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“Aside from the fact that the City might have a problem here, I was hoping you might want to see justice done,” I said.
Eli Woodstock laughed. It was a rich, beautiful theatrical laugh. It was a laugh that was all about affecting other people and not at all about enjoyment or happiness. It was supposed to make me feel two inches tall, but it didn’t work. I was still well over a foot and a half.
“Justice,” he said, with one of those little twists to the word that juries eat up. Now it was a naive dream. “Justice.” Now it was a curse, a beautiful absolute that I had violated. He shook his head again, a little faster this time.
“What would you consider to be justice, Mr. Knight?” He didn’t leave any room for me to answer. “Is it your idea of justice to see a dedicated police officer dragged through the mud and possibly damage his career because of your half-baked, groundless, baseless slander? Is it justice to sacrifice Mr. Doyle on the altar of your greed for vengeance? Is that what justice means to you, Mr. Knight?”
I didn’t know whether to applaud or throw myself out the window. “What greed for vengeance are we talking about here?” I said politely. “Just so we’re all on the same wavelength.”
He gave me a knowing smile, almost a smirk. “I think you know what I mean. I think we offered you a more than fair settlement, and you turned it down. For someone in your position to turn down that kind of money? A fisherman?” He shook his head, a wise smile on his lips. “I don’t think so. I think you must have had something else in mind, even then.”
“And this is it?”
“This is it.”
I had to think that my hearing was bad. Either that or somebody had slipped me some LSD. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
He let the smile widen a little. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t believe it?”
“You? No, I guess you would have to believe something like that. I guess being what you are, that’s all that makes sense.”
He held up a hand to cut me off. “Don’t think I believe you’re a bad person, Mr. Knight. Grief does funny things to some people.” He said it in a way that meant, little, mean, dirty, and grubby types who couldn’t play tennis. “Nonetheless we can’t allow this to go any further.”
“You think Doyle killed the McAuleys because of my grief?” I asked him.
“I think you’ve decided to make a little trouble for the City out of grief. Understandable, in a way. Which is why I am again authorized to offer you a settlement for your original problem.” He gave me a new smile, an understanding one this time. “Not quite the original terms, of course.”
“And you really think I’ll take the money and disappear?”
“You’re going to disappear in any case, Mr. Knight. Either back where you came from or into jail. And yes, I think that if you can make a little money off all this, you’ll be a happy man.”
I stood up. “Nothing you can say or do would make me a happy man, Mr. Woodstock. Just being in the same room with you makes me want to wash my hands.” I turned to go.
“Mr. Knight.” His voice lashed at me. I looked back at him. “If I hear any more about this from you, you are going to find yourself in court, and then in jail. Is that clear?”
Now I looked at him long and hard. Cops develop resources, and one of them is the Hard Cop Stare. I gave it to Woodstock, both barrels. It was easy; I meant it.
I walked over to his desk. I got all the way there without sinking out of sight into his carpet. When I was there I leaned both knuckles on his desk and put my face as close to his as I could get it. Across that desk it still wasn’t very close.
“I don’t know what Doyle told you. I’d guess you’re not in it with him, because that takes a certain amount of warped passion, and I don’t think you’re capable of any, warped or otherwise. I think you’re just a garden-variety, self-important slimebag full of expensive insecurity and you don’t really know anything, so you think money is always the answer.”
“Really, Mr. Knight,” he started, but I stopped him. He had already lost a little of the color underneath his expensive tan. I could almost hear him thinking, Nobody talks to me this way.
“Yes, really,” I said. “And I’ll tell you one more thing. You can go ahead and plan on seeing me in court. So you better find yourself a good lawyer.”
He licked his lips, and I left him there.
I rode down to the parking garage, where two cops stood beside my rented car. “William Knight?” they asked.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I was parked in front of Nancy’s building by 5:20. I had come straight from the Century City bureau, where once again I had sat in a room with no company until they decided I could go. Still no explanation. I wouldn’t have waited for one even if they’d offered it. Carefully observing all the traffic regulations, I drove across town and found a legal parking spot in front of Nancy’s building.
I spent thirty-five minutes grinding my teeth and listening to the radio. It seemed like all my doubts about coming to L.A were paying off double. I was getting nowhere with Roscoe’s murder. I was actually movin
g backwards, since all I’d done so far was alert the killer so he’d be ready for the first serious attempt to nail him. That and building up a police record.
And then the whole thing with Nancy. I’d gone into it without a clue about what I was doing and bungled it from the first. If she was still willing to speak to me when I finished explaining, it would be a minor miracle.
