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There had to be something. Knowing that, what and where were just a matter of poking.
I went to a sushi place not far away and called Ed. The telephone smelled like Windex, but at least it worked.
“It’s me,” I said when he answered. “You said you had Roscoe’s datebook. You have any other personal papers?”
He blew out smoke. “I got the datebook cause I’m checking background. The other stuff, it’s all in a box somewhere, but I can’t get at it without some kind of official reason.”
“For an official reason, would an anonymous tip do the trick?”
“Works for me. If it’s from a usually reliable source.”
“Uh-huh. Well, here’s an anonymous tip for you, from a usually reliable source. Roscoe’s personal papers will reveal something about his background that has a lot to do with his murder.”
“You sweet-talking devil. Call me later, I’ll see what I can do.” He hung up.
It wasn’t even a hunch. It was just a routine piece of investigative footslogging. Sometimes that stuff pays off—that’s why it’s routine. Maybe we’d get lucky and the papers would turn up something.
I sat at the bar and thought about what to do next. The bar surface was clean, highly polished dark wood. I ordered a beer and a couple of California rolls, just to have something to do. It was good. When it was gone I had decided.
I was close to Park’s Honest Good Food Grocery, and I still had some questions. I got in my car and pointed it that way.
The neighborhood hadn’t changed since my last visit a couple of days ago. The Thrifty had the same specials going. The burned-out car hadn’t moved. I guess once you find a good parking place, you hang onto it.
I parked across the street again. I looked up at Park’s roof and my head throbbed. I crossed the street.
An electronic chime sounded as I pushed open the door. It took me a second to get my bearings in that frantic clutter.
Park didn’t help. He stood in his cage, completely motionless. I stepped over in front of him. “I need to talk to your daughter again,” I said.
His eyes moved fractionally, up to the knot on my forehead, then down to my eyes. “Black boy do that?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
He looked at me for a long moment. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe that’s just as well. Then his eyes moved away. “Lin not home.”
“When will she be home?”
The slight lift of his right shoulder was almost a shrug. “After school,” he said.
I looked at my watch. It was close to three. “I’ll wait.”
Park didn’t even shrug. He just went back to motionlessness. He reminded me of an alligator waiting for something to walk into range.
I stepped back into the street in front of the store. The blue plastic milk crate was still there to one side of the door. I sat on it.
A few cars went by. Some buses passed, too. A thin black kid, about eight, ran past like a werewolf was after him. A few minutes later a group of kids about the same age came by in more casual style. They laughed and hit each other until they came even with me. Then they got very quiet and filed by, looking at me with gigantic eyes. As soon as they were past they laughed again. Life goes on.
I watched them until they were almost out of sight. Then I heard a soft swish. I turned into a faint clean smell.
“Oh,
” Lin Park said. “Mr.—ah, it’s you.” Her eyes flicked to the knot on my forehead and she colored faintly under her flawless skin.
I stood up. “That’s right. It’s me.”
“Oh. Well—” She could obviously think of a few people she’d rather talk to.
“I need to ask you a couple more questions,” I said.
