He found himself wondering whether Lindsey liked the zoo. Or Sea World. His mind flashed on an image of the three of them-him, Chelse and Lindsey-strolling the wide, eucalyptus-shaded avenues of Balboa Park. Just a flash, and then his mind said, Nope. Bad idea. Are you nuts?
All the same, he was glad it was Chelses weekend. And, he reminded himself, if anything interesting popped up in her parents backgrounds, he would have a real reason to call Lindsey.
Maybe Sunday.
As it turned out, none of the things hed planned on doing with his weekend came to pass. He didnt take Chelsea to the zoo or Sea World, didnt see her at all, in fact. Nor did he go home to his empty house, call Lindsey Merrill, or even check back to see what his search had turned up. Because the shooting of Juan Miguel Alviera was only the opening salvo in what came to be called, in the news media, at least, the East Village War.
At six-thirty Friday evening, two carloads of Alvieras homies from the Eastside Diablos armed with automatic weapons shot up a fast-food restaurant where the suspected perpetrators of the Alviera homicide, members of the rival East Village gang known as the Calle Reyes Amigos, were enjoying dinner. One of the Amigos was killed, the other escaped unharmed. Seven innocent bystanders were wounded, three seriously. And the citys barrios-which had been enjoying steadily declining gang violence rates since the horrendous highs of the early 90s, thanks to the combined efforts of the SDPDs gang suppression unit, the DEA and the FBI-erupted.
All patrol personnel, plus the gang and homicide units, were called out in force in an effort to nip the flare-up before it could escalate into all-out war. Alan called Chelseas mother to tell her he wouldnt be able to take her for the weekend, and prepared to bed down on the couch of a friend who lived in the central city. Chelseas mom wasnt happy about having to cancel the plans she and her current husband had made to go away for the weekend, and made sure he heard all over again each and every one of the reasons why shed divorced him in the first place, and why nobody in their right mind should ever marry a cop. But what could he do?
On Saturday, the Amigos retaliated against the Whataburger shooters by crashing a wedding of one of the shooters sisters, at which the shooter was the best man. The hail of automatic weapons fire did manage to take out the best man, and also sent the groom, three wedding guests, and the six-year-old flower girl-the brides niece-to the hospital with major injuries.
Whether it was the shock of that tragedy-augmented by photos splashed all over the media, of the little girl in her blood-soaked flower girls dress-or the SDPD sweep that hauled in off the streets every known affiliate of the two rival gangs that could be found, by Sunday night things had settled down. The thinking behind the sweep was, by the time the collars had all been sorted out and processed-most back to the streets of their respective neighborhoods-passions would probably have cooled off some. At least for the time being.
Sunday night, home for a shower and change of clothes, Alan called the hospital to check on the flower girl. He was told she was critical but stable-holding her own.
Lindsey couldnt decide what to do. At least a dozen times shed picked up the card with the penciled phone number on the back and stared at it. And a dozen times had put it back on her desk without dialing. Shed done it so many times, the number was now etched in her memory. Why couldnt she bring herself to call him?
It was true that Alan-Detective Cameron-had told her to call him if she found out anything that might help narrow down the location of the traumatic events in her mothers past. But this was such a small thing. Would he think it significant enough to warrant bothering him on a weekend? He had made it pretty clear he was looking into this without much enthusiasm or real hope of success. And he had said he would call her if he found anything. Which meant, since she hadnt heard from him, that he didnt have anything to tell her. She didnt want to be a pest.
Oh, grow up, Lindsey. At least be honest with yourself. You know the real reason you cant let yourself call the man is because you want to so badly.
There. Shed done it-spoken inside her head the truth shed been trying not to acknowledge. She wanted to call Detective Alan Cameron. Wanted to hear his voice again. Better yet, wanted to see him again.
His face hovered in her mind wherever she went, whatever she did, always there, following her the way she used to think the moon followed her when she was a little girl. His eyesthe unexpected softness that came into them when he spoke to her mother, in such stark contrast with the hardness, the speculation, the cop look that was there all the rest of the time. She wondered what it would be like to see that softness when he looked at her.
His face hovered in her mind wherever she went, whatever she did, always there, following her the way she used to think the moon followed her when she was a little girl. His eyesthe unexpected softness that came into them when he spoke to her mother, in such stark contrast with the hardness, the speculation, the cop look that was there all the rest of the time. She wondered what it would be like to see that softness when he looked at her.
