The Last Detective

  “I'll need help. We've got a lot more physicals than yesterday.”

  Starkey squatted at the edge of the crushed grass, then bent to look close at something in the dirt.

  She said, “John, gimme the tweezers.”

  Chen handed her a Ziploc bag and tweezers from his evidence kit. Starkey picked up a small brown ball with the tweezers, eyeballed it, then put it into the bag. She looked up into the tree, then at the ground again.

  I said, “What is it?”

  “They look like mouse turds, but they're not. They're all over the place.”

  Starkey picked one from a broad leaf of grass and put it onto her palm. Chen looked horrified.

  “Don't touch it with your bare skin!”

  I moved closer to see, and this time she didn't tell me to step back. A dozen dark brown wads the size of a BB stood out clearly on the hardpack. More brown flecks clung to the grass. I knew what they were as soon as I saw them because I had seen things like this when I was in the Army.

  “It's tobacco.”

  Chen said, “How do you know?”

  “A smoker on patrol chews tobacco to get his fix. You chew, there's no smoke to give you away. That's what this guy did. He chewed, then spit out the bits of the tobacco when they were used up.”

  Starkey glanced at me, and I knew what she was thinking. Another connection to Vietnam. She handed the bag to Chen. She dry-swallowed another white pill, then studied me for a moment with a deep vertical line between her eyebrows.

  “I want to try out something on you.”

  “What?”

  “Over by your house, this guy doesn't leave anything, one measly little partial that we could barely see. Here, he leaves crap all over the place.”

  “He felt safe here.”

  “Yeah. He had a good spot down here where no one could see him, so he didn't give a shit. I'm thinking that if he got careless down here, maybe he got careless up at the street, too. There aren't many houses on this stretch, and we got that construction site right here around the curve. I've gotta call Gittamon and have patrol pull the door-to-door to this side of the canyon, but there aren't that many people to talk to. By the time Gittamon and the uniforms get out here, you and I could have it done.”

  “I thought I wasn't supposed to be involved.”

  “I didn't ask for a lot of conversation. You want to do it or you want to waste time?”

  “Of course I want to do it.”

  Starkey glanced at Chen.

  “You tell anyone, I'll kick your ass.”

  We left Chen calling SID for another criminalist, and walked back along the curve to the construction site. A single-story contemporary had been ripped apart to expand the ground floor and add a second story. A long blue Dumpster sat in the street in front of the house, already half-filled with trimmed lumber and other debris. A framing crew was roughing in the second floor while electricians pulled wire through the first-floor conduit. Here it was late fall, but the workmen were shirtless and in shorts.

  An older man with baggy pants was bent over a set of plans in the garage, explaining something to a sleepy young guy wearing electrician's tools. The drywall inside the garage and the house had been pulled down, leaving the studs exposed like human ribs.

  Starkey didn't wait for them to notice us or excuse the interruption. She badged the older guy.

  “LAPD. I'm Starkey, he's Cole. Are you the boss here?”

  The older man identified himself as Darryl Cauley, the general contractor. His face closed with suspicion.

  “Is this an INS thing? If someone's sneaking under the wire, I got a signed bond from every sub saying these people are legal.”

  The younger guy started away, but Starkey stopped him.

  “Yo, stay put. We want to talk to everyone.”

  Cauley darkened even more.

  “What is this?”

  Talking to people wasn't one of Starkey's strengths, so I answered before he decided to call his attorney.

  “We believe that a kidnapper was in the area, Mr. Cauley. He parked or drove on this street every day for the past week or so. We want to know if you noticed any vehicles or people who seemed out of place.”

  The electrician hooked his thumbs on his tools and perked up.

  “No shit? Was someone kidnapped?”

  Starkey said, “A ten-year-old boy. It happened the day before yesterday.”

  “Wow.”

  Mr. Cauley tried to be helpful, but explained that he divided his time between three different job sites; he rarely stayed at this house more than a couple of hours each day.

  “I don't know what to tell you. I got subs coming and going, I got the different crews. Do you have a picture, what do they call it, a mug shot?”

  “No, sir. We don't know who he is or what he looks like. We don't know what he was driving, either, but we believe he spent a lot of time around the curve where your crew is parked.”

  The electrician glanced toward the curve.

  “Oh, man, that is so creepy.”

  Cauley said, “I'd like to help, but I don't know. These guys here, their friends drop by, their girlfriends. I got another site over in Beachwood, last month a limo pulls up with all these suits from Capitol Records. They signed one of the carpenters to a record deal for three million dollars. You never know, is what I'm saying.”

  Starkey said, “Can we talk to your crew?”

  “Yeah, sure. James, you wanna call your guys? Tell Frederico and the framers to come down.”

  Between the framers and the electricians, Cauley had nine men working that day. Two of the framers had trouble with English, but Cauley helped with the Spanish. Everyone cooperated when they heard that a child was missing, but no one remembered anyone out of the ordinary. The day felt half over by the time we finished even though it was not yet noon.

  Starkey fired up a cigarette when we reached the Dumpster.

  “Okay. Let's do the houses.”

