Lost Light

come?”
    “They’d do anything they could to keep other investigations and investigators out of the picture. They’re like that over there.”
    “I know. I remember.”
    He smiled and leaned back in his seat.
    “And now here you are, wanting cooperation from me. Ironic, eh?”
    “Very.”
    “Is that the investigative file? Let me see it, please.”
    I handed the heavy binder across his desk. He put it down and flipped back to the front section and started leafing through the reports until he came to the original offense report. The homicide. He worked a finger down the page until he came to my name in the block marked “I/O” for investigating officer. He then closed the murder book but didn’t hand it back.
    “Why now? Why do you investigate this?”
    “Because I just retired and it’s one of the ones that won’t let go.”
    He nodded that he understood.
    “Our investigation, you understand, was in regard to the money, not the woman.”
    “It’s all the same thing, you ask me.”
    “Our investigation is no longer active. The money is gone by now. Split up, spent. Without the possibility of recovery. There are other cases.”
    “The money’s been written off,” I said, “but she hasn’t been. Not by me, not by those who knew her.”
    “Did you know her?”
    “I met her that day.”
    He nodded again, seeming to understand what that meant. He straightened the corners on a stack of files on his desk.
    “Did it ever go anywhere?” I asked. “Did you get close to anything?”
    He took a long time answering.
    “No, not really. Only dead ends on this one.”
    “When did you put it aside?”
    “I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”
    “Where’s your file on it?”
    “I cannot give you my file. It is against company policy.”
    “Because of the reward thing, right? The company doesn’t allow you to cooperate with unofficial investigations if there’s a reward.”
    “It can lead to collusion,” he said, nodding. “Also, there is the legal jeopardy. I don’t have the luxury of the protections the police have. If my investigative notes and summaries were to become public, I’d be left open to possible lawsuits.”
    I tried to think for a minute about how to play this. Szatmari seemed to be holding something back and whatever it was might be in the file. I think he wanted to give it to me but wasn’t sure how.
    “Take a look at the photocopy again,” I said. “Look at her hands. Are you a religious man, Mr. Szatmari?”
    Szatmari looked at the photo of Angella Benton’s hands again.
    “Sometimes I am religious,” he said. “Are you?”
    “Not really. I mean, what is religion? I don’t go to church, if that’s what it is. But I think about religion and I think I have something like it inside. A code is like religion. You have to believe it. You have to practice it. The thing is, look at her hands, Mr. Szatmari. I remember when I saw her down on the tile and saw how her hands were… I sort of took it as a sign.”
    “A sign of what?”
    “I don’t know. A sign of something. Like religion. That’s why this is one of the cases that didn’t go away.”
    “I understand.”
    “Then pull out the file and put it on your desk,” I said as if giving instruction to someone in a hypnotic trance. “Then go get a cup of coffee or have a smoke. And take your time. I’ll wait for you right here.”
    Szatmari looked at me for a long moment and then reached down to what I guess was a file drawer in the desk. He finally took his eyes off me so he could pull the right file. He brought it up-it was a thick one-and put it down on the desk. He then pushed back his chair and got up.
    “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee,” he said. “You want something?”
    “I think I’ll be fine. But thanks.”
    He nodded and went out, closing the door behind him. The moment it clicked I was up out of my seat and moving behind the desk. I sat down and dove into the file.
    For the most part, Szatmari’s file was filled with documents I had already seen before. There were also copies of contracts and directives between Global and its client BankLA that were new, as well as summaries of interviews with several bank and film company employees. Szatmari had conducted interviews with every one of the security transport men who had been on the scene the day of the shoot-out and heist.
    But there was no interview with me. As usual the LAPD had put up a wall. Szatmari’s request to interview me