Stemple wondered where Lu got his clothes. He had to have a size-thirteen neck. Tiny. His white shirt and black slacks bagged.
"Houseboat off Moss
Landing."
"Houseboat?"
What I said, Stemple thought.
"She with anybody?" Gomez asked.
"No, just her. Was with some guy but he left, TJ said." He lowered his voice. "Kathryn's outside. She'll go with us. So, draw straws. Jimmy?"
"Sure, I'll go."
Lu said, "Why don't we all go?"
Allerton: "I need somebody here. I've got to finish these transcripts from Oakland. The prosecutor needs them in a couple of hours and I don't think I'm going to make it."
Lu said, "Sure. I can do that. Happy to help out." That defined Steve Two. Somebody else might've said, "Oh, I just lovvvvve paperwork. Can't get enough." But sincerity was baked into the slim man's core. He returned to the tasks on his desk.
Gomez pulled his tan sports jacket on, checked his Glock. As if the bullets had fallen out in between the last time he checked and now. "After you, Al."
Together the men walked out into the parking lot.
Kathryn Dance was waiting.
"Hey," Gomez said.
"Jimmy." She nodded. And they walked toward Stemple's cruiser.
Looking around, Dance asked, "Charles doesn't know I'm here, does he? You're sure?"
"Not from us," Gomez confirmed. "We Fab Four took a vow of silence. Even Steve Foster's agreed. He can be a, you know."
"I do."
It was transparent, Stemple thought, using Steve Foster's favorite catchword.
They climbed into the car. Stemple started the engine and sped west on 68, heading for Highway 1, which would get them to Moss Landing in twenty minutes.
"Who's this Tia we're going to see?" Gomez asked. Then: "Whoa."
Stemple never paid much attention to speed limits.
Dance said, "Tia Alonzo. Used to be an exotic dancer."
"Love that. 'Exotic.'"
"And model. Wannabe, of course. Serrano met her at a party and they, well, kept up partying for a month or two. It ended but they hook up occasionally. TJ found Tia's gotten a couple of texts from Serrano lately. He's checking her sheet now, seeing if there's any paper we can use to leverage her into helping us. Or maybe she'll just cooperate. Out of the goodness of her heart."
Now, yeah, Stemple grunted.
A real houseboat.
Run-down but Al Stemple liked it.
About forty feet long, fifteen wide, a squat whitewashed structure on top of pontoons.