  “He wouldn't have parked more than five or six houses on either side of the curve. The farther he had to walk, the bigger the risk that someone would see him.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “Let's split up. I'll take the houses on the far side and you take the houses on this side. It'll be faster.”

  Starkey agreed. I left her with the cigarette and trotted back past our cars to the houses on the far side of the curve. An Ecuadorean housekeeper answered at the first house, but she hadn't seen anyone or anything, and wasn't able to help. No one answered at the next house, but an elderly man wearing a thin robe and slippers answered at the third. He was so frail with osteoporosis that he drooped like a dying flower. I explained about the man on the slope and asked if he had seen anyone. The old man's toothless mouth hung open. I told him that a boy was missing. He didn't answer. I slipped my card into his pocket, told him to call if he remembered something, then pulled the door closed. I spoke with another housekeeper, a young woman with three small children, then reached another house where no one was home. It was a weekday and people were working.

  I thought about trying the houses farther up the street but Starkey was leaning against her Crown Vic when I got back to our cars.

  I said, “You get anything?”

  “C'mon, Cole, do I look like it? I've talked to so many people who haven't seen anything that I asked one broad if she ever went outside.”

  “People skills aren't your strong point, are they?”

  “Look, I've gotta call Gittamon to get some help out here. I want to run down the garbage men, the mailman, the private security cars that work this street, and anyone else who might've seen something, but you and I have taken it as far as we can. You gotta split.”

  “C'mon, Starkey, there's plenty to do and I can help do it. I can't walk away now.”

  She spoke carefully, with a soft voice.

  “It's scut work, Cole. You need to get some rest. I'll call you if we get something.”

  “I can call the security companies f
rom my house.”

  My voice sounded desperate even to me. She shook her head.

  “You know that movie they make you watch before the plane takes off, when they're telling you what to do in an emergency?”

  My head was filled with a faraway buzz as if I were drunk and hungry at the same time.

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “They tell you that if the plane loses pressure, you're supposed to put on your own oxygen mask before you put on your kid's. The first time I saw that I thought, bullshit, if I had a kid I'd sure as shit put on her mask first. It's natural, you know? You want to save your child. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. You have to save yourself first because if you're not alive, you sure as hell can't help your child. That's you, Cole. You have to put on your mask if you want to help Ben. Go home. I'll call you if something pops.”

  She walked away from me then and joined Chen at his van.

  I climbed into my car. I didn't know if I would go home, or not. I didn't know if I would sleep, or could. I left. I drove around the curve and saw a pale yellow catering van parked by the Dumpster because that's the way it works. You lay the bricks until you get a break.

  The van had just arrived.

  Maybe if I hadn't been so tired I would have thought of it sooner: Construction crews have to eat, and catering vans feed them, twice a day every day, breakfast and lunch. It was eleven-fifty. Ben had been missing for almost forty-four hours.

  I left my car in the street and ran to a narrow door at the back of the van that had been propped open for the heat. Inside, two young men in white T-shirts were bent over a grill. A short round woman barked orders at them in a mix of Spanish and English as they dished up grilled chicken sandwiches and paper plates spilling over with tacos and salsa verde to the line at the window. The woman glanced over and nodded toward the open wall of the van.

  “You got to stand in line over here.”

  “A little boy has been kidnapped. We think the man who took him spent a lot of time on this street. You might have seen his car.”

  She came to the door, wiping her hands on a pink terry towel.

  “Wha' you mean, a little boy? You the police?”

  The electrician from earlier was in line at the window.

  He said, “Yeah, he's with the cops. Some guy stole a kid, can ya believe that, right around here? They're trying to find him.”

  The woman stepped out of the van to join me in the street. Her name was Marisol Luna, and she owned the catering business. I described the scene on the other side of the curve, and asked if she had noticed any vehicles parked in that area during the past two weeks or anyone who didn't seem to fit.

  “I don' think so.”

  “What about when no one else was parked there? One vehicle by itself.”

  She rubbed her hands through the towel as if it helped worry up her memories.

  “I see the plumber. We finish the breakfast here and we goin' that way—”

  She pointed toward the curve, and the buzzing in my head grew worse.

  “—an' I see the plumber go down the hill.”

  I glanced toward the work crew, searching for Cauley. Marisol Luna was the first person I found who had seen anything.

  “How do you know he was the plumber? Was he working here at this house?”

  “It say on the truck. Emilio's Plumbing. I remember 'cause my husband, his name is Emilio. That's why I remember the truck. I smile when I see the name, an' I tell my husband that night, but he no look like my Emilio. He black. He have things on his face like bumps.”

  I called out to the construction workers.

  “Where's Cauley? Can someone get Cauley?”

  Then I turned back to Mrs. Luna.

  “The man who went down the hill was black?”

  “No. The man in the truck, he black. The man on the hill, he Anglo.”

  “Two men?”

  The buzzing in my head grew more frantic, like riding a caffeine rush. The electrician came around the end of the truck with Mr. Cauley.

  He said, “You guys have any luck?”

  “Have you had a plumber or plumbing contractor working here named Emilio or Emilio's Plumbing, anything like that?”

  Cauley shook his head.

