The sun was dipping towards the ocean, reflecting brightly in the rearview mirror, as Steve turned the blue sedan onto Palms Blvd., slowing slightly to allow Mike to read the numbers stenciled in white on the curb in the fading light.
He pointed vaguely up ahead to the left. "It's just up a bit on your side."
There were cars parked on both sides of the street but they were the only ones driving.
"Slow down a little more but don't come to a complete stop… I don't want people to get suspicious," Mike cautioned quietly as his eyes fell on the house they were seeking. It was a very tiny, well-kept bungalow with a small fenced-in front yard. It was dark. There was no driveway. Lonsdale's car, a forest green '72 Monte Carlo, wasn't visible anywhere on the street nearby.
Steve glanced over as they passed; Mike gave the house as thorough an inspection as he could in the few seconds the blue sedan rolled past.
"Well, he's not there, far as I can tell." He felt his car pick up a little speed and faced forward again. "Hunh," he snorted lightly, "I wonder if he is at that Filipino restaurant?"
Steve flashed a quick smile. "Well, we'll know soon enough. We'll be there in about ten minutes."
Mike nodded. "Well, at least we know where to come when we serve the warrant."
# # # # #
Lonsdale was not at Meryenda. Both of them were relieved and yet disappointed at the same time. It sure would have pushed up their timeline, Mike thought ruefully as they sat at a small table in the almost full karinderya. A beautiful young woman approached them with menus and a wide, welcoming smile.
They scoured the menu, using Steve's list to choose the dishes Lonsdale had recommended. While they waited for the food to arrive, their talk turned to what was foremost on both their minds, and they went over the information that had been uncovered that day.
They were still waiting for word from the IRS about Daniel Harrison's tax history, which would tell them how long he had been filing. There had been no record with the LAPD, not even a parking ticket, which pointed to someone who might be deliberately trying to keep a low profile. They had yet to discover how he made his money, or if he even held a job. The house on Palms was a rental.
"Well, I think he's still living off his parents," Mike surmised, leaning back in the cane chair and folding his arms.
Steve cocked his head and nodded. "Yeah, sounds like it, doesn't it? What do you think, he goes 'up north' to visit them every once in a while and gets cash from them…?"
Mike shrugged. "Well, when we finally track down his bank accounts, that'll tell us. But I bet you're right because his parents are going to be just as cautious as he is… they're not going to leave a paper trail. So, yeah, I'm betting cash too…"
"Well, we're gonna have a helluva time trying to track them down. I mean, I'm sure they've changed their names too – and I doubt it's to Harrison. And as you said, that's a hell of a lot of real estate…"
Chuckling, the older man took a sip of water. "Well, we'll have to move our asses to find them after we arrest their son before they somehow find out and go underground. But let's worry about that after we get Lonsdale back to San Francisco, shall we?"
"Sounds good to me," Steve agreed, sitting back as he saw the waitress approach with their dinners. The aromas were mouth-watering.
# # # # #
"Just so you know," Bob Evans said with a smile in his voice that could be heard over the phone, "one of our lab techs is going to join us tonight. When he heard what we needed, he volunteered – on his own time, Mike, believe me – to join us tonight with all the equipment he needs. So if we can get our hands on his beer glass, or something else he touches tonight, Chris can tell us right away if it's Lonsdale or not, then we can go for the warrant."
"That's great, Bob, thank you very much." Mike looked across the small motel room at his partner and smiled, his eyes wide.
"Well, that's not all. Phil was able to have a very rewarding conversation with a judge acquaintance of his, and he's offered to be on call to us till midnight tonight. So if we get confirmation on the fingerprints, we can take everything we have to the judge tonight and he'll sign a warrant for us right away. Then all that's needed is the transfer paperwork and you guys can take him."
"You're kidding…" Steve's head swung sharply in Mike's direction.
"Nope. Things are really falling into place, Mike. All we need now is for Lonsdale to show up tonight."
Sighing loudly, Mike chuckled. "Your lips to God's ears, Bob. Hey, ah, thanks a lot for setting all this up. I really appreciate it." He glanced at Steve. "We really appreciate it. Listen, ah, Steve and I are going to swing by his place again, see if we can spot his car, see if he's still in town. And we'll see you tonight, all right?"
"You got it, Mike."
He put the receiver on the cradle and sat there, staring at the black phone without moving.
Steve looked over from where he was sitting on his bed and frowned. "What?"
Mike shook his head slightly, looked over his shoulder, and smiled. "I'll, ah, I'll tell you at breakfast. It's on me," he announced with a laugh, getting up and crossing to the table between the beds to pick up his watch and wallet.
"On you, you say?" Steve echoed with a grin, scrambling off the bed, stepping into his sneakers and opening the door. "You don't have to ask me twice."
# # # # #
They had spent what they hoped was their last full day in Venice walking on the beach once again, but the luster and curiosity factor were beginning to wane. By 3:30 Steve had swung the sedan to the curb up the block from Hiraro's again and they settled in to begin their patient vigil.
