a quick crowd assessment, searching for familiar faces. His gaze passed over me and then came back. He took his time circling the room, greeting people here and there. Eventually he came up on my right side as though entirely by accident.

  “This seat taken?”

  “Help yourself,” I said.

  He gestured at the bartender, who went about the business of making him a martini that he presented in an icy glass with two olives. He seemed comfortable with his transformation—expensive wardrobe, his hair streaked with shades of copper and pale gold. The spray-on tan had faded, but it still looked good on him.

  He kept his gaze on his martini when he next spoke. “You’re Kinsey, right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “You’re the only one in here I don’t know. My grandmother says you left a message for me.”

  “You didn’t return my call.”

  “You left one earlier with my parole officer.”

  “You didn’t return that one, either.”

  “I figured if it was important you’d get back to me, which you did. So what’s this about?”

  “You know what I do for a living?”

  “You’re a private investigator.”

  “Exactly. A couple of weeks ago, I was hired by a woman who claimed she wanted to locate a child she put up for adoption thirty-some-odd years ago. Yours was the name she gave me, along with newspaper clippings about your trial. I found out later she was full of shit, but by then I’d already sent off my report, in which I gave her your mother’s address and phone number. I may have put you in harm’s way and I thought you deserved a warning.”

  “Two weeks is a little late for warnings, don’t you think?”

  “It took me a while to figure out she’d put one over on me. I assume Teddy’s been in touch.”

  “That’s correct,” he said.

  He turned and looked at me with eyes that were a startling gray. Up close I could see that his teeth were good, and his aftershave suggested carnations and clean skin. These are qualities that loom large with me. For the first time, I entertained the idea that he was in Teddy’s life for the amusement value. I might have found him amusing myself, though his criminal history left much to be desired. A hard-boiled private eye and a bank robber seemed like a strange mix.

  “What happened to your safecracking career?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t call it a career. It was an avocation.”

  “A hobby?”

  “Let’s call it a passion and leave it at that.”

  “What was the draw?”

  “I liked the challenge. Problem solving. Getting in there and figuring it all out. I avoided vaults. Those are in a whole separate category that’s way over my head. I started with home safes you could pick up and take with you to work on in your spare time. The fireproof models are lightweight, really just a shell of thin steel walls filled with insulating material to protect the contents from damage in case of a fire.”

  “Have you ever heard of a Diebold Cannonball Safe?”

  “Oh, sure. It was a Cannonball that stumped Jesse James in Northfield, Minnesota. Burglar-resistant safes are a tough proposition. With most, you’re talking about a seven-hundred-and-fifty-pound box embedded in concrete. Safe like that you have to work on in place, which is time-consuming. In those days, I didn’t care about finding cash, which is good because I never netted much.”

  “How’d you manage to support yourself? Did you have an outside job?”

  “I was twelve.”

  “So mowing lawns.”

  “Sometimes, sure. You know what the real problem was? Safecracking requires so much equipment. Drills, cold chisels, sledgehammers, electric saws with diamond-edged blades. An acetylene torch is mandatory, which means you have to have a hose and tank. Punch or drift pins you can’t do without, maybe a two-twenty-volt electric cutting torch. What was I supposed to do, hide it all under my bed?”

  “No blasting caps?”

  “I never got into those. Practice with explosives, you can picture the complaints.”

  “Your mother and your grandmother didn’t notice the gear you had stashed in your room?”

  “I told them I was interested in how things worked. You know, tinkering. What did they care? I could fix small appliances and that was good. I spent a lot of time in my room. I was quiet and industrious. I made good grades. I wasn’t truant. I didn’t hang out on street corners with the bad element.”

  “Eventually you lost interest, is that it?”

  “Essentially. Robbing banks has a bigger thrill quotient for a lot less time and effort. I got addicted to the rush. I’d walk in, calm and relaxed. Three minutes later I’d walk out the door higher than a kite with no illegal substances involved. How can you beat that?”

  “You weren’t concerned about getting shot to death?”

  “I didn’t carry a weapon. The first time a bank guard told me to drop, I’d have dropped. Meantime, I was nice about it. I didn’t yell. I didn’t threaten people—”

  “Not ever?”

  He smiled. “Okay, sometimes. In a note. I know tellers are gullible, but I tried not to take advantage. Most were beautiful young girls I’d have been happy to date. I thought of them as my ninety-second relationships. Brief, but intense. One teller wrote to me for a long time after I went to Lompoc. I can’t remember her name now.”

