‘Wasn’t more specific, except to say he wasn’t a banger. Worked with Serrano or his brother or somebody. A painter, house painter. May know where Serrano’s hiding out.’
‘Really?’ The woman’s voice was throaty and sensual. Overby, married to the same woman for ever, noted her tone objectively. ‘You should move on it. I’m going to call Sacramento and I’d love to be able to tell them that we’re closer to nailing Serrano.’
She’d be thinking: Because CBI West Central was the outfit that let him slip away in the first place.
‘Where is this guy?’
‘Seaside. Works nights, TJ says. Name of Tomas Allende.’
‘Not traditionally Mexican.’ Allerton was speaking absently.
‘I don’t know. What would that be?’
‘What? Oh, Spanish.’
‘Well. Here’s the address. Take Al Stemple with you. No reason to think it’s hostile, but no reason to think it isn’t. I’ll call him.’ Overby punched buttons.
Allerton rose and tugged down her close-fitting gray skirt. She, too, had a bit of fat over the belt. Other circumstances, he might’ve talked to her about how hard it was to lose those last twelve pounds. She pulled her jacket over her broad shoulders.
His phone clicked. ‘Yeah?’
‘Albert, ’s Charles. Need you to go with Agent Allerton, follow up on a lead to Serrano … That’s right … I don’t know, parking lot?’ He lifted an eyebrow to Allerton. She nodded. ‘Good. Now.’ He disconnected. ‘Good luck,’ Overby said and retreated to his office.
CHAPTER 23
Albert Stemple had been told he grunted a lot, though he didn’t think that was the case. He never said much, didn’t find it necessary most of the time, so he would respond to people with an Ah or Oh.
Maybe people thought words like that were grunts. I look like a guy who grunts, so people hear grunts.
The massive man, head free of hair and shaped like an egg, though shinier, stood with his arms crossed outside the rear door of CBI, looking over the parking lot. Since Stemple was the closest thing CBI had to a SWAT team, he’d been in more firefights and had more collars than any other agent in the division, which meant he had a price on that glossy head of his.
Stemple tended to check vistas and shadows regularly.
CBI’s back door opened and Carol Allerton stepped outside, nodding to Stemple, taking in his jeans, black T-shirt and impressive Beretta .45, the only caliber a man should carry. He supposed the bump on her hip through her gray jacket was a teeny Glock. A 26, he guessed. Not bad. If you liked peashooters.
When she looked at his face with a bit of hesitation, Stemple knew she’d been considering the scars. You should see the other guys.
He nodded.
‘Hi,’ Allerton said.
‘We’re going to Seaside. A Serrano lead.’
‘Right.’
‘Hm.’ Maybe grunt-like. ‘I’ll drive,’ he told her.
‘Hey,’ came a woman’s voice behind them.
Kathryn Dance walked up from the side of the building, where her car was parked, the gray Pathfinder. Nose art from her dogs decorated the back windows. Stemple liked her dogs; he knew them pretty well, being a regular visitor to the Deck. He was after Dance to let him borrow the flat-coated retriever, take her hunting and bring back a dressed duck or two for the family. He’d made the mistake of mentioning that in front of Dance’s kids; the look in her eyes, the response, was a hard one to describe. It meant no in a lot of different ways.
Allerton was eyeing Dance neutrally as the CBI agent walked up. She looked around, then moved closer yet. ‘Al.’
A nod.
‘Carol, there’s something I want to talk to you about. Both of you, really.’
‘Sure, Kathryn.’
Stemple gave a second nod. Maybe a grunt.
‘I heard you had a lead to Serrano.’
The DEA agent hesitated.
Dance said, ‘Well, I know you do. TJ told me. He’s my inside man. You’re going to talk to this lead now?’
Allerton held her gaze. ‘We are.’
Dance said, ‘I want to interview him.’
‘Well …’
‘I know the turf, Carol. I don’t know this particular subject but I know the crowd he’d hang with. That gives me a huge leg up.’
‘But Charles,’ Allerton said. ‘He suspended you.’
Stemple watched Dance’s lips tighten. ‘All right. The other thing?’ She glanced at Stemple, then decided, it seemed, to plunge ahead. ‘You don’t know Charles as well as I do. If I were a man and what happened with Serrano happened? He wouldn’t’ve busted me. Hate to say it but …’ Dance shook her head. ‘You’ve been through this too, Carol. You know how it is.’
Her expression said: Women in law enforcement. Yes, I do.
Dance added, ‘I’ll give you full credit for everything I find out. And that’ll go all the way to Washington. I’ll disappear.’
‘No, that’s not necessary.’
‘Actually, yeah, it is. Charles can’t know anything, that I’m involved. All I want is to nail Serrano.’
‘Sure,’ Allerton said, nodding. ‘I get it. Completely sub-rosa.’
Whatever that meant. Though Stemple hammered out a definition.
Now another glance his way.
Dance said, ‘I may already be under the bus—’
‘Charles’d do that to you?’ Now Stemple couldn’t control the grunt.
‘—already under the bus, but we get Serrano back, Sacramento won’t be clamoring for my head quite so loud. It’s the only chance I’ve got to pull something out of the fire here.’
Allerton was scanning the parking lot, thoughtful, not looking for acquiring targets, though, as Stemple was doing. ‘The fact is, Kathryn, I could use your help. I’m not the best interviewer in the world.’
‘Deal, then?’
‘Deal.’
Dance’s eyes swiveled to Stemple.
‘You asking me? I’m just backup. Do whatcha want.’