"I asked her mother the same thing myself. She said Heather drove herself to Hermosa Beach that day. It wasn't legal, but neither is tossing a gum wrapper on the sidewalk. Mrs. Grimm was raising Heather on her own, working double shifts as a waitress, doing her best. Heather used to drop her mama off at the restaurant around eleven, then pick her up again at ten that evening. Mrs. Grimm said most days Heather went to the beach, she took a girlfriend or two along for company. No boys, Mama was adamant about that-no boys in the house when she wasn't there, no boys in the car."
"Did you talk to any of her girlfriends?"
"Mrs. Grimm is dead now. Less than a year after Heather was killed. Officially she overdosed on her prescription medicine, but if you ask me, she died of a broken heart. That girl was her whole world."
Jimmy remembered the crime scene photos of Heather Grimm, her skull shattered, bone and brain matter on the carpet. Mrs. Grimm would have had to identify the body too. Yes, that's my daughter.
"You okay, Jimmy? You don't look so good again."
Jimmy cleared his throat. "You said forensics gave the scene the full treatment."
"We're back to forensics?" Brimley chuckled. "I need a scorecard with you."
Jimmy put the ice pack against his face again. "Did they find any prints that didn't belong to either Walsh or Heather Grimm?"
"Plenty. Cleaning lady, furniture movers-some of the actors working on that film of his, the last one, whatever it was called. I guess they had a party one time. The crime scene detail said they hoovered enough cocaine out of the rugs to-"
"What about Mick Packard? Did you find his prints there?"
Brimley did a mock karate chop. "Marvelous Mick? I don't remember. I like that guy's movies. Whatever happened to him?"
"I may be seeing him in a few days. If you want, I'll get his autograph for you. He'd probably be thrilled."
"That's all right. After the Heather Grimm case… let's just say I lost my respect for Hollywood. All those pretty faces getting interviewed, talking about what a talent Walsh was-it made me sick."
"The crime scene report just said the prints of 'persons known and unknown' had been found in the cottage."
"You say you're writing a story about Walsh, but you keep asking questions about fingerprints and Mick Packard, and did I do this and did I do that." Brimley scratched his head. "I guess I'm confused. What's going on?"
Jimmy loved the head-scratching routine, the prelude to the amiable old cop asking for help. "I know I'm not making a lot of sense." He shifted the ice pack slightly. "Maybe we can talk more when I'm feeling better. We could get together at Walsh's beach house. You could take me on a walkaround. I'd really appreciate-"
"I'd like to help, but I got no special pull with the new owners. A few years ago one of those True Police Stories TV shows was going to do a reenactment, but they couldn't get permission to film inside the cottage. Not for love or money. The people who owned it said any kind of publicity just drove down their property value. Can't blame them-no one wants to be reminded that they're living in a slaughterhouse."
"We could do it outside then. Just being there with you, talking about what happened that night-you've got a perspective that no one else does."
Brimley was looking out the window again, lost in thought.
"I want people to know what you saw when Walsh opened the door, what you saw when you walked inside."
Brimley turned to face him, and Jimmy glimpsed the other side of the sweetness, the weight and power held in check. "It's all in my report. Isn't that good enough for you?"
"I trust a cop's memory more than any report he wrote for the brass. The question is, Sugar, do you trust me? Do you trust me to do right by you? And do right by Heather Grimm too? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I'm sure you've been burned by reporters before- everybody has. I could sit here trying to convince you that I'm worth your time and your trust, but I'm going to go home, lie down on the couch, and watch a ball game. When we get together again, I hope we can do it at the beach house."
Brimley chewed it over and finally nodded. "Don't pin me down on a time and date, though. The bluefin are running off San Luis Obispo, and I promised myself I'd get me one."
"You call the shots. Oh yeah, one more thing."
Brimley's eyes narrowed, his instincts sharp enough to know he wasn't going to like it.
"When we do the walkaround at the beach house, would you mind bringing your notes?"
"You can get them from legal affairs. Just put in a written request."
"I meant your field notes."
Sugar laughed. "You want to see my tax returns and high-school transcript too?"
"I'm trying to get it right, Sugar. You don't have to show me the notes. Having them along might help put you back to what you saw, what you felt that night, the little details that didn't make it into the official report. You don't have to commit yourself now. Just bring them along. You can decide then if you trust me with them."
"I bet most folks have a hard time telling you no."
"Look who's talking."
Brimley shared a tiny smile with him. "I'll give you a call in a week or so, but don't get your hopes up about the notes. Hero or no hero."
Jimmy left his card on the coffee table and stood up. "Call me anytime, day or night." They shook hands, Jimmy feeling lost in Brimley's grip.
"Let me give you a ride home."
"I'm okay to drive." Jimmy had to hang on to the counter. He had stood up too fast.
"I'll take you home. You can get a buddy to bring you back here tomorrow and pick up your wheels."
Jimmy sat down again and rested his head in his hands.
Brimley patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on your car for you. What are you driving?"
Chapter 23
"I don't know how you found me, but make it snappy," said Lashonda, pacing, a black wireless microphone dangling from her earpiece. All twelve phone lines on her board were blinking. "You got five minutes, and that's only 'cause you say you going to write something nice about Sugar."
Jimmy followed her as she walked her spacious living room in Pacific Palisades, the house a half-acre view property with a swimming pool and a tennis court. "You were the police dispatcher who took that 911 call on the Heather Grimm homicide."
"Weren't no homicide call." Lashonda listened to her earpiece as the board switched lines again. It was on a thirty-second interval- Jimmy had timed it. "It was a four one five domestic disturbance call. Wasn't till Sugar got there, it turned into a homicide call."
"Right."
"What happened to your face? You ask somebody a question they didn't like?"
Jimmy smiled, and it hurt. One side of his face was still swollen from his pick-up basketball game with the Butcher, his eye blackened. "The reason that Sugar took the call that night-"
"'Cause lazyass Reese and Hargrove was on another call and wasn't in no hurry to take a four one five. Sugar broke in, told me he was in the area. Everybody knows that." Lashonda peered at Jimmy over her half-glasses, a well-dressed, smooth-skinned black woman with four-inch nails and a turban of hair rising high above her head. "You wasting my time."
"Sugar was off shift. Did he jump in like that very often?"
"Teresa, you blowing it," Lashonda said, talking to someone on the end of the microphone. "The client wants to talk about himself, and you keep bringing up your own damn aura." She looked at Jimmy. "Why you asking how many times Sugar grabbed calls after he went off shift?"
"I told you-"
"Don't you ever say you sorry, Marvin," said Lashonda. "If you say her daddy on the other side, wants to let her know he's fine, and she tell you her daddy is driving an Oakland city bus, you don't say you made a mistake. You say, sometimes you see things before they happen, but that don't make them less true. Lashonda's Spiritual Hotline never wrong. You got it?" She looked at Jimmy again. "I know what you told me, mister. If I was stupid, I'd still be answering police calls instead of working for myself." Her face flattened out with anger. "This about Sugar's pension? You trying to get him in trouble after all this time, just 'cause he grabbed a little overtime once in a while?"