  “Nope, never. I use the same sub over and over, all my jobs, a man named Donnelly.”

  Mrs. Luna said, “The truck, it say Emilio's Plumbing.”

  The electrician said, “Hey, I've seen that truck.”

  The buzz in my head suddenly vanished and my body stopped aching. Blood tingled under my skin. I felt light and alive with a clarity that was perfect. It was the same feeling I had when we were hidden along a VC trail and I heard the VC approaching and waited for Rod to fire and knew either I would have them or they would have me, but either way the whole bloody thing was about to go down.

  I said, “I need you to come with me, Mrs. Luna. I need you to talk to the police right now. They're just around the curve.”

  Marisol Luna got into my car without complaint or objection. I didn't take the time to turn around. We drove to Starkey in reverse.

  time missing: 43 hours, 50 minutes

  The sun glared angrily from low in the southern sky, heating the great bowl of air in the canyon until it came to a boil. Rising air pulled a soft breeze up from the city that smelled of sulfur. Starkey held her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “Okay, Mrs. Luna, tell me what you saw.”

  Marisol Luna, Starkey, and I stood in the street at the top of the curve. Mrs. Luna pointed back toward the construction site, telling us how she remembered it.

  “We come aroun' the curve there, and the plumber truck is right here.”

  She indicated that the plumber's van had been pretty much where we were standing, not on the shoulder but in the street. It could not have been seen from the construction site or the surrounding houses.

  “My truck is big, you know? Very wide. I say to Ramón, look at this, this guy is taking up all of the street.”

  I said, “Ramon is one of the guys who works for her.”

  “Let her tell it, Cole.”

  Mrs. Luna continued.

  “I have to stop because I cannot get around the van unless he move. Then I see the name, and it make me smile like I tell Mr. Cole. I tell my husband that night, I say, hey, I saw you today.”

  Starkey said, “When did this happen?”

  “That would be three days. I see it three days ago.”

  The day before Ben was stolen. Starkey took out her notebook.

  Mrs. Luna described the van as white and dirty, but she couldn't recall anything else except that the name on its side was Emilio's Plumbing. As Starkey continued questioning her, I called Information on my cell phone and asked if they had a listing for Emilio's Plumbing. No such listing existed either in Los Angeles or in the Valley. I had them check the Santa Monica and Beverly Hills listings as well, under plumbing, plumbers, plumbing supplies, and plumbing contractors, but by then I didn't expect anything—these guys could have stolen the van in Arizona or painted the name themselves.

  Mrs. Luna said, “It say Emilio's. I am sure.”

  Starkey said, “So tell me about the two men. You came around the curve here and their van was blocking the road. Which way was it facing?”

  “This way, facing me. I see in the windshield, you know? The black man was driving. The Anglo man was on the other side, standing there. They were talking through the window.”

  Mrs. Luna stepped onto the shoulder and turned, showing us their positions.

  “They look when they see us, you know? The black man, he have these things on his face. I think he sick. They look like sores.”

  She touched her cheeks, and wrinkled her nose.

  “He big, too. He a really big man.”

  Starkey said, “Did he get out of the van?”

  “No, he inside driving.”

  “Then how do you know he was big?”
>
  Mrs. Luna raised her arms high and wide over her head.

  “He fill the windshield like thees. He jus' big.”

  Starkey was frowning, but I got the picture and wanted to move on.

  “What about the white guy? Anything you remember about him? Tattoos? Glasses?”

  “I didn't look at him.”

  “Was his hair long or short? You remember what color?”

  “I sorry, no. I lookin' at the black man and the truck. We tryin' to get by, you see? I off the road tryin' to get aroun' him, an' I get over too much. I had to back up. The other man, he step back ‘cause his frien' have to make room for us, it so narrow here. I watchin' the truck go away 'cause I tellin' Ramón, you see that stuff on his face? Ramón lookin', too. He say they warts.”

  Starkey said, “What's Ramón's last name?”

  “Sanchez.”

  “Is he back at your truck now?”

  “Yes, Mrs.”

  Starkey made note of that.

  “Okay, we'll want to talk to him, too.”

  I put us back on track.

  “So the black man drove away and the other guy went down the hill, or the black guy waited for the other guy to come back?”

  “No, no, he go. The other one make that sign when he go. You know, that nasty one.”

  Mrs. Luna looked embarrassed.

  Starkey showed her middle finger.

  “The white guy flipped him off? Like this?”

  “Yeah. Ramón, he laugh. I backin' up my truck 'cause I too close to the rocks so I got to watch out for that, but I see him make the sign an' go down the hill. I think he should go back to the house, but he go down the hill instead, an' I say, that funny, why he goin' down the hill? Then I think he must wanna go to the bathroom.”

  “Did you see where he went down there or see him come back?”

  “No. We left. We had another breakfast to serve before we get ready for lunch.”

  Starkey took down Mrs. Luna's name, address, and phone number, then gave her a card. Starkey's pager went off again, but she ignored it.

  She said, “This has been a big help, Mrs. Luna. I'll probably want to talk to you some more this evening or tomorrow. Would that be okay?”