Chasing the Dime (23 page)

‘What was he talking about?'

‘Nothing. He was doing some online stuff for me.' He almost started telling her about it and everything else. But before he could put the words together a man in a lab coat came through the door. He had a clipboard. He was in his late fifties with silver hair and a matching beard.

‘This is Dr. Hansen,' Nicole said.

‘How are you feeling?' the doctor asked.

He leaned over the bed and used his hand on Pierce's jaw to turn his face slightly.

‘Only hurts when I breathe. Or talk. Or when somebody does that.'

Hansen let go of his jaw. He used a penlight to study Pierce's pupils.

‘Well, you've got some pretty substantial injuries here. You have a grade-two concussion and six stitches in your scalp.'

Pierce hadn't even remembered that injury. It must have come when he hit the outside wall of the building.

‘The concussion is the cause of the loginess you may be feeling and any headache discomfort. Let's see, what else? You have a pulmonary contusion, a deep shoulder contusion; you've got two fractured ribs and, of course, the broken nose. The lacerations on your nose and surrounding your eye are going to require plastic surgery to properly close without permanent scarring. I can get somebody in here tonight to do that, depending on the swelling, or if you have a personal surgeon, then you can contact him.'

Pierce shook his head. He knew there were many people in this town who kept personal plastic surgeons on call. But he wasn't one of them.

‘Whoever you can get ... '

‘Henry,' Nicole said. ‘This is your face you're talking about. I think you should get the best possible surgeon you can.'

‘I think I can get you a very good one,' Hansen said. ‘Let me make some calls and see what I come up with.'

‘Thank you.'

He said the words pretty clearly. It seemed as though his speech facility was quickly adapting to the new physical circumstances of his mouth and nasal passages.

‘Try to stay as horizontal as possible,' Hansen said. ‘I'll be back.'

The doctor nodded and left the room. Pierce looked at Nicole.

‘Looks like I'm going to be here awhile. You don't have to stay.'

‘I don't mind.'

He smiled and it hurt, but he smiled anyway. He was very happy with her response.

‘Why did you call me in the middle of the night, Henry?'

He'd forgotten and the reminder brought the searing embarrassment again. He carefully composed an answer before speaking.

‘I don't know. It's a long story. It's been a strange weekend. I wanted to tell you about it. And I wanted to tell you what I had been thinking about.'

‘What was that?'

It hurt to talk but he had to tell her.

‘I don't know exactly. Just that the things that happened to me somehow made me see your point of view a lot clearer. I know it's probably too little too late. But for some reason I wanted you to know I finally saw the light.'

She shook her head.

‘That's good, Henry. But you're lying here with your head and face split open. It appears somebody dangled you off a twelfth-story balcony and the cops say they want to talk to you. It seems like you went to an awful lot of trouble to get my point of view. So excuse me if I don't jump up and embrace the new man you profess yourself to be.'

Pierce knew that if he were up to it, they were heading down the road to familiar territory. But he didn't think he had the stamina for another argument with her.

‘Can you try Lucy again?'

Nicole angrily punched the redial button on her cell phone again.

‘I ought to just put this on speed dial.'

He watched her eyes and could read that she had reached the voice mail again.

She snapped the phone closed and looked at him.

‘Henry, what's going on with you?'

He tried to shake his head but it hurt to do so.

‘I got a wrong number,' he said.

Pierce came out of a murky dream about free-falling while blindfolded and not knowing how far it was he was falling. When he finally hit the ground he opened his eyes and Detective Renner was there with a lopsided smile on his face.

‘You.'

‘Yeah, me again. How are you feeling, Mr. Pierce?'

‘I'm fine.'

‘Looked like a bad dream you were having. You were thrashing around there quite a bit.'

‘Maybe I was dreaming about you.'

‘Who are the Wickershams?'

‘What?'

‘You said the name in your sleep. Wickershams.'

‘They're monkeys. From the jungle. The non-believers.'

‘I don't get it.'

‘I know. So never mind. Why are you here? What do you want? It happened — whatever happened — in Santa Monica and I already talked to them. I don't remember what happened. I have a concussion, you know.'

Renner nodded.

‘Oh, I know all about your injuries. The nurse told me the plastic surgeon put a hundred and sixty microstitches across your nose and around that eye yesterday morning. Anyway, I'm here on Los Angeles police business. Though it's looking more and more like maybe L.A. and Santa Monica should get together on this one.'

Pierce raised his hand and gently touched the bridge of his nose. There was no gauze. He could feel the zipper of stitches and the puffiness. He tried to remember things. The last thing he could clearly recall was the plastic surgeon hovering over him with a bright light. After that he had been in and out, floating through the darkness.

‘What time is it?'

‘Three-fifteen.'

There was bright light coming through the window shades. He knew it wasn't the middle of the night. He also realized he was in a private room.

‘It's Monday? No, it's Tuesday?'

‘That's what it said in the paper today, if you believe what you read in the paper.'

Pierce felt physically strong — he had probably been asleep for more than fifteen straight hours — but was disturbed by the lingering feeling of the dream. And by Renner's presence.

‘What do you want?'

‘Well, first of all, let me get something out of the way. I'm going to read you your rights real quick here. That way you're protected and so am I.'

The detective pulled the mobile food tray over the bed and placed a microrecorder down on it.

‘What do you mean, you're protected? What do you need protection from? That's bullshit, Renner.'

‘Not at all. I need to do it to protect the integrity of my investigation. Now I'm going to record everything from here on out.'

He pressed a button on the recorder and a red light came on. He announced his name, the time and date and the location of the interview. He identified Pierce and read him his constitutionally guaranteed rights from a little card he took from his wallet.

