L.A. Boneyard (3 page)

the plate onto the pavement stones. The dog emptied the plate in two inhalations, and looked for more.

Chris still made no move to touch the animal. He did see it had a collar, but no tags. Had it gotten away from someone’s yard? Or had it been dumped? It was skinny, so whatever had happened wasn’t recent. He couldn’t see any sign of abuse or injury. He wished he knew more about dogs. But all he’d ever owned were cats, and that was mostly due to David’s love of them. Chris could have happily gone through life without owning any animal.

“What am I going to do with you?”

The dog crept close and tentatively shoved its damp nose into Chris’s hand. Without another thought, Chris pulled out his BlackBerry and punched in Des’s number. Before Des could speak, he said, “I need you to come over here, right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just come out. I can explain it better then.”

“If this is your way of getting out of lunch—”

“Trust me, Des.”

Des sniffed. “Well, okay. But don’t think you’re getting off.

I still expect lunch.”

While he waited for Des, Chris got a towel, and a bucket of warm water, and tried to wipe down the short-coated dog. The dog seemed to have lost its reticence, and tried to lick Chris’s skin off his face. Warm doggy breath, smelling vaguely of pesto chicken, washed over his face. Chris belatedly realized he was still wearing his Brunello Cucinellis suit from the interview. Not exactly dog washing attire. He took one final swipe of the animal and stood up.

He changed into jeans and a T-shirt, since the day had turned warm. Back outside, he found the dog sprawled on its side, on the sun-warmed patio, looking more asleep than aware.

His upright ears barely moved when Chris shut the French doors behind him.

“You sure know how to make yourself at home.”

14 P.A. Brown

Chris studied the sleeping dog and began to realize it looked familiar. In fact it looked just like the dog a neighbor down below the stairs owned. He remembered David had admired the dog more than once. A Doberman Pinscher.

“Is that what you are?
Sprechen sie Deutsch
?”

The dog smiled, revealing perfectly white, gleaming teeth.

“So does that mean if I try to take you in you’ll chew my ass off? You’re worse than one of David’s drill sergeants.”

He heard Des pull in behind his Escape. Chris opened the patio gate and called Des over.

“What are you doing back here?” Des pulled the gate shut behind him. “Now, will you please tell me what the hell is going…?”

He caught sight of the dog, which had half-risen at his appearance.

“Jesus.” Des backpedaled until he was pressed back against the redwood gate. “What is that?”

“It’s a dog.”

“No shit. What are you doing with it?”

“Well, that’s the problem,” Chris said, guiding Des to one of the Adirondack chairs and settling him into it. “I found him.

How about you keep an eye on Sergeant and I get us a drink.”

“Jesus, you named it already? You know you can’t do that.

Once you name it, how can you get rid of it?”

“You see our problem then.”

“Our problem? I didn’t participate in this doggie rescue operation. How is it my problem?”

Chris went inside and returned minutes later with a bottle of Pinot Blanc and two glasses. He handed one to Des. “
Mi
problema es su problema
.”

“Ha, good luck with that. I’ve got enough problems keeping Trevor in line. This is a whole other can of Alpo.”

“Speaking of which, what do you feed dogs? I doubt they should have cat food.”

L.A. BONEYARD
15

Des eyed the empty plate on the patio stones. “Not that, I’m sure, if it came out of your fridge. You’re not seriously thinking of keeping him are you? What is David going to say?”

“I adore you, Chris.” Chris batted his eye lashes. “Whatever you want is fine with me, Chris.”

“You do live in a fantasy world, don’t you?”

“A very rich one, thank you very much. I’m not worried about David. He likes animals.”

“No, he likes cats and he likes you. I think you’re stretching the definition of animal lover here.”

“Oh pish,” Chris said, getting the requisite smile from Des.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Des said. “But I’m still hungry, and since going out for lunch isn’t an option anymore, how about we order in?” He gave Chris a mock glare. “Your treat.”

They ordered souvlaki and Greek salad from down on the Boulevard. Chris followed that up with a call to his lawyer about going over the contract and an area pet supply place which promised to deliver a bag of dog food by the end of the day.