Silly, of course. So very junior high school. Shed just barely met the man. Ridiculously, demoralizingly stupid to have his voice, the words and phrases hed spoken, playing over and over in her mind like a song that had gotten stuck there.
She wasnt sure what she was going to do about it, but one thing she was not going to do was make an idiot of herself over a man she didnt even know. And a cop, for Gods sake!
It had been such a long time since any man had made an impression on her-why did it have to be a cop?
Needing to get out of the house, away from the phone and the temptation it presented, she changed her clothes and went out for a run along the cliffs, taking her house key on a chain around her neck as she always did and leaving everything else, even her cell phone, behind.
Tomorrow, she told herself as she ran. Monday, a work day-will be better. Ill have plenty of things to distract me-with any luck, a flood or a hurricane or some sort of disaster. You know I dont mean that, God, right? And if he hasnt called by the end of the work day, well, thats a reasonable length of time to wait.
She felt better, somehow, having made that decision. Stronger. More disciplined. If he hasnt called by five oclock Monday, I will call him.
Monday morning when Alan reported in, police headquarters was still a zoo. But at least there hadnt been any more shootings overnight. No more bodies. Thank you, Lord.
By around four oclock, with the short November afternoon already sliding toward dusk and the lights in the squad room turning the windows to mirrors, he finally found a moment to see what the make hed run on Richard and Susan Merrill had turned up. He wasnt expecting much-was pretty sure he knew what he was going to find-nothing. No warrants, no arrests, no priors. The Merrills were undoubtedly exactly what they seemed to be: Two nice, law-abiding, upper-middle-class Americans with no more than the usual number of skeletons in their family closets. Sad about the wifes Alzheimers, but, those things happened, even to nice people.
For a few minutes after he brought up the screen, his sleep-deprived mind refused to process what he was seeing. He read through the results for Susan Merrill, then for Richard, scrolled back to the beginning of Susans and read through both again. Nope-he hadnt missed anything. He tipped back his chair and gazed at the data neatly boxed and itemized on the screen, frowning and tapping a pencil on his desktop. He straightened abruptly and reached for his phone, but hung it up without dialing and shoved back his chair instead. A few minutes later he was knocking on the door of his captains office.
Getting the answer he usually did-an unintelligible growl-Alan opened the door, stuck his head through the crack and said, Sir, got a minute?
Captain Ron Tupman hitched back in his chair and snapped, Just about that much.
Alan gave him about half a grin. Yeah, been a crazy couple of days, hasnt it? Captain Tupman was in charge of both the gang and homicide units, among others. If youd rather not-
Already got my attention, dont wimp out now. The captain tossed a pen onto the mess of paperwork on his desk. Whats on your mind, Detective Cameron?
Alan filled him in, beginning with Lindsey Merrills visit and ending with the results of the background search on Richard and Susan Merrill. The captain listened without interrupting, a habit that was one of the things Alan liked and respected about the man, and no doubt at least part of the reason why he was currently occupying an office with a nameplate on the door.
Now that things have settled down a bit, if you can spare me, Id like to take a couple of days to follow up on it, Alan concluded. See where it goes.
Captain Tupman stuck out his lower lip and contemplated the mess on his desk for a full ten seconds. Then he leaned forward and picked up the pen. This mess is Gang Units headache, theyre coordinating with the feds, so yeah, unless any more bodies turn up, might as well go with it. He looked up and leveled his patented black stare at Alan. If this thing grows legs, I want to know about it.
Sure-you bet. Thanks. Alan was on his way out the door when his cell phone vibrated against his side. He waved an apology and a farewell to his captain and exited, glancing at the caller ID as he thumbed the talk button. He didnt recognize the number immediately, but somehow knew it was Lindsey, and was surprised by the little zap of electricity that shot through him. Not adrenaline-he got enough of that in his job and it wasnt a sensation he enjoyed, not like some thrill junkies he knew. This was different-and entirely pleasant.
Hey, he said, after shed identified herself in a hushed and breathless voice, as if she were doing something illicit, I was just going to call you.
Lindsey felt quivery inside. Oh, she said, and laughed. She took the phone away from her ear to check. But the hand holding it appeared to be steady. She cleared her throat, and when she spoke, so did he.
They both said together, Did you find something? And Lindsey laughed and said, You first.