‘Now, do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?'

‘Heard them enough growing up.'

Renner raised an eyebrow.

‘In the movies and on TV,' Pierce added.

‘Please answer the question and hold off on being clever if you can.'

‘Yes, I understand my rights.'

‘Good. Now is it all right if I ask you a few questions?'

‘Am I a suspect?'

‘A suspect in what?'

‘I don't know. You tell me.'

‘Well, that's the thing, isn't it? Hard to tell what we've got here.'

‘But you still think you need to read me my rights. To protect me, of course.'

‘That's right.'

‘What are your questions? Have you found Lilly Quinlan?'

‘We're working on it. You don't know where she is, do you?'

Pierce shook his head and the movement made his head feel a little sloshy. He waited for it to subside before speaking.

‘No. I wish I did.'

‘Yes, it would kind of clear things up a bit if she just walked through the door, wouldn't it?'

‘Yes. Was it her blood on the bed?'

‘We're still working on it. Preliminary tests showed that it was human blood. But we have no sample from Lilly Quinlan to compare it with. I think I've got a line on her doctor. We'll see what records and possible samples he has. A woman like that, she probably had her blood checked on a regular basis.'

Pierce assumed Renner was talking about Lilly checking herself for sexually transmitted diseases. Still, confirmation of the seemingly obvious — that it was human blood he had found on the bed — made him feel more depressed. As if the last slim hope he had for Lilly Quinlan was slipping away.

‘Let me ask the questions now,' Renner said. ‘What about this girl Robin that you mentioned before? Have you seen her?'

‘No. I've been here.'

‘Talked to her?'

‘No. Have you?'

‘No, we haven't been able to locate her. We got her number off the website like you said. But all we get is a message. We even tried leaving one where I had a guy in the squad who's good on the phone call up and act like he was, you know, a customer.'

‘Social engineering.'

‘Yeah, social engineering. But she didn't call back on that one either.'

Pierce felt the bottom completely drop out of his stomach now. Last he remembered, Nicole had tried to reach Lucy repeatedly and was also unsuccessful. Wentz might have gotten to her — or maybe even still had her. He realized he had to make a decision. He could dance around with Renner and continue to hold up a veil of lies in order to protect himself. Or he could try to help Lucy.

‘Well, did you trace the number?'

‘It's a cell.'

‘What about the billing address?'

‘The phone's registered to one of her regular clients. He said he does it as a favor. He takes care of the phone for her and the lease on her fuck pad and she gives him a free pop every Sunday afternoon while his wife does the shopping at the Ralph's in the Marina. It's more like Robin's doing the favor, you ask me. The guy's a fat slob. Anyway, she didn't show up Sunday afternoon at the pad — it's a little place in the Marina. We were there. We went with this guy but she didn't show.'

‘And he doesn't know where she lives?'

‘Nope. She never told him. He just pays for the cell phone and the apartment and shows up every Sunday. He lays the whole thing off on his expense account.'

‘Shit.'

He envisioned Lucy in the hands of Wentz and Six-Eight. He reached up and ran his fingers along the seams in his own face. He hoped she got away. He hoped she was just hiding somewhere.

‘Yeah, “shit” is exactly what we said. And the thing is, we don't even have her full name — we got her picture from the website, if it is her picture, and the name Robin. That's it, and I get the funny feeling neither one is legit.'

‘What about going to the website?'

‘I told you, we went — '

‘No, the real place. The site office in Hollywood?'

‘We did and we caught a lawyer. No cooperation. We need a court order before they'll share client information. And as far as Robin goes, we don't have enough to go talk to a judge about court orders.'

One more time Pierce thought about his choices. Protect himself or help Renner and possibly help Lucy. If it wasn't already too late.

‘Turn that off.'

‘What, this tape? I can't. This is a formal interview. I told you, I'm taping it.'

‘Then it's over. But if you turn that off, I think I can tell you some things that will help you.'

Renner appeared to hesitate while he thought about it but Pierce had the feeling that so far everything had been scripted and was moving in the exact direction the detective had wanted it to go.

The detective clicked a button on the tape recorder and the red record light went off. He slid the device into the right pocket of his jacket.

‘Okay, whaddaya got?'

‘Her name isn't Robin. She told me her name is Lucy LaPorte. She's from New Orleans. You've got to find her. She's in danger. It might already be too late.'

‘In danger from who?'

Pierce didn't answer. He thought about Wentz's threat not to talk to the police. He thought about the warnings from the private investigator, Glass.

‘Billy Wentz,' he finally said.

‘Wentz again,' Renner said. ‘He's the bogeyman in all of this, huh?'

‘Look, man, you can believe what I say or not. But just find Robin — I mean, Lucy — and make sure she's okay.'

‘That's it? That's all you've got for me?'

‘Her website photo is legitimate. I saw her.'

Renner nodded as though he had assumed so the whole time.

‘The picture's getting a little clearer here,' he said. ‘What else can you tell me about her? When did you see her?'

‘Saturday night. She took me to Lilly's apartment. But she left before I went in. She didn't see anything, so I tried to keep her out of it. It was part of the deal I made with her. She was afraid Wentz would find out.'

‘That was brilliant. You pay her?'

‘Yes, but what does it matter?'

‘It matters because money affects motives. How much?'

‘About seven hundred dollars.'

‘A lot of bread for just a ride through Venice. You get the other kind of ride, too, did you?'

‘No, Detective, I didn't.'

‘And so if this tale you told me before about Wentz being this big bad digital pimp is right, then her showing you the way to Lilly's apartment sort of puts her in harm's way, doesn't it?'