Waiting for lunch, Chris faxed the contract to his lawyer.

The dog food arrived before their own, and Chris found a small bowl to portion some out. He left the dog happily scarfing down his food, while he and Des headed into the kitchen to eat.

It was nearly seven before Chris heard David’s key in the door. He hadn’t heard the car, but then David probably had to park on the street, since Des’s Mercedes was taking up the other parking space. Des jumped to his feet, a half grimace on his classically beautiful cafe-au-lait face. “Well, I think I’m going to call it a night. You two take care—”

“Des—”

David paused in the door to divest himself of his weapon and badge and dropped his shoes in the foyer. He passed Des.

“Leaving so soon?” David asked, when Des gave him a hurried hello and goodbye.

“Gotta go, Trev’s waiting.”

16 P.A. Brown

They both watched Des race out the door; David turned to greet Chris. “What’s with him?”

“Don’t know,” Chris said. He stood up and kissed David.

“You hungry?”

“You have no idea.” David grimaced. “Let me take a shower and get changed first.”

“Rough day?”

David only mumbled something as he dragged himself upstairs. Within minutes the shower came on.

Chris threw together some left over lamb and couscous, and had it on the table with a bottle of David’s Bud. David bussed him more thoroughly before he sat down. Sweeney, David’s Siamese, strolled into the kitchen looking for attention. David scratched him behind his ears then pulled his plate over toward him. He looked over at Chris’s empty place setting.

“You eat already?”

“Des and I had a late lunch.”

David dove into his food, letting Chris know he’d had a busy day; too busy to eat. Pretty typical of David.

“You going back out?” Chris asked when David declined the beer and poured himself an orange juice instead.

“Yeah,” David sighed. “Paperwork. I’ll be leaving at first light tomorrow, too.”

“New case?”

“Body in Griffith Park.” David refused to talk about his job with Chris, which Chris didn’t mind at all. He wasn’t into dead bodies or mangled corpses. He was happy to spend his days in the antiseptic and non-violent world of computers. “Don’t wait up for me,” David added.

It was Chris’s turn to sigh. Once David was finished, Chris scooped the plate and glass up, rinsed them out and loaded the dishwasher. Then he took David’s hand and pulled him off the chair.

“Need to show you something.”

L.A. BONEYARD
17

“What?” David hastily wiped his mouth on a napkin, and followed Chris through the back of the house, to the patio door.

Chris put his finger on his mouth and peered around the French door. The dog was curled up beside his empty food bowl, his sides bellowing in and out in gentle sleep. The instant Chris popped the door open, the dog bolted upright.

David stood on the stone step overlooking the patio. He stared at the animal, who stared right back.

“Chris...”

“I found him. I almost hit him with my car. I couldn’t very well leave him out there, now could I?”

“And animal control—”

“Who knows what they’d do to him. Look at that face.”

Chris crouched down by the dog’s wedge-shaped head and fondled his ears. The dog wriggled his butt. “How can you send a face like that into purgatory?”

“I hardly think an animal shelter is purgatory,” David said dryly. “Most of those people love dogs. Besides, maybe somebody’s looking for him. You ever think of that?”

Chris snorted. “Didn’t do a very good job of looking after him, if you ask me.”

“You have to look, Chris. You can’t just take something you found, just because you want to.”

“I took you, didn’t I?”

“You hardly found me lost on the street.”

“Close. You were a lost soul until I rescued you.”

“Very cute.” David pulled Chris to his feet and enfolded him in his arms. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

A low growl punctuated his words. They both looked over to see the dog standing, glaring at David.

“Whoa, guy.” Chris crossed over to the angry dog and made him lie down. “Don’t go throwing a hissy fit.” To David, “He’s just jealous.”

18 P.A. Brown

“Jealous or not, you’re going to have to get rid of him. Can I trust you to at least try to find the owner? Promise me that?”

Chris played with the buttons of David’s stiff white shirt.

“Sure, I promise. I won’t find anyone, just wait and see.”

Still shaking his head, David gave Chris one more kiss and left. Chris sat on the patio until the sun sank over the reservoir and darkness cloaked his hillside home.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said to the dog.

