Cordova smiled a little. "Oh, yeah."
"You work for Mr. and Mrs. Calder, in Bel-Air?"
"Yeah."
"You were at their house the day Mr. Calder was shot." It wasn't a question.
"I don't know nothing about that," Cordova said.
"Thanks for your time," Stone said. "You can leave."
Cordova didn't move. "What about my other five hundred?"
"If you want that, you'll have to start earning it," Stone said.
Cordova glared at him for a moment. "I didn't cut the grass that day."
"No, you were there to burgle the place."
Cordova chuckled. "Shit, man," he said.
"I'm not here to arrest you; I think you know the cops aren't going to find you here. They're not even looking for you."
"What makes you think I'm a burglar?" Cordova asked.
"Those Nikes you're wearing cost a hundred and eighty bucks," Stone said. "You didn't buy them cutting grass."
"Shit, man…"
Stone slammed his hand on the table. "Shit is right," he said. "That's all I'm getting from you."
"Okay, okay, so what do you want to know?"
"Did Calder catch you in the house?"
"I never got into the house," Cordova replied.
"You were right outside the door; you were seen," Stone lied.
"By who?"
"By Manolo's wife; you didn't see her."
"Then you know I didn't get in the house. I only got as far as the back door. I went in through a little gate where we take the equipment in."
"And what did you see at the back door?"
"First, I heard something."
"Like what?"
"Like a gun going off."
"How many times?"
"Once. I was almost to the back door when I heard it. I took a few more steps, and I looked through the door. It was a glass door, you know? With panes?"
"I know. What did you see?"