His colleague was leaning against his car when he got to the parking lot.
"No need. You slept even less than all of us."
"Possible. But we don't know anything about the neighbors, so you don't go out there alone."
With a wave of his hand he ordered her to get in. They were out before the afternoon rush hour, the Melrose had meanwhile been cleared so they were making relatively quick progress. In front of the crime scene, which was cordoned off with tape, two women in their mid-fifties discussed heatedly in Spanish.
When getting out, Chris translated in rough notes.
"The woman with the blue shirt owns the laundry. When she left the house, the stuff was still there. When she came back from the morning shift, no more. The other said that the police and a helicopter were there. "
Hondo nodded encouragingly in the direction of the women. Chris went ahead and asked if they spoke English. One shook her head, the other seamlessly changed languages and continued to scold in English until Hondo raised his hands and showed her his badge.
"Ma'am, if you had the kindness to let me have my say, I could tell you that we are here to thank you for your involuntary help and to compensate you for the damage."
"What are you talking about help? What did you do with my towels and the good bed linen?"
Hondo refrained from commenting that the sheets had been clean, but that they were past their best days.
"Ma'am, do you see that house with the police cordon?"
"Sure, my eyes are good."
"My team took a seriously injured woman out of there this morning. She had nothing to wear and there was nothing in there that we wanted to bring the woman into contact with. So we took the liberty of using your clothesline. The LAPD will compensate you for the loss and inconvenience," said Chris, pulling the check out of her pocket. When she held it out to the woman, Hondo read the amount of $ 150 on it.
"We have added up what we took, that should adequately cover your damage."
The woman quickly grabbed the paper, then her eyes widened.
"That's a lot of money. Is it covered?"
"Absolutely. The LAPD takes responsibility for this. And your things were a great help."
"Really? What happened to the woman?", She asked, startled.
"That is a matter for the police. But you can be sure that you are not in danger. Buy some nice new things, ma'am, remembering that the old ones did something good. Have a nice day," Hondo nodded and turned to go.
He heard Chris say something in Spanish, the women called out a 'Muchos Gracias' after them, then got into the car.
"Shall I drive you home?"
He felt Chris' scrutinizing eyes. "You can drop me off at the metro station. We all can use a bit of sleep. "
"Okay."
After dropping Chris off, Hondo drove home and changed. Tired, he let himself fall on the sofa and before he knew what was happening to him, he fell asleep.
It was already getting dark when the roar of a passing truck woke him.
In the kitchen, when he was about to get something to drink, he finally noticed there was a Post-it on the refrigerator door. "Take a look," it said in his mother's extravagant handwriting. In the fridge he discovered two sealed cans, one containing a ready-made salad that only needed a dressing, the other a stew. Soul food in the truest sense of the word. They had made a short phone call the day before, and his mother must have heard him say how much this case bothered him. Hondo warmed up a plate of stew and ate the salad, after which he felt stronger and better when he left the house.
His car practically drove itself towards West Hollywood and into the Cedars. This time he drove into the parking garage and walked slowly through the main entrance of the hospital. His badge, which he pulled from the waistband of his jeans, helped him get the information he wanted this time too. The nurse at the reception counter explained: "Follow the yellow signs to the east wing, you have to register on the sixth floor."
"Thanks." He gave her a short smile, then followed the markings on the floor to an elevator. In front of the ICU, he signed a visitors list, then another nurse showed him the way to a room where, to his surprise, a uniformed police officer was standing. He lifted the end of his open shirt so the man could see his badge and nodded to him. But the cop didn't give way, instead he held out his hand. "Thanks to you and your team. It was you who found her and got her out, wasn't it?"
"Yes. How...?"
"Dawson, Harbor Division. We all know and appreciate Christie, so one of us is always here. Santiago is inside. You are here again to check on her ..."
There was a question on Dawson's face.
"Even if SWAT is getting on scene quickly and usually leaving again quickly, that doesn't mean we don't care about the victims."
Dawson made a defensive gesture.
"I did not say anything like that."
"I know some cops on the street have that opinion. Even if they still like to have their butts saved by us if necessary. How is she doing?"
"Not good. Santiago knows more, he sweet-talked one of the nurses. I will get him."
"Thank you."