Eventually he and Sergeant headed inside.

Saturday, 6:50 AM, Vista del Valle Drive, Griffith Park, Los Angeles
Dull shadows still clung to the inner boundaries of the chaparral guarding the entrance to the grave. David edged past the limp barrier tape that had been strung up to delineate the scene. A second, outer layer of tape had been put up to keep the inquisitive away, and avoid potential contamination. David nodded at the two boots, who had been assigned the task of watching the grave overnight, to prevent any further predation and keep out the curious. They both looked in need of a hot shower and eighteen hours in bed.

As added protection, a privacy screen had been put up between the roadway and the site, which had been covered last night when it was clear the rains were going to be too heavy to continue. David kept glancing at the sky, but so far it remained hazy, but cloud free. Maybe they’d get this finished today.

David knew it was only a matter of time before the local network affiliates showed up. There was something infinitely sexy about a body in a public park. So in your face.

The forensic technician and the deputy coroner arrived, pulling the crime scene van up to the edge of Vista del Valle, tires sinking into the loamy earth. Jairo was right behind them, his newly washed Firehawk catching the early morning light. If it was possible, he was dressed even more sharply than the day before. He still wore the Tony Lamas. When he got closer, David could smell his cologne: Giorgio Armani—Chris wore it sometimes. It evoked a wholly unwanted reaction in him.

He edged closer to the rim of the hole, crouching down to observe the proceedings. They had pulled the tarp back, and marked out a grid around the arm, which he could now see was clearly still attached, by a few shreds of flesh, to the buried torso underneath. So much for the idea that this might have
20 P.A. Brown

been a dismembered body, which would have been a nightmare to solve.

“Don’t you hate this kind of thing?” Jairo said, kneeling beside him.

“Why’s that?”

“You have one of the best solve records in the Northeast, this kind of scene has to throw a spanner into that.”

“I hate all of them. There’s no such thing as a good homicide.”

“Right, boss.”

The day crawled by. The body was slowly uncovered, the evidence bags filled with varying bits of debris that hadn’t been collected the day before. You never knew what might prove pivotal. The rain held off, but the humidity soared. Paper bags covered both hands, though with the degree of putrefaction, David doubted the nails would yield much, even if the victim scratched the killer.

Teresa Lopez, the deputy coroner for the county morgue, climbed out of the grave. Her Tyvek suit hung off her diminutive frame and strands of white hair broke free of her sterile cap. She shoved them back impatiently.

“Well, she’s dead.”

“Gee thanks, Lopez. That was inspiring.”

Lopez gave him a lopsided grin, then trained her attention on Jairo. Her grin widened. “Well, who do we have here? You trade Martinez in for a younger model? ‘Bout time.”

“Martinez is over in South-Central playing footsies with the
carnales
. I’ll tell him you were asking after him.”

“You do that.”

“So our victim’s female. TOD?”

“You do live in your dreams, don’t you.”

“All I want is a time of death. How hard can that be? I thought you were the miracle lady.”

L.A. BONEYARD
21

“Only on even days that end in a ‘y.’ Let me get her on a slab first. Maybe then I can help you narrow it down to what decade.”

The digging with small trowels and camel hair brushes continued past lunch. Around two, David sent Jairo down to Hillhurst Avenue to pick up lunch at Simply Thai. He came back thirty minutes later with curry beef and some overcooked shrimp in a watery sauce. David ate anyway; it might be a long time before the chance came again.

The body bag was prepared, the sterile rubber sheet on which the body would be placed, ready. SID cleared the last few inches of dirt, sieving each trowel-full. The senior technician pointed at something. David leaned closer and saw it was a dirt-encrusted cell phone. He watched the tech photograph it, before bagging it.

“Good find,” David said. Whether the phone belonged to the victim or the perpetrator, it could yield valuable information.

Suddenly one of the other technicians sat back on his heels.

“Oh man.”

David was instantly alert. The technician glanced at Lopez then at David. “You’re not going to like this.”

“I already don’t like it,” David said. “What is it?”

He heard Lopez suck in her breath. “A baby.” She crouched down and peered intently at the tiny corpse. “Probably a coffin birth.”