“The Dumpster started smelling bad on Sunday night,” I said. “George Loper made sure we noticed.”
“What happens now?” Max asked.
Kevin shrugged. “Nothing happens until the medical examiner clears the scene. My chief may call in a special homicide squad from the county sheriff to advise our department, but that decision will depend on what the M.E. has to say.”
A uniformed officer pushed through the swinging door. “Halloran?”
“What is it, Peng?”
“Guy outside wants to see you.” The officer, Bo Peng, handed Kevin a business card. “He seems pretty upset, and he’s damned insistent.”
Kevin handed me the card and waited for me to make a decision, yes or no.
I passed the card to Max and rose from the table. “It’s Beto. I’ll go get him.”
Kevin put up a hand. “Better if you stay put-it’s a zoo out there. Peng will bring Beto in.”
Beto entered the kitchen in a rush, face red, tears streaming down his cheeks. Kevin held out a chair for him and got him a glass of water from the tap.
“Is it your dad?” I asked.
“What?” Beto seemed confused by the question at first, but then he waved it away. “No. God, I mean, it doesn’t look good, but he’s hanging on. Jesus, Maggie. Zaida called me at the store and told me that there were cops all over your place and that the coroner’s van showed up. I thought-”
He looked from me to Max, and back at Kevin, his lower lip quivering.
“We’re okay, Beto.” I passed him the tissue box. Kevin put his big hand on Beto’s shoulder to calm him.
Beto mopped his face, blew his nose, and managed to gulp in a couple of deep breaths. After a big exhale, he said, “Sorry. Flash of déjà vu, I guess. Panic response. Last time I saw that many cop cars in one place was-” He couldn’t get the words out.
Kevin said, “Your mom?”
Beto nodded as he reached for more tissues. With red-rimmed eyes, he looked at me. “What the hell happened here?”
I said, “It’s Larry Nordquist.”
“He’s dead?”
“Very,” Max said.
“Holy Mary, mother of God.” Beto crossed himself. “But I just saw him.”
“When?” Kevin asked.
Beto finally managed a sort of smile. “Is that an official question, Officer, sir?”
“Damn straight, bro. When did you last see Larry?”
“Saturday afternoon,” Beto said. “He drove Father John to our party and waited out front. I went out and asked him to come in, but he said he wasn’t in a party mood.”
“What time did Father John leave?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Beto turned enough in his chair to give Kevin a snarky look. “You know how many people came and went Saturday? Well I don’t. And I sure as hell didn’t play time keeper. All I can say is that Father John wasn’t feeling very well so he didn’t stay long; he prayed, ate, and ran.”
“He left before Jean-Paul and I arrived,” I said. “Don’t ask me the time, but the sun was still up.”
Kevin asked Max next: “Where were you Saturday night?”
“After I got Maggie and Jean-Paul home from that shoot-’em-up in Oakland Saturday afternoon, I took BART into San Francisco. Stayed over with friends and came back yesterday.”
“How well did you know Larry Nordquist?”
Max just shrugged. “Never met the guy. Only time I ever saw him was this morning, in the Dumpster.”
“Any more questions, Mr. Cop?” Beto asked, good humor returning.
“Yes, one.” Kevin flipped to a clean notebook page and clicked open his pen and faced Beto. “You said you were at the deli when Zaida called you.”
“I was,” Beto said. “Elbow deep in sliced pastrami.”
“And you didn’t bring us lunch?”
“Fuck you, bro.” Beto, grinning now, snatched up Kevin’s notebook and tossed it at his chest. “I don’t cater this sort of shindig. But I tell you what, Kev. Let your guys know that today only, if they come into the store and mention your name, I’ll give them ten percent off their meal.”
“Such a deal,” Kevin said, turning to me. “Junior here normally gives the boys a thirty percent discount and free drinks.”
“Are you two finished?” I asked. When they looked my way, I asked Beto, “How’s your dad?”
“The ultimate diagnosis is, he’s old and worn out. Doc thinks he had a transient ischemic attack, probably not his first. Could have an aneurysm. His chances for a major stroke before Christmas are excellent. While they have him, they’re evaluating him for Alzheimer’s and other dementia,” Beto said. “But at the moment, except for some spaciness and cuts and bruises he got when he fell, he feels pretty good and he likes the nurses, even if he can’t remember their names.”
“We should all hope to go the way Maggie’s dad did,” Kevin said. “He sat down to take a nap and just never woke up.”
“Halloran?” Max furrowed his brow. “What’s the possibility this Nordquist idiot climbed into the Dumpster for a snooze and got hit in the head by something that was thrown in on top of him?”
Kevin held up his hands. “Not my question to answer.”
That scenario didn’t seem likely to me. I turned to Max. “I didn’t see anything piled atop the sleeping bag that covered Larry that could have cleaved his head so cleanly and so deeply. Not through the padding of the sleeping bag. For what it’s worth, I know that sleeping bag did not come out of our house.”
Max covered my hand with his. “You okay?”
I shrugged; yes and no.
“Kevin,” I said to get his attention. “Father John has been looking after Larry. Has anyone contacted him?”
“Dunno.” He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial, asked that question of whoever answered, explained briefly who Father John was and his relationship to Larry, and volunteered to notify the padre. He said, “But, sir,” a few times and got no further with whatever he wanted to interject into the conversation. He seemed deflated when he put the phone away.
He met my eyes. “The chief hasn’t sent anyone to inform Father John. There will be more questions for you later, but they can wait. Do you want to go with me to talk to John?”
“I want to go, yes,” I said, checking the time on the wall clock; Father John should still be serving soup. “But not with you. You said the media are already here. Under the circumstances, the two of us shouldn’t be seen in public together.”
When he started to protest, I said, “There are TVs in the psych unit, Detective.”
Kevin suddenly seemed to fold down into some deep, dark place.
Beto leaned in close to him. “Kev?”
After a long sigh, Kevin said, “The chief took me off the case. He says I’m too close to it.”
“Hard to argue that one,” Beto said. “What’s that about the psych unit?”
Kevin ignored Beto’s question. “Chief said I have enough on my plate right now to take on a new case. The bastard.”
He glared at me and Max. “I did what you guys told me I should do. I told the chief everything.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy, did I?” Max said.
Kevin hung his head. “Damn, if she even sees me coming out of this house.”
“Who?” Beto’s focus bobbed from person to person, like a spectator at a three-man tennis match. “What psych unit? Do you mean Lacy? But she’s in rehab, right?”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Kevin said.