Guilt by Association (27 page)

Since there was literally no one there, Bailey and I decided to stop into Canter’s and grab a quick nosh. The deli had had
its ups and downs in popularity, but it still managed to serve up some great-tasting food. I threw caution to the wind and
ordered a bagel and lox with cream cheese and capers, and Bailey got whitefish on a kaiser roll.

“We get the results back on Revelo yet?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “Soon, but we know they’re gonna exclude him.”

I nodded. “I told Graden we’d pretty much eliminated him. I’m going to really love telling Densmore he was wrong.”

Bailey sprouted a satisfied smile. “Sweet.” She paused and asked, “What’d you tell Graden about how we managed to get Revelo
tested?”

“Same way we’re going to tell Densmore—and Vanderhorn. By keeping it vague. Just said we’d caught up with him and he’d agreed
to give samples.”

Bailey nodded approvingly.

By the time we got back to the Oki-Dog, it had started to fill up. Bailey and I found seats strategically located at the periphery
of the action, where we could scan the crowd and look for our target, the Aryan Brotherhood guy. Although neither of us was
hungry, the smell of fried food drove us to distraction. I got a large Diet Coke to keep myself occupied and sipped it slowly
to avoid needing a bathroom run. After three hours, two refills, and a bursting bladder, and with no sighting of our man,
I turned to Bailey.

“I could talk to some uniforms who work the area. Ask them to keep an eye out,” she suggested.

We both knew the odds were very long that the unis would find him. They had their own work to do, but I didn’t have any better
ideas. I reached down to get my purse when I noticed someone who looked familiar. He was a tall, slender black kid with an
Afro, and he was standing with a group of teens to the left of the door. I looked at Bailey and nodded toward him, and she
glanced over, then nodded back. We stood quietly, walked around the back of the hut, and came up behind him.

“Hey, Dante,” I said practically into his ear. “What’s up?”

The kid literally jumped
at the sound of my voice. Just in case he thought he had a shot at running, Bailey stepped around in front of him. “Hey,
Dante,” she said. Then she turned to the others. “Would you guys mind if we borrowed him for a sec?”

Dante, who wanted to make it clear to his associates that he wasn’t a snitch, said, “This about Kit again?”

“It is. We just want to let you know what we think so far, get your opinion,” I replied, giving him a face-saving exit.

He had no choice, but he wisely nodded to make it look like he did and accompanied us back to our table.

As we sat down, I noticed that he looked mighty skinny. It could’ve been drugs, but it didn’t feel that way. “Dante, you want
some lunch? I’m buying.”

He looked at me for a second, but only one, and said, “Yeah, sure. I’ll have two Oki-Dogs, a cheeseburger, and some fries.”

“Drink?”

“Uh, Dr Pepper’s great, thanks.”

I talked to him while Bailey went to get the food. “You heard anything on the street about Kit? Maybe what he was into just
before he died?”

“Nah,” Dante said, rubbing his hands on his jeans and looking impatiently toward the hut.

“Where’s your home, Dante? Where do your folks live?” I knew that was a safe question because, wherever that was, this kid
obviously didn’t live there.

“Dad”—he shrugged—“don’t know. Never knew. Mom lives up in Jordan Downs with my grandma.”

Mom lived in the heart of the ghetto in Watts, a very tough, very poor neighborhood. I looked at his neat but threadbare jeans,
multiply washed shirt, and clean but worn-down sneakers. He’d been taking care of himself on very little money for a very
long time. If I thought about this too long my heart would break right in front of him. I looked around at the Oki-Dog customers.
It was the usual motley crew: Emos with their black-painted fingernails and hair and white faces, and some preppy types who’d
wandered over from the Rossmore mansions to mingle with the rougher crowd—looking “cool” in their Lacoste T-shirts and neatly
pressed khakis.

Bailey came back, her arms laden with food, a Dr Pepper sticking out of her pocket. It looked as if she’d doubled Dante’s
order, but then I realized that was how big the portions were. No wonder the place was such a hit with the kids—big servings,
low prices, and, judging by the smell, tasty food. Dante tucked into his feast, and we sat back to let him eat in peace. When
he was done, he politely wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Thank you, guys. Really,” he said.

