The phone rang. I picked up the handset, saying, “Millhone Investigations.”
“Kinsey? Spencer Nash. I’ve got a plane to catch, but I thought I’d give you an update on your pal Satterfield. You have a sec?”
“Absolutely. What now?”
“I got word last night he was huddled with a gal in a bar off Dave Levine Street. Place called Lou’s. The two had their heads together and the talk was intense. No description of the woman, but it could have been your Hallie Bettancourt. Timing’s right if she found him on the basis of information you provided her.”
“Nice. I’d about given up on her.”
“Well, don’t give up yet, because there’s more. For the past twenty minutes, Satterfield’s been sitting in a limousine idling outside the Santa Teresa Shores Hotel. You know the area where the shuttle to LAX picks up?”
“Sure.”
“Well, the next run leaves at three twenty this afternoon. If she’s the one he’s waiting for, you’ve got time enough to get down here. Long shot, but I’m giving you the heads-up. You want to check it out, she’s yours.”
“Why are you suddenly so interested?”
“I mentioned your encounter with her to a pal in vice. Hallie he doesn’t care about, but he thinks Satterfield is promising. He likes the idea of grooming him as a confidential informant.”
“In what context?”
“Money laundering’s my guess. At Lompoc, he was tight with guys who run a gambling syndicate on the outside.”
“I won’t be stepping on toes?”
“Get results and I’ll take care of any flack you generate.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“Lobby at the Shores, which is where I sign off. I’d pursue this myself, but I’m out of here.”
“How long?”
“Two days max. I’ll call when I get back. Meantime, you interested?”
“I’m on it.”
“Great.” He clicked off.
I grabbed my shoulder bag, locked the office, scooted out to the Honda, and slid under the wheel. As I backed out of the drive, I glanced at the dashboard and realized I’d committed the two cardinal sins in the catechism of a private eye:
1. Never allow your car to get low on gas. I was looking at a third of a tank at best. Now I was in a hurry and had no time to top it off.
2. Never pass up a chance to pee.
I traveled surface streets. The Shores was on Cabana Boulevard across the street from the turnaround point on my usual morning jog. The location must have seemed perfect to tourists who flocked to our city in June and July, not realizing we’d be socked in by a marine layer that blocked the sun and chilled the summer air. The hotel itself had seen better days. Age and the sea damp had taken their toll, though the facility still played host to small conventions.
I hadn’t had a chance to tell Nash that Christian’s mother, Geraldine, worked for Prestige Transportation Services Inc. I had no doubt she was at the wheel of the limousine, decked out in her stern black suit, white shirt, and black bow tie. I couldn’t imagine why she’d ferried him to a bus stop unless it was a habit left over from his grade school days when his morning dawdling required her to load him in the car and drive him to prevent his being late.
I turned left at Cabana and followed the boulevard as it paralleled the beach. The entrance to the Shores was on a small street that ran behind the hotel. An adjacent parking lot allowed guests the use of valet services. A few hundred yards to the left, a passenger pickup area was designated for the airport shuttle that made the round-trip to Los Angeles eight times a day.
Across the street, the limousine was idling at a length of curb painted red, despite numerous posted signs that forbade parking, stopping, and loitering. One of the Shores’ minivans was parked directly behind the limousine in a spot designated for passenger loading and unloading. I pulled the Honda to the curb behind the minivan, which allowed me a modicum of cover while I kept the stretch in view. Rear and side windows were heavily tinted, creating the impression that someone famous was currently on board. On the street, people would turn and stare, wondering who it was. I saw the front driver’s-side window descend. The driver reached out to adjust the side-view mirror. In the convex oval, I saw a portion of Geraldine’s face reflected before she withdrew her arm and closed the window.