The Night Detectives (David Mapstone Mystery 7)

“You,” I said. “Of course, great if Sharon joins us. I love Sharon. Why would she want to work with us?”

“We need her expertise. She’s been consulting for San Francisco PD, you know.”

I didn’t. I knew she had moved there to be closer to their grown daughters. She had stopped her popular radio show and quit writing the best-selling self-help books that had made her a wealthy woman.

“So you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

“We can put Lindsey on the payroll when she comes back, too.”

That should have made me smile. We had no payroll besides the ten grand from Client No. 1 and Tim Lewis’ five hundred. Outside of business cards, our practice was only getting started. But I didn’t smile or answer directly. Lindsey wasn’t coming back, except to get her things and move away permanently to be with her lover or lovers to come.

“Are you and Sharon getting back together?”

He evaded.

“Now I want you to think about this, M

apstone. Every police agency in Southern California is looking for that baby. It’s a big deal and we’re going to get in the way. The feds are investigating the explosion, who got his hands on a Claymore, and if we get in their way, we could compromise an undercover operation.”

“We have other strands we can follow,” I said. “Grace’s friend and parents. Her list of johns. Tim’s parents. Larry Zisman.”

He nodded. “But we’re going to make enemies if we get on the wrong side of law enforcement. We might get prosecuted. Are you sure you want to stay on this case?”

I was momentarily confused, recalling his insistence that we couldn’t allow our clients to be killed. But it didn’t last long. “I do.”

“Why?”

I repeated his rationale back to him. Then, “I remember our names painted in blood on the apartment wall. Whoever set that Claymore was counting on me coming back. They watched me go into the apartment and get well inside it before they set it off. So we’ve made enemies whether we want them or not. Then there’s the little matter of withholding evidence. You didn’t tell the Phoenix cops about our client. I didn’t tell the San Diego cops about Grace’s business, or about the flash drive.”

“You gave them the pimp.”

“Sure, but only that he was a guy threatening Tim when I showed up. I told them that’s all I knew. Seems to me, if we’re not pro-active, the bad guys will come to us, and if we don’t solve the case, the good guys could come to us, too, and not in a good way.”

He sighed. “I guess my point is, that I can take this one, if you want to bow out.”

Now he hurt my feelings. It was that petty and selfish on my part.

I said, “No way.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

I told him that I was sure.

He strode over to his desk and picked up his hat.

“Then bring your breakfast and saddle up.” He pointed to my desk. “You might want to leave your fancy headgear here.”

17

Up Grand Avenue, we had a fast ride cutting northwest through the checkerboard street grid of Phoenix and Glendale.

“So where are we going?”

“To see a guy I know,” Peralta said.

“A guy you know?”