Chapter 26
Black's feeling of unease intensified as the afternoon shadows lengthened across his office walls, until at four o'clock he resolved to do something to put his apprehension to rest. He dialed Meagan's number with a heavy hand, and was surprised at how upbeat her voice was when she answered the phone.
"Meagan. It's Black. I hope I'm not disturbing you..."
"No, not at all. What can I do for you?"
"How are you holding up?"
"It's...it's been hard, as you might expect."
"I'm sure of it. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
"I will. It's just a bad time, is all."
"No doubt. Listen, I just wanted to check with you before I stop by. I have a few loose ends I'm tying up on the case."
"Oh. Are you making any progress? I'd have thought you'd dropped it now that Hunter's...gone."
"Not really. I'm about ready to put it to bed. This is more like crossing a few housekeeping chores off the list. Nothing more."
"Do you need to get into the house?"
"No, that can wait for a better time. I mostly just want to stop in and make sure you're okay."
"That's so sweet. And unnecessary."
"I'm in the neighborhood. It won't take more than a few minutes."
"I suppose that's fine, then."
"How's...Nicole doing?"
"I have no idea. She left the day after Hunter was killed. She wasn't here when it happened, thank God. I guess she was out with friends."
"It's got to be hard for her."
"I'm sure of it. I think she's staying with her mom. That will be good. Maybe she'll move in with her, once and for all."
Black could pick up a trace of animosity, even after everything that had happened.
"You'll figure it out, Meagan. Tell you what, I'll be by within a half hour. I just need to finish up an errand. I'll be in and out in no time."
Any other time, he was sure she would have latched onto the double entendre, but her spirit wasn't in it, and she sounded preoccupied.
"I'll be here. See you when I see you."
Black shifted on the uncomfortable makeshift seat cover he'd fashioned from tape and then rose, his pants pulling free of the silver patch with a sound like ripping fabric. He pulled on his black double-breasted jacket and cocked a black fedora on his head at a jaunty angle and emerged from his office to find Roxie actually doing what appeared to be legitimate work - paying bills with their bookkeeping software.
"I'm headed out."
"I got that. Is there a costume party tonight?"
"Another jab about my sartorial splendor, I presume."
"It's just that normal people don't dress like extras out of a Zoot Suit musical."
"I appreciate the candor. But I like this look."
"Why not try Robin Hood next? The green tights and the little vest might work nicely. And I think he wore a funny hat, too."
"I'll be on my cell."
"Good to know."
"In case anyone calls."
"Like they haven't all day. Oh, wait. We did have one wrong number. Looking for a dry cleaner. I'm guessing you don't want it forwarded."
"What would I do without you?"
"Probably starve Mugsy."
"Given that he's eaten about half my chair, I'm guessing he'd find a way to make do." Black glowered at the cat, who was lying on his back on the couch, fast asleep, all four paws in the air, soft snoring emanating from his untroubled face. "No wonder he's tired."
Black made it to Bel Air in twenty minutes, the car sounding ominous as it strained up the hills, and he congratulated himself again on his decision to finally get it attended to. When he pulled up to Hunter's estate, there was a squad car parked in front with two bored uniforms in it, and beyond it, a green pickup truck with utility boxes on either side of the bed and an indecipherable logo on either door. He parked behind the vehicles and approached the squad car's open driver-side window and stopped well clear of it - there had been enough shooting in the exclusive neighborhood already, and he didn't want a cop with the jitters to add to his woes.
"Officers. I'm here to see Meagan Hunter. I'm a friend."
The driver, the older of the pair, a well-fed Hispanic man with a neatly trimmed mustache, met his gaze. "It's a free country."
"What are you fellas doing here?"
"We were told to stop by every couple of hours and make sure nobody was loitering around."
"I imagine pretty soon they'll be loitering in greener pastures, now it's becoming old news."
"You got that right."
"All right, then. I'm going in. Have a good one."
Black paused at the front of the expansive front wall - three-foot-high mortar and cement topped with five feet of black wrought iron - and studied the house façade. The blood had been cleaned off the steps, and a handyman was perched on a ladder, repairing the damage to one of the windows caused by the hail of bullets. Stan's question still burning in his ears, Black closed his eyes and tried to recreate the shooting. Stan had been standing next to him, cop cars spread out along the street, uniforms ducked behind their vehicles waiting for the SWAT team to show up, Hunter waving the hogleg around while swigging from the bottle...
And then a shot, followed almost immediately by more. But the first shot had definitely come from the right side. A loud, sharp report.
Black walked to the far right side by the gate and peered into the grounds. A long row of dense hedges ran along both sides, with elegantly coiffed trees lining the perimeter. He edged to the neighbor's lot line wall and squinted. There was about a two-foot space between the wall and the plants. Not a lot of space.
He had no idea what he was looking for, but something was nagging at him, and it hadn't subsided over time. He tried the heavy brass handle for the pedestrian gate and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. Then again, the maintenance men had likely been in and out. Black pushed it open and stepped across the metal threshold onto the smooth cobblestones, likely imported from Europe, and moved to the hedges, his hawk-like gaze looking for something - anything.
Unfortunately, all he saw was grass in need of mowing that extended to the neighbor's wall and rich, coffee-toned soil beneath the bushes. A faint suspicion took shape as he studied the area - there was certainly enough room for an assailant to hide, and he would have been out of sight from the street because of the way the hedges ran to the full perimeter at the front of the lot.
But not at the back. He followed the lot line until he arrived at the rear of the property, where there was a brick wall separating Hunter's estate from the one behind it - a contemporary masterpiece with a lavish pool and spa area done in symmetrical sandstone. Black studied the rear brickwork, and even in the late afternoon light, picked up a rust-colored smudge near the union where the side wall met the rear.
Which could have been anything.
Anything at all. Paint. Crap. Bird poop.
Or blood.
Hunter inched along the rear wall until his nose was only a few inches from the smear, but that perspective didn't improve his appreciation of it. It was a smudge on red brick. Hard to make out.
But it was there.
His gaze roamed along the side wall, and then he edged along it, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Like more blood.
No such luck. It was probably just some neighborhood animal that had cut its paw. Nothing nefarious. Sometimes, just because you were paranoid, it didn't mean anyone was out to get you. It just meant you were a nutcase.
He was nearing the front of the lot again, when he saw it.
There.
On the grass.
Faint. But unmistakable.
More of the rust-colored splotch. This time, what looked like dried drops of it.
Black's awareness focused to tunnel-vision as his pulse pounded in his ears, the effect heightened by the narrow corridor effect of the hedges on one side and the wall on the other. His mind grappled for possible explanations. Perhaps a gardener had cut himself. A maintenance worker. A prowling pet.
But that's not what his gut told him.
He fished his phone out of his jacket and called Stan.
"You need to get a forensics team up to Hunter's house. Now."
"Why? Where are you?"
"I'm at his house. Just do as I ask. I'll wait for them."
"What's up, Black? You been boozing early?"
"I wish. You might want to get your tired old ass up here as well."
"Want to tell me what's going on?"
"I think I figured out where the first shot came from."