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“Hello?” a voice came back. “I’ll be with you in one moment.”
Ballard walked over to the glass counter and looked down at the cuff links. They ranged from the tasteful and exquisite tothe off-putting and tacky. She was leaning over a pair that were silver silhouettes of a woman posing with arms back and chest out, an image familiar from the mud flaps of 18-wheelers.
“How can I help you?”
Ballard turned and saw the man she had seen unlock the store. She pulled her badge off her belt and held it out to him.
“Renée Ballard, LAPD. I’m looking for Sandy Kramer.”
He raised his hands.
“You got me!”
He then dropped his arms and put his wrists together for the handcuffs. Ballard gave a perfunctory smile. It wasn’t the first time someone she badged had reacted this way, thinking they were being clever.
“I need to ask you some questions about a homicide investigation,” she said.
“Oh, shit, my bad,” Kramer said. “I guess I shouldn’t have been joking, huh? Who’s dead?”
“Is there a place we can talk privately? I’d rather not be in the middle of this when a customer comes in.”
“Uh, we have a break room in the back. It’s kind of small.”
“That will be fine.”
“I don’t have any appointments till eleven. I could just put a sign on the door and lock up. How long will this take?”
“Not that long.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
He went behind the counter, took out a pad for writing down alteration instructions, and wrote “BACK BY 10:45” on it. Using a piece of hemming tape from a tool basket, he attached the sign to the front glass. He then reached down and locked the door.
“Follow me,” he said.
They went around a curtain in the fitting area and into a space that was half storage and half break room. There was a table with two chairs, and Kramer offered one to Ballard. She pulled it out and sat down. Kramer did the same.
“Now, what murder?” he asked.
“We’ll get to that,” Ballard said. “First, tell me, when was the last time you spoke to Jake Pearlman?”
“Oh my god, is Jake dead?”
His surprise seemed genuine to Ballard. She had wanted to know if he had been tipped to the investigation by Pearlman or anyone else on his team.
“No, he’s not dead,” she said. “Can you remember the last time you talked to him?”
“Uh, well, it’s been a while,” Kramer said. “I called him when he won the election. So that would’ve been four years ago?”
“He got elected six years ago.”
“Wow, time flies. Well, whenever it was, I called and congratulated him. I remember I told him he would be going to a lot of black-tie events now and I offered him a discount here. But that was it. He never took me up on it.”
“What about Nelson Hastings? Did you talk to him lately?”
“Hastings? Forget it. I have no reason to talk to him. I can’t remember the last time.”
“But you know him?”