“It was our pleasure, Dante,” I said. “Mind if I just ask some general questions about Kit?”

Dante looked at me, his expression perplexed. “I don’t mind, but I thought they said that DA guy, Jake, did it. So isn’t that
it? I mean, what’re we gonna talk about?”

It was a fair question, and it deserved an honest answer. “I think it might not have been Jake who did it.”

Dante considered this for a moment. “For real? Don’t get me wrong, if I was you, I wouldn’t want my homie to get accused of
nuthin’ that nasty either, but sometimes you got to face facts, you know?”

The wisdom of the gods, from the mouth of a sixteen-year-old. I nodded. “I do. And if it turns out I’m wrong and Jake did
it, then that’ll be that. But if I’m right, then the guy who did it is still out there.” I paused to let that sink in. “And
I’m guessing you wouldn’t mind helping me get him. Am I right?”

Dante looked away, and I saw him swallow hard. Kit’s death had hit him where it hurts—in his own vulnerability. “If you’re
right, I want you to fry his ass,” he said quietly.

I nodded. “Kit was hooking, wasn’t he?”

Dante took a deep breath, and I saw him mentally turn the corner. He looked down at the table and nodded.

“He have any regulars?” I asked.

Dante shook his head. “Not that he ever told me about.”

“You know any of his johns?”

He shook his head again.

“He ever pose for porn?”

Dante shrugged. “We all did whatever we could. Posing was the easiest money.”

“Can you remember who he posed for?”

“I never knew. Me and him, we’d, like, hang sometimes. You know, similar circumstances and all, but we weren’t that close.
’Sides, I barely remember who I posed for. It’s not the kind of thing you want to think about a lot, and I never did it as
a regular thing for anyone, so…”

I nodded. In his place, I wouldn’t have wanted to give it all that much thought myself. “Would you recognize someone you’d
posed for if I found his picture or gave you a description?”

Dante shrugged again. “Maybe. Hard to say until you do.”

I didn’t have anyone yet, but I hoped that Clive would come up with some leads. In the meantime, I had an idea.

“I may have some pictures or descriptions for you pretty soon, but I need to ask one favor. Can I take your picture?”

He looked at me, wary. “What for?”

“It might help me track down who was taking pictures of Kit. This will not come down on you in any way, so don’t worry, Dante.”

He frowned, tilted his head to look down his nose at me, and thought for a moment. Eventually he said a reluctant “Okay.”
I pulled out my cell phone and took his picture. Then, just to be sure, I scrolled through my contacts and hit the send button.
Dante’s phone rang.

I smiled at him. “Just checking.”

He looked away, then turned back, his expression serious. “I don’t have nothing against gay, you know? Everybody gets to be…
whatever. But I want you to know, I’m not gay, I just need the money.”

“I get it, Dante,” I said quietly, meaning it. “What about Kit? You think he was gay?”

Dante paused. “He hung out with Eddie a lot, but that don’t mean nothing. So I guess my answer is, I don’t know.” He tilted
his head. “Why?”

“Might help with motive and possible suspects,” I replied. “You thought it mattered to me personally?”

Dante nodded.

I shook my head. “Couldn’t care less.”

“If the unis don’t find
our guy, we’re going to have to go back ourselves,” Bailey remarked as she drove on Fairfax, heading for the freeway that
would take us back downtown.

I nodded. We passed Fairfax High School. Looking at the drab exterior, you’d never guess that it’d spawned geniuses such as
James Ellroy and Larry Gelbart… and Slash.

“Hello? Earth to Knight,” Bailey said, interrupting my effort to imagine what it would be like to be in the same classroom
with guys like that.

“What? I’m here.”

“I want to remind you that the more we float around out in the world, whoever’s been after us—” Bailey stopped midsentence
to swerve around a car that was crawling at a snail’s pace. “We’re giving them a plenty big target.”

True. A plan was forming in my mind, but I needed another minute to make sure I liked it. In the meantime, I asked, “Did the
cops find any ammo at our shooting scene?”

“Report said two bullets, no casings.”

“So probably a revolver,” I remarked. “Caliber?”

“Firearms Unit said it looked like a thirty-eight. Six left.”

Six lands and grooves with a left-hand twist. That would narrow down the make of the gun that’d been used. “That a Colt?”

