Bond said, “Do you mean it? I can stay?”
“For a while. You don’t need to go home and be around him.”
I sat on the couch and she slid beside me. She touched my face and moved hers so close I felt the soft breath of her words, “Then we won’t laugh this time.”
**
When I woke the next morning Bond was asleep with only the top of her head above the covers. I rose and showered, put on fresh Wranglers, gray New Balance shoes, a black polo, my shoulder holster and my gray, fresh-from-the-cleaners Patagonia windbreaker. I let myself out without making a sound. The drive to the office left me time to think. Bond jumping into bed with me was unexpected but not unique, especially in Los Angeles where people still seemed to have sex as easy as shaking hands. Maybe I should have said no.
Nahh, who was I kidding? The woman caught me at a weak moment and that was that. At least that was what I was going to tell myself.
Thoughts about Frank were different. I wasn’t sure if he followed Bond to the house, but that would be the logical thing, especially since he showed no surprise at her being there. But Frank’s last words, “You don’t have a clue what you’re getting into,” nagged at me. That, and the fact he sent Carl after me without much talk. It shouldn’t have been his play. Too many chances to sue, especially when it was in my own house.
I parked in the gym’s lot and went to my office. Hondo was already there and had a fresh cup of coffee waiting on my desk. He was sipping out of his favorite Star Wars mug and making origami with his free hand. There were two bird things on his desk and now he was working on what looked like a dog.
I’m more refined. I drank from a personalized mug given to me by Hunter Kincaid. On one side it had a picture of Hannibal Lecter in his leather mask above two sugar cubes. On the other it read in Halloween letters: The Silence of the Lumps. I also ate a bag of peanut M&M’s. Between the coffee and the chocolate, I thought I might get enough caffeine. The peanuts were for nutrition.
“I had a visit from Frank and Carl last night.”
Hondo’s eyebrows went up. “He wanting you to co-star with Tom Cruise?”
I filled him in and waited until the last to mention that Bond had spent the night. He looked at me and said, “Freud would have a field day with you.”
We were both drinking a second cup of coffee when Hondo said, “So, what are you going to do when Hunter shows up tomorrow?”
I burned my tongue and sat up. “She’s really coming?”
“Yep. She won’t say it, and neither will you, but you both want to be friends again.”
I nodded, “Yeah. We never should have taken it that far. We were great as friends.”
“You can get it back. But Bond may be a problem. Might be like rubbing Hunter’s nose in it or something. Your call, though.”
I nodded and thought about things as we finished our coffee. After we rinsed our cups and got in my truck, we headed for Landman’s house in Malibu to find Valdar, the painter. On the way, Sergeant Vick called to tell us that luminal tests on Landman’s fanny pack were negative: no evid
ence of blood. I asked him about prints off the money clip or anything else and he said partials in several places but nothing with enough points to identify. Vick also said the phone numbers on the sheets of paper had been the offices of several film companies, that they’d called and noted that Landman was friends with some of the producers and called on occasion to chat, and that no one had heard from Landman in four or five days. He reminded me about the Julio’s chips and salsa and hung up.
We reached Landman’s Malibu address twenty minutes later and parked at the edge of the road. The sound of surf rumbled and the smell of the ocean was fresh and clean as we walked to the door and rang the bell. No one answered, so we went down the ridge to the ocean side of the house and saw an open sliding patio door on the second floor deck. I yelled a few times, but got no answer. Hondo went to the privacy gate on the stairs and after a moment said, “It’s open, let’s go.”
I followed him up and we went through the patio door. Fine sand gritted as we stepped in and curtains floated in the breeze like the arms of banshees.
There were canvases in various sizes and in various stages of completion littering the floor and leaning against the wall. One large canvas on an easel was half complete and showed Bob Landman as a Border Patrol Agent with gun belt and western Stetson looking out over mountains from a rocky point that seemed familiar.
“That’s where the bike went over,” Hondo said.
There was a color photo printed on computer paper attached to the side of the canvas, which showed Landman posing, sans uniform, like the painting and standing on the lip of the cliff where we’d stood yesterday. At the edge of the photo was a portion of yellow bicycle showing, the Colnago, and on the far side of it was a foot and leg in jeans to the knee. Someone else was with him.
“Let’s look for a camera or see if he’s got a computer with the pictures already loaded.”
Hondo walked into the bedroom as I moved down the hallway. I hadn’t taken three steps before Hondo said, “Better come in here, Ronny.”
At first, I thought it was red paint, but then the smell kicked in and I recognized it as blood. Blood everywhere: splattered on the wall, the bed, the floor, and smeared across the sliding mirrored doors of the closet. Whoever was bleeding had struggled in a fight that ranged around the room. There were prints on the floor showing what looked like four shoes of different sizes, and there were prints of one person’s bare feet.
“You bring your cell with you?” Hondo asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think we want to call the police on it. Probably should make an anonymous call from a pay phone so we don’t get asked how we got inside.” I looked around and said, “Besides, they don’t have to hurry. Whoever lost this much blood doesn’t need an ambulance, they need a hearse.”
A muffled squeal came from behind the mirrored closet doors. We looked at each other and Hondo went to the closet with his Glock in his hand, being careful not to step in any of the drying blood. He slid open the door.