Eleventh Hour

apart, deep inside, where his brother’s blood and Dane’s own pain flowed together. He remembered Archbishop Lugano at Michael’s service, his hand on Dane’s shoulder, telling him to take it just one day at a time.
    He concentrated on driving. He was momentarily distracted by a girl on roller skates, wearing shorts that showed half her butt cheeks, and she was waving to him, grinning and blowing him kisses over her shoulder. He waved back, grinned a bit, and said, “That’s some presentation.”
    “Yes indeed, you’re right,” Nick said. “I agree, she does skate very well.”
    Dane jerked around, surprised. “That was funny, Nick.”
    She smiled. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless.
    “Where are we going?”
    “We’re all meeting at The Green Apple, over on Melrose.”
    Nick sighed. “Doesn’t sound like they’ll have tacos, does it?”
    “I just hope they don’t serve fried green apples. I’m an American, I love fat, but you know—my belly rebels fast if I eat even two pieces of KFC. It’s a bummer.”
    “Don’t whine. It means you won’t ever have to worry about your weight.”
    He smiled at her, then said, “I sure hope someone has found out something useful. The bottom line is that what you and I found out just leads to more questions.”
    As it turned out, Sherlock and Savich had struck gold.

TWENTY-ONE
    Sherlock said between bites of a carrot stick, “We dug up a guy who’s a real good friend of Weldon DeLoach’s. His name is Kurt Grinder. He’s a porn star. Yeah, yeah, I know—the name. I just couldn’t help myself so I asked him. He said it was, actually, his real name. He’s known Weldon for some eight years, ever since he came to LA. He said he saw Weldon DeLoach two and a half weeks ago at the Gameland Bowling Alley in North Hollywood. Said he and Weldon went bowling together every week, on Thursday night, said Weldon told him that bowling always relaxes him. He was getting worried because Weldon hadn’t called him and he couldn’t get an answer at Weldon’s apartment.”
    Detective Flynn said, “I can see by that gleam in your eyes, Agent Sherlock, that there’s more to it than that, and you’re just leading us slowly down the garden path.”
    “Enjoy it,” Savich said. “Let her string it out. I promise, it’s worth it.”
    Sherlock waved her carrot stick, sat forward a bit. “Turns out that Kurt Grinder had some problem with his bowling shoes and had to stay awhile. Weldon left before he did. When Kurt came out of the bowling alley he saw this guy stop Weldon before he got to his car. They talked for a couple of minutes. Before Kurt could catch up, Weldon and this man went off together, in this man’s car, not Weldon’s.”
    Delion said, thumping his fingers on the tabletop, “All right, Sherlock, what man?”
    “Kurt said he’d never seen him before, but he got a real good look at him.” She dropped her voice so everyone had to lean forward to hear her. “Kurt said he looked to be in his thirties, had dark hair, lots of it. But what really stuck in his mind was that the guy’s skin was as white as a whale’s belly.”
    “And that means,” Savich said, “that if Kurt is telling the truth, and as far as I could tell he had no reason to lie, that DeLoach could be connected to the killings.”
    “Or maybe,” Dane said slowly, “someone’s setting him up. Don’t forget. We can’t find him. And him being the killer has always been too obvious.”
    Savich nodded. “One of the first things we asked Mr. Grinder was had he ever seen Weldon with black hair and no tan. He laughed, said Weldon was always changing his look, that he loved disguises, but he’d never seen him go that far. Okay, Sherlock, the pièce de résistance .”
    Everyone at the table leaned forward again.
    “Kurt got his license number.”
    “Jesus,” Flynn said, “Kurt Grinder can come work for the LAPD.”
    Delion said, “Okay, so who owns the damned car?”
    Savich said, “Belinda Gates. Frank Pauley’s wife, the costar of The Consultant. ”
    No one said a word for a good three seconds.
    “But it was a man who met Weldon at the bowling alley,” Flynn said slowly. “The car belongs to the actress?”
    “Yes,” Sherlock said. “Savich was thinking that just maybe we could pay a little visit to Belinda and Frank this evening.”
    Nick, who’d been silent, said now, “Do you think Belinda Gates disguised herself as a man?”
    “Ah, Jesus,” Delion