he’d used the word himself, Sharon would, at best, have reported him, at worst, taken a punch and then reported him.
“So according to this particular story,” she went on, “he’s chilling out under the stars, Jason and these two girls are up to who knows what in the comfort of their Sierra and then this other guy suddenly appears …”
“Other guy?”
“Exactly. This other guy appears through the trees—you’ll like this, it gets better—runs toward Jason’s car and bangs on the window. There’s a mess of shouting before Jason slides down his window and pow! Stranger pulls a gun and shoots Jason at close range.”
“Valentine have any suggestions as to what all this was about?”
Sharon shook her head. “He’s still figuring that out. What he does say, soon as he hears the shot, he jumps out of his car, the gunman runs off, and then, humane character that he is, Valentine hurries over to see if he can be of any assistance. Maybe he did St. John Ambulance when he was a kid in the Meadows. What he gets for his trouble is stabbed in the leg. I told him, Drew, that’s all the thanks you get for coming to the rescue like a good citizen.”
“And Jason, at the moment he’s in no position to give his version?”
“Not a word.”
“How about the girls?”
“So far, not saying a thing. Maybe a night in the cells will loosen their tongues. There were drugs in the car and Diane’s already got one charge of possession. We might be able to hold that over her, force some kind of a deal.”
The lift emptied out and Resnick and Sharon got in.
“Diane,” Sharon said. “You know Jason turned her out on the street when she was fourteen?”
“His own sister?”
“I asked him about that, one time when I had him in for pimping. Starts singing at me, ‘Family Affair’—you know that?”
Resnick shook his head.
“Sly and the Family Stone. Anyway, he tells me what he’s doing—proud of it, right?—helping his little sister get on in the world. And then he says, ‘Besides, she’s the only one of my whores ain’t ever holding out on me, not as much as a penny.’”
“You think he had Sheena working the street, too?”
“I don’t know. But to my knowledge, no.”
Resnick stood for a while, his head in his hands, fingers rubbing across his eyes. “Him and Valentine, quite a couple.”
“Yeah, true meeting of minds.”
“And Valentine’s story, you believe it?”
“If it was inscribed on tablets of stone,” Sharon said, “handed down from heaven with a choir singing, I wouldn’t believe it.”
Drew Valentine was in a private room with a uniformed officer sitting outside the door. Valentine was propped up against four or five pillows wearing a yellow Ted Baker shirt unbuttoned to the level of the sheets, his hair tied back in a ponytail. He was leafing through the pages of a style magazine, listening to music on his Walkman.
He grinned at Sharon as soon as she entered, choosing to ignore Resnick for as long as he was able. A small diamond in the shape of a star shone from his left ear, catching the overhead light.
“Hey, sister,” Valentine called over the sounds tearing at his ears, “how you doing?”
Sharon reached down, disregarding the hand stretched palm up toward her, and tugged the headphone jack from the machine.
“Hey! That’s Puccini, girl. La Bohéme. You can’t do that.”
“I’ve brought someone to meet you, Drew,” Sharon said, reaching for a chair. “Detective Inspector Resnick, my boss. And don’t call me ‘girl.’”
“Charlie, yeh.” He gave Resnick a swift appraisal. “Heard of you, man. Seen your picture in the paper.”
Resnick sat down at the opposite side of the bed. “So what gives?” Valentine said. “I mean, I don’t see no grapes or nothin’.”
“How about telling us what went on,” Resnick said, “out on the Forest? You and Jason?”
“Oh, man, I already told her that shit.”
“Your word, not mine.” Resnick leaned
“So according to this particular story,” she went on, “he’s chilling out under the stars, Jason and these two girls are up to who knows what in the comfort of their Sierra and then this other guy suddenly appears …”
“Other guy?”
“Exactly. This other guy appears through the trees—you’ll like this, it gets better—runs toward Jason’s car and bangs on the window. There’s a mess of shouting before Jason slides down his window and pow! Stranger pulls a gun and shoots Jason at close range.”
“Valentine have any suggestions as to what all this was about?”
Sharon shook her head. “He’s still figuring that out. What he does say, soon as he hears the shot, he jumps out of his car, the gunman runs off, and then, humane character that he is, Valentine hurries over to see if he can be of any assistance. Maybe he did St. John Ambulance when he was a kid in the Meadows. What he gets for his trouble is stabbed in the leg. I told him, Drew, that’s all the thanks you get for coming to the rescue like a good citizen.”
“And Jason, at the moment he’s in no position to give his version?”
“Not a word.”
“How about the girls?”
“So far, not saying a thing. Maybe a night in the cells will loosen their tongues. There were drugs in the car and Diane’s already got one charge of possession. We might be able to hold that over her, force some kind of a deal.”
The lift emptied out and Resnick and Sharon got in.
“Diane,” Sharon said. “You know Jason turned her out on the street when she was fourteen?”
“His own sister?”
“I asked him about that, one time when I had him in for pimping. Starts singing at me, ‘Family Affair’—you know that?”
Resnick shook his head.
“Sly and the Family Stone. Anyway, he tells me what he’s doing—proud of it, right?—helping his little sister get on in the world. And then he says, ‘Besides, she’s the only one of my whores ain’t ever holding out on me, not as much as a penny.’”
“You think he had Sheena working the street, too?”
“I don’t know. But to my knowledge, no.”
Resnick stood for a while, his head in his hands, fingers rubbing across his eyes. “Him and Valentine, quite a couple.”
“Yeah, true meeting of minds.”
“And Valentine’s story, you believe it?”
“If it was inscribed on tablets of stone,” Sharon said, “handed down from heaven with a choir singing, I wouldn’t believe it.”
Drew Valentine was in a private room with a uniformed officer sitting outside the door. Valentine was propped up against four or five pillows wearing a yellow Ted Baker shirt unbuttoned to the level of the sheets, his hair tied back in a ponytail. He was leafing through the pages of a style magazine, listening to music on his Walkman.
He grinned at Sharon as soon as she entered, choosing to ignore Resnick for as long as he was able. A small diamond in the shape of a star shone from his left ear, catching the overhead light.
“Hey, sister,” Valentine called over the sounds tearing at his ears, “how you doing?”
Sharon reached down, disregarding the hand stretched palm up toward her, and tugged the headphone jack from the machine.
“Hey! That’s Puccini, girl. La Bohéme. You can’t do that.”
“I’ve brought someone to meet you, Drew,” Sharon said, reaching for a chair. “Detective Inspector Resnick, my boss. And don’t call me ‘girl.’”
“Charlie, yeh.” He gave Resnick a swift appraisal. “Heard of you, man. Seen your picture in the paper.”
Resnick sat down at the opposite side of the bed. “So what gives?” Valentine said. “I mean, I don’t see no grapes or nothin’.”
“How about telling us what went on,” Resnick said, “out on the Forest? You and Jason?”
“Oh, man, I already told her that shit.”
“Your word, not mine.” Resnick leaned
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