  “Lucy.” That got his attention, but I didn’t want to stop and explain. Instead, I said, “You couldn’t have enjoyed prison life
.”

  “Uh, no. I did not. I met some very smart gentlemen and a number of thugs. I learned how to protect myself, which was not always pleasant for the other fellow.”

  “Why would you risk going back?”

  “Look, I appreciate your concern. Especially coming in here like this. You didn’t have to go out of your way.”

  “I feel responsible.”

  “You needn’t. I can take care of myself.”

  “And you’ve done so well to date,” I remarked.

  “Don’t be a wiseass. I can see you have advice to offer. You want to say your piece?”

  “Sure. I think it’s a mistake to get caught up in someone else’s melodrama. Especially those two.”

  “You don’t find it amusing?”

  “Not even a little bit,” I said. “Ari knows there’s something afoot.”

  “Of course he does. Teddy likes it that way. Keeps him on his toes.”

  I pulled my shoulder bag up onto my lap and removed one of my business cards. “That’s my number on the off chance you’ll want to get in touch.”

  “I already have your number. My PO passed it on. And I’m sure Teddy knows how to reach you.”

  “Of course. Silly me. She’s the one who set this in motion, isn’t she? You expect to make money off this scheme, whatever it is?”

  “If not, I got some cool threads out of the deal.”

  I hauled the strap of my bag over my shoulder and slid off the bar stool. I was on the verge of pulling out my wallet when Christian stayed my hand, saying, “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No need.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I meant it when I said I appreciate your concern.”

  “Christian, those two have been knocking heads for years. End of the day, they’ll still be having a good time. You’re the one who’ll pay.”

  I stepped out of the bar into night air so clean and sweet, it had the shocking quality of ice water being flung in my face. I hoped the brief walk would dispel the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to my hair and clothes. Even as I slid under the steering wheel and secured my seat belt, I knew I’d have to shower before I went to bed or my sheets would pick up the same smell.

  I drove home along the beach. My exchange with Satterfield had been a letdown. I’d thought warning him would relieve me of any further responsibility, but I was not off the hook. In essence, he’d said “Thank you very much and get lost.” Repeating myself would in no way produce the desired effect. I’d cautioned him and he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in walking away. He thought he was smart enough to sidestep the fallout. The problem was I had nowhere to go from here. You can’t make someone else do anything, even if you know you’re right.

  • • •

  The next morning as I was leaving for work, I caught sight of Henry’s station wagon pulling into the drive. He parked, went around to the passenger side, and helped Edna out of the vehicle.

  I went out and gave him a wave. “You’re up early.”

  Edna said, “I needed some items at the grocery store and I didn’t dare wait too long or it would be crowded.”

  “Mr. McClaskey arrived at seven to finish his inspection.”

  “He’s here? Where’d he park his truck?”

  “He found a spot across the street. When I told him Edna and I would be making a run, he made sure he wasn’t blocking the drive.”

  Mr. McClaskey apparently heard our conversation and he appeared from the side of the garage. He doffed his cap at the sight of Edna, but aside from that he was all business.

  “I believe I’ve found the source of your water loss, Mr. Pitts, if you’ll just step this way.”

  Henry and I were both interested. Edna had certainly heard enough of Henry’s complaints and I expected her to be as curious as we were, but she seemed to hang back.

  Mr. McClaskey moved into the gap between Henry’s garage and the board fence that separated his property from the Shallenbargers’.

  He pointed at a good-size hole he’d dug. “There’s your lateral,” he said, indicating a pipe visible at the bottom of the hole. “And that is a T joint someone’s cut into your line. You can see the joins right here. There’s a run of PVC pipe that goes under the fence. On the other side, it comes up into a hose bib you can see if you take a look.”

  Edna stood at some remove, her attention drawn to Mr. McClaskey’s commentary in the manner of someone passing the scene of a fatal traffic accident.

  Henry and I both craned our necks to see over the fence. The hose bib had an adapter on it that allowed two hoses to be attached to the same faucet. A twenty-foot-long green hose extended from each threaded metal end. The two hoses ran in opposite directions. Both connected to portable sprinkler heads that consisted of a rounded tube with holes through which water would shoot, forming a graceful arc as each head moved from side to side. It was an inexpensive alternative to in-ground irrigation systems, the prime drawback being the necessity for manual intervention. At the moment, neither hose was in use but the grass was still wet from a recent watering.

