The man himself, though, was nowhere in sight. I looked closer and saw a shack made of plywood to the right of the living room arrangement. It was practically hidden under the heavy, low-hanging branches of the peppertree.
“Hello! Mr. Jasper?” I yelled. “Are you there? Hello?”
I waited. I thought I saw the curtain over the makeshift window move. “Johnnie Jasper? Hello!” I tried again.
A tall, slender black man stepped out of the shack and peered at us. Bailey held up her badge and pointed the flashlight backward so he could see our faces. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. We just need your help. It’ll only take a few minutes of your time,” she said.
The man looked at us carefully, then came out to the gate. “Lemme see that badge again, ma’am.”
Bailey complied, and he looked from it to her, then at me.
“A’right, then,” he said. He unlocked the gate. “Come on in.” He ushered us inside.
When he’d locked the gate behind us, he turned to me and asked, “And who might you be?”
I introduced myself, and he led us to the far end of the lot.
“You’re Johnnie Jasper?” I asked.
“I am.” He gestured for us to have a seat on the sofa in his outdoor living room.
“You’re quite a legend out here,” Bailey said. “Is it true the cops bring you turkeys at Christmas?”
Johnnie nodded modestly. “They do. And I give them fresh strawberries and nectarines.”
“You grow here?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said proudly.
I was impressed. I couldn’t grow mold on cheese.
Whatever I had expected, Johnnie wasn’t it. Intelligent and neatly dressed in a waffle shirt, jacket, and jeans, he could’ve been someone’s father or boss. I was fascinated. I wished I had time to have a real talk with him and find out what brought him here, why he lived this way. But since I didn’t, I came straight to the point and told him Cletus had sent us because we were looking for someone.
“You a friend of Cletus?” Johnnie smiled. “He’s a tough nut to crack, isn’t he?”
I laughed. “I couldn’t have put it better.”
Bailey pulled out the photograph of our John Doe and handed it to Johnnie. This was it. I knew that if he came up empty, we were through. I tried to ready myself for the blow.
He stared at the photo. “No…I don’t think…”
My heart sank for the millionth time that day.
Then he stopped and pulled the photograph closer. “Wait. This is…I think I do know him,” Johnnie said. “Couldn’t tell at first, he doesn’t look so good in this.” He gestured to the photo. Then he fell silent and examined the picture again. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I’m sorry, Johnnie,” Bailey said.
“Damn.” He shook his head sadly. “He was a good guy. You mind telling me how?”
“Somebody stabbed him,” Bailey replied.
Johnnie nodded. The death of a friend was not so uncommon among the homeless, though the way this one had died was certainly not the norm. I decided to spare Johnnie that knowledge.
“You don’t have a suspect,” he said.
“No,” Bailey confirmed. “That’s what we’re working on. Did you by any chance know his name?”
“Simon,” Johnnie replied.
“And his last name?” I asked.
The first name alone wouldn’t do much, if anything, for us-especially because it might not even be his real name.
Johnnie shrugged. “Never did know that.”
Damn. Another dead end. I was frustrated, but I refused to give up. Maybe if we kept him talking, he’d come up with something we could use.
“How long did you know him?” I asked.
“About a year. He’d stay here off and on-but when he was here, he was real good about helping out. Nice guy, but sad. Real sad.” Johnnie paused, remembering. “And then, sometimes, just out of the blue, he’d get all fired up, be in a blazing fury. I’d tell him to let go of whatever it was.” Johnnie looked at us. “It’s not good to hang on to your anger like that, no.” He shook his head.
“You ever know what he was angry or sad about?” I asked.
Johnnie’s mouth turned down. “Simon wasn’t much of a talker. But I do remember the last time he was here. Stayed for a few months that time, and he seemed a lot better. More upbeat and happy than I’d ever seen him,” Johnnie said. “Matter of fact, he brought me something.”
Johnnie got up and walked over to the bookcase next to the couch. He picked up a blue vase and handed it to me.
“He gave you this?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yep. Pretty, isn’t it?”
It was beautiful, actually-an elegantly shaped flute, the kind that held just a few flowers, and the blue was a complex blend of shades that evoked the ocean. Not what I’d expect a poor person to own, let alone give away.
I turned it upside down and looked at the bottom. And there, etched into the clay, was the name.
Simon Bayer.
At last, our John Doe had a name.
24
Johnnie was reluctant to let us take the vase.
“Right now, this is our only link to his identity. We might need to show it to other witnesses, have it analyzed for prints, compare it to other pottery. Until we’ve got his identity nailed down, we have to hang on to it,” I said. “I’ll get it back to you. I promise.” I looked at him intently, wanting him to understand how important this was.
Johnnie returned my gaze, then looked away. Finally, after a few long moments, he responded, “I guess if it’ll help y’all find his killer…”
“I can’t promise we’ll get the killer-but I can promise we’ll try.”
“And I give you my word we’ll bring it back,” Bailey said.
Johnnie nodded slowly. “Then you go ahead and take it,” he said quietly. “But no matter what happens, you bring it back, you hear? A man needs to be remembered. I believe Simon gave it to me because he intended for me to remember him.” Johnnie lifted his chin and looked me in the eye. “That’s what I mean to do.”
The words, softly spoken, were powerful. I held his gaze for a beat. “You have my word.”
Minutes later, we were speeding down the freeway toward downtown. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but it felt like midnight. I yawned, leaned back in my seat, and watched the lights in the skyscrapers grow brighter as we neared the Civic Center.
“You still going to make it to dinner with Drew?” I asked, glad I hadn’t made similar plans with Graden for tonight.
“Yeah,” Bailey said, sounding as tired as I felt. “But it’s going to be a short one.”
We rode in silence, both of us exhausted but happy. Bailey raced down the off-ramp at Broadway. “It’s unbelievable how we pulled this off,” she said.
“See?” I remarked. “We’re good and we got lucky. Just goes to show ya…”
Bailey laughed and held up her fist, and I bumped it with mine as we pulled into the circular drive in front of the Biltmore. But one question nagged at me.
“It’s a ridiculously long walk from Boyle Heights to downtown,” I pointed out. “How did our victim do it?”
Bailey nodded in agreement. “Good question. But now that we have his ID, we just might be able to figure that out.”
“And maybe this’ll buy me more time on the case,” I replied. “Not a bad day, huh, Keller?”
“It’ll do,” Bailey said with a grin. “I’ll run Simon Bayer’s name in the morning and call you with the results.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” I said. “After all this, I’m going to be there when you find out. Call me before you do anything.”
“Then get your ass up on time for once,” she retorted.
“I will. Just promise-”
“I’ll call. Now get out.” Bailey laughed. “You’re getting in the way of my love life.”