“Gerry’s hungry and says how about Mel’s?”

“Zackly,” Martel said. “So we dump the car ’bout a few blocks from Mel’s. We still don’t got no hike home since we left the car a few blocks away, so I call up Rudy on the number he gave me. But I musta copied it wrong cuz it ain’t working.”

“Maybe he gave you a wrong number on purpose,” Garrett said.

“Yeah, I thought about that.”

“So you’re stuck without a ride home. What happened next?”

“Gerry calls up a whoadie of his and tells him we’ll buy some pancakes if he come pick us up. And his whoadie sez okay but he’s with a bro so we has to buy him some pancakes, too. So Gerry sez okay, he’ll buy everyone pancakes. So we wait for ’round an hour and then Gerry’s buds come in Mel’s and I buy everyone pancakes with the money that Rudy gave me. I bought everyone pancakes and eggs and bacon and shit. It comes to like a hundred dollars. But that’s okay cuz I still had about two hundred left over even with buyin’ everyone breakfast. So we all ate pancakes and eggs and shit and then we went home.”

Martel shrugged.

“That’s it.”

The cell was silent.

Decker said, “Let me recap this very briefly. Rudy told you that he went to Ekerling’s office to get your CDs back.”

“Yeah.”

“Rudy said there was a problem. That he and Ekerling argued.”

“Yeah.”

“That Ekerling came at Rudy with a knife and Rudy shot Ekerling and stuffed him in the trunk of the Mercedes.”

“Yeah.”

“So you knew about the body in the trunk, Travis.”

“He was dead. I checked it out with my own eyes. He was already dead.”

“I understand that.”

“I didn’t do no murder.”

“I know,” Decker soothed. “Rudy said he needed you to get rid of the body. He gave you the keys to the Mercedes and told you to dump it in the hood.”

“Yeah.”

“You picked up Geraldo Perry and went to Jonas Park to get rid of the car. But then you realized that you had no one to pick you up from the park. So you took the car all the way back into Hollywood to dump it.”

“Yeah. Like I tole you, Gerry wanted to go to the Bitty Bit party, anyway. And I figure why not cuz Ekerling be already dead.”

“Got it,” Decker said. “So you drove the car back to Hollywood, to the Bitty Bit party, but by that time, the party was over and Gerry was hungry. He wanted pancakes.”

“Yeah, that’s why we dumped the Benzene where we did. We saw Mel’s and figured we’d get some pancakes. We bought everyone pancakes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us all of this in the first place?” Diaz asked.

“’Cause Rudy tole me that if somethin’ happens, that I shouldn’t talk. That he’d get me a white-assed lawyer and everything would be fine.”

“And you believed him?”

“He’s a white boy,” Travis said. “He sez he’s a lawyer.”

“That much is true,” Decker said.

“He knows the system. Besides, I knew that he weren’t goin’ be producin’ my shit if I ratted him out.”

Garrett pushed over a yellow legal pad. “You want to write your story down for us? Then maybe we can talk to the district attorney and help you out.”

Martel regarded the paper and pen and then Garrett’s face. “All this talk about food…it’s way past lunch. I’m starvin’. I need something to eat.”

“Start writing and I’ll order in some food,” Diaz said.

“I don’t want jail shit,” Martel insisted. “I be heppin’ you out, I deserve a good lunch.”

“What do you want?” Garrett asked.

“All this talk about pancakes…” Martel shrugged. “How ’bout some pancakes?”

CHAPTER 36

DECKER HAD BEEN operating on casino time-protracted periods under artificial lighting without any sense of the passage of hours. He had arrived at County Jail at nine in the morning. By the time he was back in the West Valley, it was almost six, the sun still in the sky but the shadows long. His cell’s voice-mail box was full, and there was a stack of telephone pink message slips in his in-box.

After parking in the lot at the station house, he had entered through the back door, winding his way through the halls to get to his private space. The door to his office was open, the light was on, and a wonderful aroma was wafting into the squad room. His desk had been covered with a red-checkered tablecloth and set with paper plates and plastic utensils. Rina was sitting in his chair, absorbed in a novel.

“Good book?” he said.

She looked up. “Very good.” She stood up and kissed his cheek. “I was in the mood for a picnic.”

“We’re indoors.”

“We can open a window and pretend.”

Decker smiled and drew his wife into his arms. “You don’t know how wonderful this is. I’m starved.”

“Then shall we dispense with the pleasantries and get down to business?”

“Absolutely.” Decker drew up a chair on the opposite side of the desk. “What have we?”

Rina opened a picnic basket. “Corned beef on rye or chicken salad on whole grain?”

“One of each.”

She handed him two wrapped sandwiches. “I have cucumber salad, Waldorf salad-”

“Just set them on the desk and stick a fork in it.”

“Will do.”

Decker wolfed down the corned beef, then helped himself to the salads. “Where’s Hannah?”

“In a study group. She told me that she spoke to you last night.”

“I did.”

“She said you two had a nice discussion.”

“Interesting. It’s hard to tell if she enjoys my company or finds me annoying.” He looked up from his sandwich. “I feel like I’m a litmus test. Depending what kind of mood she’s in, I’m either way too acidic or way too basic.”

Rina laughed. “How was your day?”

“Really long but very profitable.” He gave her a brief recap of his eight hours in a cell with Travis Martel. “So now that Banks seems to be involved, Hollywood can justify even more manpower to hunt him down.”

“Even more manpower? They were looking for him previously?”

“Yes, they were, but not with this newfound intensity.” He explained to her about the blood splotches he had discovered behind the newly painted baseboard in Rudy’s apartment. “The blood’s not Primo Ekerling’s.”

“So whose blood is it?”

“A very good question. We got the DNA back. We know it was a woman. Once we locate Banks, maybe we can even get an answer. The good part is that with Hollywood looking for him, I don’t have to concentrate my efforts toward finding him. Plus, I got them to post a couple of guys to look for Ryan Goldberg.”

“The missing Doodoo Slut.”

“Exactly.” He put down his sandwich and picked up a pile of message slips. “Sorry. I just want to see if any of my messages are from Liam O’Dell.”

“Take your time. I’ll just eat my sandwich and read my book.”

“What are you reading?” he asked absently.

“A biography of Eric Clapton.”

“I didn’t know you like that kind of thing.”

“It has its moments. All celebrities are a might off, but rock stars are uniquely nuts.”

“You’re telling me?” Decker continued to sort through the messages. “Just the little acquaintances I’ve made with D-list people have made me realize that. And yet the wannabes keep on coming like locusts during the dry season. Doesn’t matter who steps on them, who squashes them and mashes them under their heels, there’s always more. Travis Martel was willing to sit in jail and risk a life sentence in prison for a crime he probably didn’t commit, just on the off chance that if he ever came out of the pen, Rudy Banks would get him a recording contract. Now how crazy is that…ah, here we go.” Decker picked up the phone and dialed Liam’s cell. “This shouldn’t take long.”

O’Dell answered on the third ring.

“It’s Lieutenant Decker. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” His voice was tense.

“I’ve managed to secure a couple of Hollywood police officers to look for Ryan.”

“Bully for you.”

Decker ignored his anger, knowing where it was coming from. “I spent the entire day at County Jail talking to Travis Martel. He had some interesting things to say.” He summarized eight hours of master interrogation for Mad Irish. “It seems Rudy promised Martel a record contract if he’d either murder Primo or just get rid of the car.”