  We both stared without comprehension.

  Henry turned to the plumber. “What is this?”

  Mr. McClaskey lifted his chin and scratched under it, an action that gave his reply a certain droll quality. “Well. I’d have to say someone’s tapped into your lateral to access your water for their own personal irrigation purposes.”

  “Access?” Henry blinked. “Do you mean stealing?”

  “That’s pretty much the long and short of it,” McClaskey replied.

  Henry turned to Edna with a look of dismay.

  “That was there when we moved in,” she said indignantly. “Of course we used it. It’s in our yard, so why would we not? But we had no knowledge whatever that the hose bib and faucet were connected to your water line.”

  “As often as I’ve complained about high water usage, it never occurred to you to see what that hose bib was attached to?”

  “Why would it occur to me? I don’t know anything about plumbing. I don’t know anything about gardening or yard maintenance. I’m doing the best I can to handle the care of a disabled husband. We had nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course you did. Dale Adelson didn’t install that line,” I said.

  “I don’t know your Mr. Adelson, but the hose bib has to be his handiwork because it certainly isn’t ours.”

  Henry pointed in the direction of the hose bib. “The first time we met, you were huddled right there, burying your little doggie, or so you claimed. I said hello over the fence and that’s when you told me she died. I felt sorry for you. You were probably tapping into my line right then.”

  “We did not put in that T. We knew nothing about it until this very minute. My husband and I are both old and he’s been ill and we live on a fixed income, which provides barely enough to get by as it is. We are honorable people doing the best we can, and I can’t believe you’d suggest we were in any way responsible. You surely can’t suspect my poor husband of any tomfoolery when he’s confined to a wheelchair and has been for the past six years.”

  I raised a tentative hand to refute that bit about Joseph’s being confined to a wheelchair since I’d seen him amble around the house in the most casual manner imaginable. I lowered my hand again, thinking this was probably not the moment to speak up.

  Henry’s face was stony, but he was having the same difficulty I was in forming a response to someone making such categorical denials in that string of declarative sentences. “My water bill has doubled,” he said, outraged. “You’ve watched me tear up my yard trying to correct the problem. And that’s all you have to say?”

  “What else would you have me say? Your allegations are completely false and I will not put up with it.”

 
Henry turned to the plumber. “Thank you, Mr. McClaskey. Leave that as it is for the time being. I’ll want photographs.” Then he walked to his back door, banging it shut behind him as he went in.

  Edna stood her ground. “I have never in my life been addressed in such a manner. We’ve been the best neighbors we know how, and all we get in return is spite. He has slandered us. He has tarnished our name and our good reputation. I intend to call our attorney and report this. I wouldn’t be surprised if he urged us to file suit.”

  She looked from one of us to the other, but neither Mr. McClaskey nor I had anything to say.

  “Now I suppose I’ll have to tell Joseph what’s happened. He’ll be distraught. We both thought the world of Mr. Pitts. I can’t believe the man could be so swift to judge and so unwilling to consider the facts.”

  She turned and walked down the driveway with as much dignity as she could muster. Mr. McClaskey and I exchanged one of those looks that confirmed we were both of the same opinion. The Shallenbargers had been pulling a fast one, never expecting to get caught and called on it.

  37

  For a merry change of pace, I bypassed the office and drove to Montebello Luxury Properties. I couldn’t help but wonder what the fallout would be from the Shallenbargers’ thievery. There was no way Henry would recoup his losses, which probably hadn’t even reached the dollar amount that distinguished petit theft from grand. Henry would take photographs, Mr. McClaskey would remove the T connection, and that would be that. From my perspective the discovery of the illegal tap was a boon. The sticky buns and cheery chats across the fence had come to an end, and there would be no more shopping expeditions for Edna. I wouldn’t even have to argue with Henry about my dim view of the pair. My only reservation stemmed from the suspicion that we hadn’t seen the last of them. Scoundrels, even elderly ones, are remarkably resilient and not so easily defeated.

  When I reached the real estate office, I parked in the tiny lot and let myself in the front door. The shopkeeper’s bell jingled.

  At the reception desk, Kim was smoothing one fingernail with an emery board. She looked up with an expression of anticipation, which turned only slightly sour at the sight of me. She was wary—not quite hostile, but certainly not cocky and superior as she’d been on our first encounter. Since I’d been so warmly welcomed by the company’s top producer, she was probably hesitant to treat me with the same condescension.