“Thank you.”
“The doctor also said to tell you both to go home and get some rest. Leave your phone numbers at the reception desk and we’ll keep you informed.”
Kathie drove me back to my apartment in Downey. We didn’t talk much along the way. However, I did ask her if she wanted to stop for some food. With all that had been going on, I had lost my appetite. But I was concerned about her. I had no way of knowing if she’d eaten before she came to my apartment, I just knew she hadn’t eaten anything since.
“No, thanks, Jimmy,” she said. “I need to get some sleep. I’ll have breakfast later with my mother. I want to discuss with her what you said about starting a new life.”
She pulled the car to the curb in front of my apartment. We exchanged phone numbers and promised to keep in touch. I also promised I’d do everything possible to keep Al Roberts from going back to prison.
“I don’t think they have a case, Kathie.” I gently took her chin in my hand and turned her face toward me. Our eyes locked. “Do I look worried?”
“No,” she said hesitantly.
“Do you know who Sol Silverman is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s agreed to work with us pro bono. He’s putting all the resources at his command behind this. Sol and I together have never lost a case.”
I didn’t tell her I was worried as hell, nor did I mention how nervous I was about the gun that the Laguna cop said Roberts had in his possession. If this were true, then he would spend the rest of his life in prison. There would be no getting around that. I didn’t want to think of the consequences if the police found a gun somewhere in the vicinity of the shooting and it turned out to be the one used to murder Ida Hathaway at the motel.
As I opened the door to climb out of the Mercedes, Kathie leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. There was nothing implied in the kiss, but I couldn’t help wonder if it was the beginning of something more.
“If you’re too tired to drive, you can sleep here in my apartment for a while,” I blurted out. “I mean… if you’re really tired.”
Kathie didn’t answer for a moment; she just looked at me. Then, with a warm smile, she said, “Not this time, Jimmy. I want to see my mother as soon as she wakes up. But… thank you, anyway. Call me later, okay?”
“Sure.”
I climbed the stairs to the apartment with the phrase, Not this time, rolling around in my brain. Who knows, maybe when this was over…
According to my alarm clock it was after five by the time I finally crawled into bed. As bone-tired as I was, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling with my eyes open, listening to the sounds of morning twilight, an owl hooting somewhere, the occasional car driving down the street, and the rumble of a trash truck making its rounds. I lay there both exhausted and charged up, reflecting on the events of the night and Kathie’s beautiful face and that small kiss-Not this time, Jimmy.
Forty-five minutes later I kicked off the covers and climbed out of bed. If I didn’t quit thinking about Al Roberts and Kathie I’d never get any sleep. I shuffled into the bathroom and took three aspirins, then went to the kitchen and ate a piece of leftover pizza. With my diet I adhered strictly to the three major food groups-pizza, donuts, and burgers.
I climbed back into bed and soon nodded off.
Beep, beep, beep…
I bolted upright in bed and listened.
“What the hell is that?” I said out loud, glancing at the clock: 10:30 a.m. I’d been asleep only a few hours.
The beeping stopped. I flopped back down and pulled the covers over my head.
Another couple of minutes went by and the beeping started again. I had no idea what was causing it, but I felt too tired to get out of bed and check. Probably that new coffee pot Rita had given me for my birthday. I’d forgotten to set the timer.
I was about to doze off again when the telephone rang. My heart raced. It had to be the hospital. I jumped out of bed, ran to the kitchen and answered it.
“Why didn’t you answer the beeper?” Sol asked.
I took a deep breath and relaxed. The call wasn’t bad news from the hospital, after all.
“What beeper?”
“The one I gave you.”
“Oh yeah, that thing. That’s what I heard.” I thought about the beeper I’d stuck in my jacket pocket, lying on the bedroom floor.
“Well, why didn’t you answer the beeper?”
“Why didn’t you just call?”
“Because you have a beeper.”
“For chrissakes, Sol, what’s up?”
“Meet me at Clifton’s Cafeteria in one hour?”
“Clifton’s? The one in downtown L.A.?”
“Yeah, one hour. Don’t be late.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re meeting Vince Bugliosi in the owner’s office.” Sol hung up.
CHAPTER 36
Before leaving the apartment, I phoned the office and told Mabel where I’d be just in case a call came in from the hospital. I also asked about Rita.
“She’s on a wild-goose chase. She has a lunch appointment with some guy named Strickling out in Palm Springs. I had to give her five bucks from petty cash for gas. I don’t know-”
“Goodbye, Mabel. Gotta go.” I hung up.
Thirty-five minutes later I pulled into a parking lot on Hill St. and hiked a couple of blocks to Clifton’s on South Broadway, only ten minutes late.
It was one of those clear, crisp autumn days with a stiff breeze that blew the smog out beyond Catalina. Pedestrians moseyed about and everyone’s mood seemed as bright as the sky. There was an aroma of spice from street vendors selling tacos and carnitas, and a sense of lethargy filled the warm, dry air. On days like this store clerks smiled, customers didn’t complain, and people said please and thank you. Even bums slouching on Broadway guzzled wine without shouting obscenities. And Clifton’s gave needy folks a meal for only a penny.
Walking into the crowded cafeteria, I stood for a moment to take in the curious decor. The place tried to convey the feel of a mountain forest-a forest that would be right at home in Disneyland. In addition to a cascading waterfall next to a plastic tree, a huge deer head with antlers hung on the wall and looked down on the lunch crowd as they ate from plates heaped with plebeian fare. I asked a busboy where the offices were located, then strolled past a fuzzy bear holding a fishing pole and climbed the stairs up to the third floor. Finding the owner’s office, I rapped on the door.
“Come on in,” someone shouted.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I said to the three men who looked up at me as I entered.
Sol sat on a couch, puffing a cigar. The couch rested against a wall filled with framed photos that had been taken at locations around the world, mostly China, from what I could tell from just a quick glance. Vincent Bugliosi leaned forward in a wooden armchair off to the side of a modest desk.
The man sitting behind the desk came around to greet me. He had a slender build, thinning hair, and a wide smile. Probably in his late forties, he spoke in a voice tinged with authority.
“Don’t give it a thought, O’Brien. Everyone’s late. The parking… what can I say? Anyway, the name’s Don Clinton. My sister and I own the place.” He nodded toward Sol and Bugliosi. “I think you already know these men.”
We all shook hands, and I took a seat in the armchair on the other side of the desk.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Maybe a little strawberry Jello to go with it?” Don asked. “We serve the stuff by the ton.” He chuckled.
“No, thanks. I had my coffee this morning.” I didn’t mention that I hated strawberry Jello.
“We were just talking about you. They say you’re working on a case that involved Frank Byron, the DA back in the early forties. Tell me about it.”
Bugliosi stood. “Let me jump in here, Don. I want to give Sol and Jimmy a little background, just a few highlights about your father, Clifford. Then everyone will know why we’re having the meeting here at the cafeteria.”