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August
Two Months Ago
18
One of the best things about living in Los Angeles was the weather. Temperate all year, a little cold in the winter, a little hot in the summer, but mostly nice every day.
Except this week, I thought as I shut off my car and walked into First Contact to meet Will. The first week of August and LA topped one hundred degrees for the first time in five years and I was miserable. My tiny house didn’t have air-conditioning but it had never bothered me before. The weather guy on the alternative rock station I listen to said it would be back in the nineties tomorrow and a reasonable eight-five this weekend when the Santa Ana winds kicked in. I couldn’t wait. Nine at night and the air was still stifling.
I stopped just inside the door. Will had asked me to come over and meet someone who was investigating possible fraud in government grants for the homeless, but there were four people in the room. As soon as I entered, Will got up and locked the door behind me.
“Thank you for agreeing to come in tonight, Violet.”
I didn’t budge. Three people were staring at me from the conference table. I felt overwhelmed. Will had said someone not three someones.
A man came in from the back dressed in layered shirts and khaki pants. I immediately recognized him. He was the homeless veteran who had been hanging around with Jake and Dev. He’d been there the day my mother overdosed and Will saved her life; a week later he told me that he’d look for Jane and would let me know when he found her.
He hadn’t found her yet, but I knew he was looking. The day I met him I knew he wasn’t like so many of the other homeless people we worked with.
No one in the room paid him any attention. He helped himself to water from the refrigerator in the corner.
“Will,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I swallowed, tried to stop shaking. Groups of people made me nervous. “You should have prepared me.” I do much better when I can anticipate a crowd. I did fine in regular staff meetings because I knew when they were, what was expected, and I didn’t have to talk if I didn’t want to.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “But we need your help.”
Surprisingly, that simple statement calmed me. “Okay,” I said, trying for a strong voice, but it sounded like a squeak.
Will introduced me to the people at the table. They all seemed to know me, though other than the homeless veteran who I didn’t think was homeless, I had never met any of them.
I recognized the name Craig Dyson, a deputy district attorney. I’d been feeding information to Mr. Dyson through Will, specifically about the building owned by David Chen. He was in his early fifties with kind eyes. He wore a suit, the jacket hanging over the back of his chair. Will had a lot of respect for the man, and by extension, so did I.
The other two people were in law enforcement—Sergeant Lex Popovich and Lieutenant Elena Gomez. Her sharp eyes filled with both suspicion and concern. About me? About the meeting?
My eyes drifted to the man in the corner who was eating an apple.
“Colton, sit,” Will said, “you’re making Violet nervous.”
Colton smiled. A nice smile, revealing his perfect teeth—teeth that proved he was neither a drug addict nor chronically homeless.
“This is Detective Colton Fox,” Will said. “He’s a good friend of mine, and everyone thinks he’s dead.”
That was the last thing I expected to hear. I was still processing the information when Craig spoke up.
“Violet, I want to personally thank you for providing the information I need to investigate the city’s grant process. As you know, the system is rife with waste, but it’s very difficult to prove fraud. Nothing they are doing is illegal—on the surface.”
The way he said it made me believe he had found something illegal—something that he could use to expose corruption.
“There’s no accountability,” Will said. “Fraud and waste are built into the system, which is a scam in and of itself.”
Craig smiled, appeasing Will. “You’re right, but it’s legal. And that’s where I’m having the problem in opening up a grand jury investigation. Something may be unethical, it may even be criminal, but if it’s not against a law that I have the authority to prosecute, my hands are tied.”
Will mumbled something I couldn’t hear, then said, “I’m sorry. I interrupted.”
“You’re passionate about this issue, Will, and I agree with you. But we need to use what we have. Ms. Halliday, because of the information you provided about the crash of the city hall computer network, the evidence of deleted files and Detective Fox’s own investigation, we almost have enough to go to the grand jury. But because it’s a difficult case to prove, we need more time to put it together. And more facts.”
“I’m sorry if this sounds clueless,” I said, “but what investigation are you talking about? The police have an investigation? Into who?”
If people thought that Colton was dead, how could he investigate anything?