“Think so.”

“What’s going on with the court order for Pickelman’s precious bodily fluids?” I asked.

“No dice so far.” Bailey sighed. “Be easy if we just arrested his ass, but that’s…” Bailey trailed off.

I finished the sentence in my head: a risky move if he wasn’t the right guy. I pondered the two most immediate problems on
our plate. We drove in silence as I mulled over a way to handle them both. “I’m thinking about planting a story that we’ve
got the rapist in custody—no description. That way Pickelman won’t be inclined to run while we try to get the court order.
And if that’s who’s been dogging us, it might calm him down, get him off our backs. Only problem with that is—”

“It might make him feel safe enough to do it again.”

I nodded.

We both fell silent, searching for other solutions. We flew down the surprisingly open freeway, and the skyscrapers of downtown
came into view in the distance. It was nearly 5:00, and the sun was getting lower in the sky. I watched as twilight spread
through the air around me.

“Thing is, since we’re pretty sure it’s not Luis, the rapist could go after another victim anyway,” Bailey remarked.

I couldn’t argue with that. “You said we’re getting Luis’s DNA results soon?”

“Could be by the end of the day if our tech is one of the guys who does Saturdays—but for sure by Monday.”

I sighed. “Okay, I’ll get hold of my contact at the
Times.
Story should come out online by morning, in print the next day. And I’ll have to call Frank Densmore and let him know what
we’re doing.”

I didn’t relish the thought of reporting to Herr Densmore. On the other hand, it might be kind of fun if I had information
that would slap him down.

“Bailey, on the off chance we might get lucky for a change, would
you mind checking with the crime lab now? It’s sort of the end of the day.”

Bailey smiled, understanding. She handed me her cell phone and dictated the number of the tech who was doing the test.

I dialed the number. Sure enough, a high Asian voice answered, “Lab—Fukai here.”

“Hang on a sec. It’s Bailey Keller.” I handed the phone to Bailey.

“You got the results on Revelo’s DNA test?” she asked.

I waited while she listened without comment for a solid, excruciatingly slow minute and a half. I kept looking over at her
for a sign, but she was squinting at the road. Her expression told me nothing. Finally she snapped the phone shut and handed
it to me. “Well?” I said impatiently.

She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. “Revelo’s a no-match.”

“Yes!” I said, punching the air. It would feel good to tell that self-righteous egotist that he’d been wrong about Luis. But
first I’d tell the one who most needed to hear this.

I fished out my phone, found the number, and pressed the button. “Susan? Hi, it’s Rachel Knight. Do you have a sec?” I gave
her the news.

Susan’s response was what made the long nights and weekends of this job worth every second.

After a brief pause, I heard her blow out her breath. Then she gave an uncharacteristic yelp, her tone triumphant. “I knew
it! I just knew it!” she said excitedly. “I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen. And now… wait, you’re sure, right?”

Him. Meaning Densmore. “Yep, there’s no doubt about it,” I assured her. “It’s safe to celebrate. You were right all along,
Susan, and I’m so glad to be able to tell you that.”

This would give her back some sense of control over her life, not to mention a restored faith in her own judgment. That’s
important for anyone, but it’s especially critical for a rape victim.

Hearing the newfound jubilation in her voice was like watching the sun come out from behind a dark cloud.

“Are you going to tell my father now?” she asked.

“As soon as we hang up,” I promised.

“Oh, okay,” Susan said quickly, now in a hurry to speed me on my way. “Then you should go. Thank you again! And thank Bailey,
okay? Oh, and tell Luis I said hey.”

Eager to get to that call myself, I told her we’d be in touch and ended the conversation. “And now,” I told Bailey, pumped
by my talk with Susan, “for an encore, I get to play Slap the Asshole.”

In the end, like so many of life’s highly anticipated moments, it was less fun than I’d hoped. When I told Densmore the DNA
tests had excluded Luis Revelo, he’d harrumphed and immediately asked whether we’d moved on the security guard. Not even a
breath between the answer I’d given and his next order for action. I closed the phone and tossed it into my purse with a little
more vigor than I’d intended, drawing a knowing smile from Bailey.

“Didn’t you have people shaking the trees for suspect neighbors and workers?” I asked.