People he had hurt and who might hurt him.
Never had it occurred to me that I was the explanation.
I opened the medicine cabinet, shook out four Advil, swallowed them.
I hefted the duffel.
At the front door I checked the peephole.
The porch, with its wobbly railing. Clear.
I parted the ugly scarlet tartan curtains and peeked through the leaky front window at the traffic sailing by. Our house was three blocks from the freeway, along a main entry route. It got noisy. It was what we could afford. The lawn needed attention. The front-walk pavers were chipped and cracked.
So many projects, so little time, even less skill. We weren’t Billy and Rashida Watts.
The sidewalk was clear.
I stepped onto the porch and turned to set the dead bolt.
Brakes whined, tires crunched, too close.
I spun, yanking at the duffel zipper. Why hadn’t I taken the extra minute to put on the vest? Thrusting elbow deep I rooted through socks and underwear, knuckles grazing the box of ammo, its sharp corners. I touched the knurled butt of the gun. My finger found the trigger.
Car at the curb. Dark-blue sedan.
The driver got out, swaggering.
Cesar Rigo.
“Good evening, Deputy.”
I pulled my arm from the duffel and returned the greeting.
He came tapping up the pavers. Smiled his smile and chinned. “Going somewhere?”
The duffel hung on my stomach. The undone zipper gaped. I shifted the bag to my hip and pinned it shut with my elbow. “Just till the power comes back on.”
“How fortuitous that I caught you. Can you spare a moment to talk?”
I glanced at the street.
“Why don’t we go inside?” he said. “Rather than stand out here in public.”
I opened the door for him.
“After you,” he said.
Rigo strolled around the living room while I lit candles.
“Where will you go until power is restored?”
I shook out the match. “Someplace with air-conditioning, I hope.”
He’d planted himself by the Great Wall of Cardboard and was reading the labels, hips shoved out like an Elvis impersonator. Today’s suit was green with matching necktie in an abstract pattern. Where the hell did he shop? Not off the rack, surely; nothing would fit him, his compact gymnast’s body. Maybe he shelled out for custom. Or haunted the boys’ section.
“Did you move in recently?”
“I’m embarrassed to say how long it’s been.”
He smiled. Rapped the box marked BREAD MACHINE. “We have one of these.”
My heart began to pound. No way he could know what it concealed. But I fought not to fall on the box like a loose ball. “No kidding.”
“We received it for a wedding present but have never used it.”
“Same.”
“Interesting. And yet neither of us has ever thought to dispose of it. Why is that?”
“Everybody needs something to aspire to.”
“I take it from the clothing that you have a daughter, or daughters.”
“One.”
“She’s with your wife?”
“They left town for a few days.”
“Do you enjoy having peace and quiet?”
How many times had I done this with a suspect, worked to build rapport? But Rigo was lousy at it. He knew it. And he knew that I knew it.
“Whatever it is you’d like to know,” I said, “come out and ask it.”
“I appreciate your candor, Deputy. I will strive to reciprocate.” He pressed his palms together. “Shall we?”
We sat.
“I received a phone call today from Mr. Vandervelde’s son. He was quite irate.”
“About what?”
“According to him, he was at the victim’s house last night and encountered you.”
Sean, you prick.
“Did he happen to mention why he was there?” I said.
“He claims he wanted to ensure that the property was secure. He was concerned Dr. Yap might misappropriate items of value. He is convinced — you will forgive me — but he insists that you returned to the scene with the same intention. Under most circumstances I would dismiss any such accusations as the ramblings of a man in state of distress.”
“You should.”
“Yes, but — and again, forgive me — I recalled that the victim possesses a photograph of you in his collection of sports memorabilia. As you are aware, I, too, was an athlete. I can appreciate that one experiences nostalgia for that period of one’s life. Perhaps one wishes to acquire a memento.”
“You’re insinuating that I stole from a decedent.”
“I’m providing you an opportunity to clarify the matter.”
I’d conducted interrogations. This wasn’t about an autographed photo. Rigo was dangling an easy out, enticing me to commit to a story he could then proceed to blow up.
I said, “I went to the house because I thought Sean might try to break in. And I was right.”
Admiration in his smile, one chess player to another. “Why would you think that?”
“He made clear his dislike of Dr. Yap and was adamant that she didn’t deserve to inherit his father’s estate. I figured it couldn’t hurt to check the seals.”
“Is that something you typically do?”
“This isn’t a typical situation, in terms of the amount of money or the personalities involved.”
“Did you inform any of your colleagues of your decision?”
“I only thought of it after I’d left work.”
“I see. You had a — what is the expression... a brainwave. I believe there was a comic book character by that name. My father was an engineer. He often traveled to the United States for conferences, and he would bring me American comic books and other materials to improve my English. In those days we did not have ready access to American television shows.”
All hail the King of Casual Rapport.
“Bummer,” I said.
“It was for the best. It made me a reader. You worked yesterday, did you not?”
He knew the answer. He’d seen me at the autopsy. “Yes.”
“And today?”
“I was off.”
“May I ask what time your shift ends?”
“Five. Although sometimes it can take a while to get out of there.”
“Yesterday evening, did you go straight from your office to the victim’s house?”
I’d gone straight to Ivan Arias’s house. A different victim. “No.”
“Where did you go?”
“Home.”
“How long does it take you to get home from work?”
“About ten minutes.”
“On average, I imagine, you are walking in the door between five thirty and six, yes?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you remember what time you got home yesterday evening?”
“Not exactly.”
“But not much later or earlier than usual.”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Very good. How long after you arrived home did you have your brainwave?”
“I couldn’t really say.”
“Did you eat dinner first?”
I’d eaten nothing.
I nodded.
“May I ask what you had?”
“For dinner?”
“Everything in your refrigerator must have spoiled by now.”
“Beef jerky.”
“Very nutritious. After you ate, what did you do?”
“Took a shower.”
“And then?”
“I went to the victim’s house.”
“Having had your brainwave.”
“Yes.”
“In the shower, perhaps,” he said. “I find showers a conducive atmosphere for thinking. Tell me: You didn’t call one of your colleagues on duty to suggest they perform this task?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt them. I figured it would turn out to be a fool’s errand.”
Rigo beamed. “Such dedication. If only everyone was so devoted to their work.”