Power Slide by Susan Dunlap Page B

Tancarro seemed fine with that. “And he did feel really guilty about something—”
    “He had plenty to choose from. You saw Gabriella now. But you can’t imagine what she was like before. She used to be an up-and-coming attorney.”
    “She was a lawyer ?”
    “Hotshot prosecutor. But you can’t lose your concentration in the courtroom. Now she doesn’t leave the house.”
    “Ever? How does she live? Off the trust?”
    “Right. If she hadn’t had that money . . . Now, no one goes inside there. Even I haven’t crossed the threshold in ten years.” He stopped in front of a yellow stucco house that looked like the loved cousin of Gabriella’s, and turned to face me. “Damon did a lousy thing.”
    “He really did feel terrible. Maybe that’s why he was coming here. He talked about returning something.”
    He slowed his pace. “What thing?”
    “That’s my question. You knew him. What—”

    Now he stopped dead.“Twenty years! He held onto something for twenty fucking years and then all of a sudden he’s got to return it? I mean, there is UPS. God, it’s so Damon.”
    “But what could it be? Why? What got him killed?”
    “I’m sorry, honestly.” He strode on, faster than before, as if to distance himself from his unseemly outburst. “I wish I knew the answer, for me as well as you. I’ll try to remember if there was anything, any one who might know. If I come up with—”
    “What about those guys he hung out with on Union Street? Where are they?”
    “They won’t remember. You’d be wasting your time.”
    “It’s the one way you can help me. Our only lead. Who are they?”
    He shrugged. “Okay, but—The guy Damon was closest to is Luke Kilmurray.”
    “Where can I find him?”
    “Thailand.”
    “What’s he doing there?”
    “Drugs.”
    “How long’s he been there?”
    “Years. I wouldn’t even know he was there if a friend hadn’t run into him on the street in Bangkok.”
    “Do you have his number? Or an address?”
    “I might.”
    I could hear the patrol car behind us. “Do me a favor? Let me go through your house and out the back.”
    He turned, looked at the patrol car, and for the first time he smiled. “The fast getaway, huh? You really are Damon’s friend.”
    In two minutes I was in his kitchen by the back door, slip of paper in hand.

    “It’s not a private number,” he said. “Luke’s landed in a strange situation over there. The time I tried, I called and they had to go find him and then he phoned back. You know, like it’s restricted usage or a hostel or something. It was such a hassle I only did it once.”
    “I’ll deal. What about the other guy? Didn’t you say there were four of you in the bars?”
    “Ryan Hammond? I have no idea where he is.”
    “Will you check around?”
    “I’ll let you know. And vice versa? Do me a favor, too? Let Gabriella alone. Call me if you need anything, okay? Damon could be a pain in the ass, but there were times when he was my friend. I don’t want some idiot to kill him and walk away free.”

    Flights to L.A. aren’t quite like having the airlines call to ask you when it might be convenient for you to depart, but close. I got a seat on Southwest boarding in half an hour, which meant I just had time to call Thailand.
    I found the quietest noisy spot, and punched in the number, hoping but not believing I would get through. Fuzz and crackle, squeaks and metallic scrapings suggested a squirrel racing along the wires.
    “Anja Chak,” a female voice said.
    Of course I didn’t know whether Anja Chak was a greeting, a person, or a place. Risking rudeness, I went with the straightforward. “Luke Kilmurray?”
    The line crackled. She repeated his name, I think.
    “Is he there?”
    “Here? Yes.”
    “Yes? Can I speak to him?”

    “Oh, no. He will call back.”
    “When?”
    “Later. In daylight, yes?”
    I took that question as a very polite way of saying, “It’s the middle of the night here.”
    “When?” I