On a hunch, they had tempted fate once more and cruised down Palms Blvd early that morning. This time Mike spotted the Monte Carlo parked on the next block. Satisfied and relieved that Lonsdale was still in town, they had spent the rest of the morning on the beach, grabbed a hot dog and cold drink then headed over to Hiraro's. They did not want to miss Lonsdale today.
"So, ah, you sure you want to drive Lonsdale back to The City? I mean, I could fly and take him with me." Steve was staring at Hiraro's front door.
Mike was slouched in the passenger seat, his ball cap brim pulled down over his eyes. "Yeah, I know, but I gotta drive back anyway, and I'd kind like to spend that time with Lonsdale sitting beside me… I want him to tell me everything by the time we get back… even where his parents are living now."
Steve glanced over and chuckled. "You know, I really believe you can…"
The older man grinned, laughing softly. "So, I'll sit in the back with him, and you can drive. How does that sound?"
"I like the sound of that, yeah." A comfortable silence filled the car. Mike looked like he was sleeping but every sense was on alert.
"Shit!" Steve leaned forward sharply, staring overtop of the steering wheel.
Mike sat up quickly, pushing his cap brim up. "What?"
"He's here. He's early."
Mike glanced at his watch; it was 4:09. "He's never been here this early before… but then again," he chuckled almost to himself, "it's not like we've been following him for months…"
Steve glanced over and laughed. "True."
The older man took a deep breath. "Well, I'll give him a half hour… it's too early for me to go in there." He looked at his partner. "What time did Bob and Phil say they were going to get here?"
"Six."
"I wonder how long he's going to be here…?" Mike mused rhetorically. He could feel the adrenaline starting to build. And he hated waiting.
Steve smiled. "Don't worry. Cathy knows what she's doing, she's not a rookie."
"I know, I know…"
# # # # #
Mike pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped over the threshold. Though it was a Saturday night, Hiraro's was almost empty, but there were a couple of black-clad, pony-tailed and bearded men setting up microphones and a drum kit in the far corner.
Clocking Lonsdale sitting in his usual spot with his usual glass of Guinness at the far end of the bar, he turned his frown of confusion on the middle-aged woman with long, curly red hair drying glasses behind the bar. She, he knew, was Cathy; Steve and he had had the pleasure of meeting her briefly the day before when she reported to Evans and Garabaldi at Parker Center.
"Hi!" she called out in greeting then, following his look of concern towards the commotion in the far corner, laughed. "Don't worry, the band don't start playin' till 8 and the crowd don't start coming in till about 7, or so they tell me. So's if you're just in the mood for a couple of drinks and good meal, you can get outa here long before all the mayhem starts."
Mike, in his persona of older tourist, started to nod vigorously. "Well, that's good," he laughed. "I'm, ah, more of a Glen Miller, Tommy Dorsey kinda guy. This… noise the kids call music nowadays just ain't for me."
"Hey, to each his own, right?" Cathy looked around briefly. "So, ah, you wanna sit at the bar here – and talk to me," she cackled with a wink, "or do you want a quiet meal by yourself."
Dropping onto the nearest stool, Mike laughed warmly. "Well now, I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," she beamed, putting the glass and towel down and tossing a coaster on the bar in front of him. "What can I get you?"
"What do you recommend?"
"I'll surprise you."
Grinning, he watched as she moved to the taps and poured him a pale amber ale with a big head. With a throaty laugh she put it on the coaster in front of him.
As he picked it up to take the first sip, he met her gaze and held it. As his lips touched the glass, his eyes shifted to the end of the bar in Lonsdale's direction, then came back to her face. As he lowered the glass, he nodded. It looked like he was approving of her choice of beer, but she knew what he meant; he had just confirmed the man at the end of the bar was Lonsdale.
She grinned back at him. "That hits the spot, doesn't it?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "It sure does."
Laughing, she went to the end of the bar and picked up a menu. As she started to cross back towards Mike she casually glanced in Lonsdale's direction and stopped. She smiled at him. "Can I get you another Guinness, sir?" she asked pleasantly, and he looked up from the paper he was reading, his eyes snapping from his almost empty glass to her expectant face.
He smiled. "Yes, thank you, that would be great." He picked up the glass and drained the last of the dark ale before handing it to her with a smile.
She walked down to Mike's end of the bar, holding the glass by the bottom. Making brief eye contact with the San Francisco detective, she set it carefully on the counter before reaching over her head for another Guinness glass hanging upside down from the elevated racks of clean glasses of almost every size and description. Then she carefully poured a fresh glass with a perfect head and returned to the end of the bar, setting it on a fresh coaster.
Lonsdale, who had murmured his thanks, picked the new glass up and took a sip before returning to his paper.
Mike looked at Cathy and smiled. She smiled back, carefully picking up the used Guinness glass and putting it in a cupboard under the counter then she picked up the bar rag and went about her business.
He glanced at his watch, wondering how long Lonsdale was going to stay. They couldn't access the glass until he did, in case he noticed what was going on. It was a small place, and they couldn't take that chance.
He took a sip of his beer, wondering if he had the patience to wait Lonsdale out.