A Flower in the Desert by Walter Satterthwait Read Free Book Online

Bureau.
    Like a lot of homicide cops, Bradley was a big man who had gotten bigger over the years. The extra weight comes from cheeseburgers and tacos and pizzas eaten on the run, and occasionally from the booze some of them use to wash away the memory of what it was they were running to, and running from.
    Unlike most homicide cops, except for Meyer Meyer and Kojak, Bradley was completely bald. The shiny scalp of his big round head was dented here and there, as though bullets had bounced off it. Like the rest of him, it was untanned. So far, he was the first person I’d met in Los Angeles who didn’t look like he spent his afternoons basting himself at the beach.
    Ed Norman had told me that Bradley was a tough cop, but a fair one.
    â€œThat sounds,” I had told him, “like the whore with a heart of gold.”
    Ed had smiled, and blown some cigarette smoke out across the room. “People in this town start playing out their lives the way they see them up on the silver screen.”
    â€œTerrific,” I’d said. “He’ll be crusty and colorful, and we’ll start out hating each other’s guts, but by the end of the second reel we’ll establish a grudging respect for each other.”
    â€œI doubt it,” he’d said. “You’ll probably still hate each other’s guts.”
    So far, I’d seen no reason to doubt Norman’s prediction. For ten minutes I’d been sitting across a desk from Bradley in his cubicle at LAPD, and I’d learned nothing.
    I asked Bradley, “Is there anything you can tell me about her sister’s murder?”
    â€œThey got copies of the Times in the library. And look. You tell me you’re looking for Melissa Alonzo. How come you want to know about her sister?”
    â€œOne sister disappears, and then a few months later the other sister is murdered. It seems to me possible that there’s a connection.”
    He chuckled and his round belly, encased in a tight-fitting yellow polyester shirt, bounced up and down. “What’re you? Mannix?”
    I smiled amiably. I could feel the corners of my mouth working at it. “Sergeant, I’m not asking you to reveal anything about your investigation. All I’m trying to do is locate Mrs. Alonzo and her daughter. Maybe there isn’t any connection. But if there is, and I locate her, then maybe she’ll be able to provide information that could help you.”
    Grinning, Bradley shook his head. “Jesus. You’re worse than Norman. You used to teach college too?”
    â€œHome Economics.”
    He chuckled. He looked down at his desk, shrugged, looked back up at me. “What the hell. I can waste a half hour. But let’s get the ground rules straight.”
    I nodded. “Go ahead.”
    â€œYour New Mexico license isn’t worth jackshit here. Far as we’re concerned, you’re just another citizen. We get a complaint you’re harassing anyone, you’re history.”
    I nodded. “I can live with that.”
    â€œYou do any surveillance, you report it to us. First. Before you start. Otherwise, you get noticed, we’re gonna pick you up. And the odds are, friend, you’re gonna get noticed.”
    I nodded.
    â€œAnd you find anything, any single solitary thing, that points at somebody for the Bigelow killing, you bring it to me before you take another breath.”
    I nodded. “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.”
    â€œBecause, my friend, if you don’t, you are going to be extremely sorry.”
    A bit of overkill in the threat department, I thought, but didn’t bother pointing out. He was establishing territory, laying down spoor in the corners of his realm. I said, “I understand, Sergeant.”
    â€œI hope so.” He sat back in his swivel chair, hooked his hands behind his neck. Hector Ramirez, a friend and a Santa Fe cop, frequently did the same thing. Maybe the two of