“I’m sorry, Keller,” I said. “It was a lame idea. I guess it’s time to pack it in.”
“It is a lame idea, but we knew that going in,” Bailey agreed. “Let’s give it another half hour down here, then head over to your usual meeting place with Cletus. It’s on the way home.”
It was times like this that I thought I didn’t deserve a friend as good as Bailey. “Thanks,” I said gratefully. Bailey waved me off.
In the next half hour, the sun sank along with our hopes of finding a lead on either John Doe or Cletus. Time to give up. “I’m pulling the plug, Bailey. It’s getting really stupid now.”
She nodded reluctantly. “I’m sorry, Rachel. We tried.”
“Yep, we did,” I agreed dejectedly.
We headed back down San Pedro to Fourth Street. At the intersection, I noticed an older man with a dog. The dog lay at the man’s feet, his leash tied to the shopping cart. Maybe it was the dog, I don’t know, but I decided to take one last shot and show him the photograph of John Doe.
“Nope. Don’t know ’im.”
“Do you know a guy named Cletus?” I asked.
The man frowned, creating a forest of eyebrows, and puffed on his stub of a cigarette. “You talking about the pitcher?”
I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Yeah.”
“He in trouble?”
“Not at all,” I said. “He’s a friend.”
The man snorted. “Of yours?”
I looked at him steadily. “Yeah, of mine. You know where I can find him tonight?”
“Maybe,” the man said, squinting at me through a haze of cigarette smoke.
I wasn’t thrilled about pulling money out in this place, but I figured between Bailey’s.44 and my.38, we probably had enough firepower to handle any comers. I fished out a ten-spot and held it up. “Take us to Cletus, and you’ll get this.”
The man took another drag on his cigarette and blew an enviably crisp smoke ring. Back in my smoking days, I’d tried to do that. My rings always came out wobbly and messy.
“Deal,” he said. With that, he turned and headed up Fourth Street.
We followed, wary of ambush by the predators who come out at night to stalk the homeless. But I noticed we were moving toward Spring Street and Pershing Square. Safer territory by far than where we’d been. We crossed Spring Street and were approaching Broadway when the old man stopped and pointed. Sure as hell, there on the sidewalk in front of the Bradbury Building was the familiar pile of blankets. Close enough to his usual stomping grounds; far enough that, without help, I could’ve searched all day and night and never found him.
I thanked our guide, paid him…and threw in an extra few dollars for dog food.
He took the money, saluted, and walked off, a cloud of smoke floating behind him, his dog trotting alongside.
I slowly stepped up to the pile of blankets. As usual, they were crowned by a well-worn Lakers hat. “Cletus?”
A thick mop of graying hair poked up, and his eyes glittered in the darkness. “That you, missy? What you doin’ here? What you doin’ here?” The deep, ragged voice sounded as if it had scraped the words from the belly of the earth. It was music to my ears.
I smiled. “Yeah, it’s me, Cletus. And I know it’s not ‘our’ night. But I need your help.”
With effort, he pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Cletus is always glad to help.”
He coughed, an alarming hack.
“Are you okay, Cletus? You don’t sound great.”
He coughed again but waved his hand. “Just a cold. Always get ’em this time of year. What you need?”
“You recognize this guy?” I held out the photograph.
Cletus took it and stared for a long minute. I held my breath.
“No, missy. I do not. I don’t. Sorry.” He handed the photograph back to me.
Cletus had been my last hope. Deflated but grateful for his effort, I replied, “It’s okay, Cletus. I appreciate you trying.” I dug into my wallet and pulled out a twenty.
He looked at it. “I didn’t do it for no money, missy.”
“I know that, Cletus. I just want you to have it,” I said.
He slowly took the twenty-dollar bill and tucked it into his pocket. “You know, I been around here a long time. If I haven’t seen this guy, probably means he ain’t living in this part. But you seen him here?”
“Yeah. So I thought…” I trailed off. It was truly hopeless if John Doe hadn’t been living in the area.
Cletus fell silent.
“I got an idea,” he finally said. “You heard ’a Johnnie Jasper?”
I looked at Bailey, who shook her head.
“No,” I replied.
“Stays up in Boyle Heights. You ask poh-poh up there, they all know ’im. Good guy, good guy.”
Poh-poh, as in police. “He a street person?” I asked.
Cletus nodded. “But he got a fine setup.” He pointed in the general direction of Boyle Heights. “You go see ol’ Jasper, he might help you out.”
“Thank you, Cletus,” I said, suppressing a shiver. The day had been mild, but the night air let us know it was still the middle of winter. “It’s pretty cold out. Why don’t you let me take you to a shelter? We can get you in.”
He wagged a finger at me. “You promised me ‘no grief,’ remember?”
In the past, I’d tried to get him to come indoors several times until finally he’d put a stop to it and made me promise to leave him be. Reluctantly, since I had no other choice, I’d agreed.
“You go, you go. Go see Jasper.” Cletus lay back down and pulled up the blankets. “Let an old man get some sleep. You go, you go.”
23
“I’ll understand if you want to pack it in,” I said as Bailey and I headed back to her car. “But I’ve got to check this out. I know it’s the mother of all Hail Mary passes, but I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t take this one last shot.”
Bailey looked at her watch. “I was supposed to meet Drew for dinner in an hour, but it’s only about ten minutes from here, and since it seems all the local cops know this guy, it’s easy enough to check out.” Bailey shot me a warning look. “But I’m going to call Drew, and you are not allowed to give me any shit, no matter what I say. Got it?”
“Don’t gag me out with your googly talk, and I won’t give you shit,” I said.
Bailey has a long, fast stride, and I was running to keep up. When we got to the car, she gave me a hard look over the roof. “I mean it.”
“Fine.” I got in and belted up.
But just to make sure a snarky remark didn’t accidentally slip out, I put my fingers in my ears.
After she ended the call, Bailey pulled one of my fingers out. “It’s safe.”
“Thanks.” I put my hands in my pockets to warm them. It was freezing, but Bailey hated the car heater, so I suffered in silence. “You know anyone at the Boyle Heights station?”
“I was just thinking that I used to know a patrol guy.”
She pulled out her cell.
“It’s Detective Bailey Keller, Robbery-Homicide Division. Is Craig Andarian still working there?”
Bailey listened, then gave me the thumbs-up sign. I sat back, relieved. She chatted with her buddy Craig for a minute, then asked him about Johnnie Jasper. When she ended the call, I looked at her expectantly.
“So it’s for real?” I asked.
Bailey nodded. “And I got directions.”
Ten minutes later, we were looking through a chain-link fence at a wonderland made of castoffs. It had been a vacant lot, but someone, presumably Johnnie, had moved in and done some serious decorating. Shelves had been dug into the side of the small hill, and every inch was occupied by brightly colored toys, dolls, seashells, posters, and traffic signs. At the far end of the lot, under a peppertree, was an outdoor living room. Complete with rug, television, couch, generator, and propane oven.