“I ain’t gonna lie for you.”

“God forbid,” Decker said. “Martin, all I want is for you to tell the truth. Tell a grand jury what Ray told you. That’s it. The rest is up to a court of law.”

“He never ever tol’ me he killed her, Lieutenant. I want to make that clear.”

Decker said, “But he did tell you he pushed her…”

“He pushed her, Manny pushed her. All he kept saying is that he didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“In your signed statement, you state that Belize told you that he pushed her.”

“Maybe I made a mistake. He tol’ me someone pushed her. Maybe him, maybe Manny.”

“Maybe Manny…” Decker sat back in the chair. “Do you remember the last time you saw Manny?”

“When he was a kid and the missus used to bring them in. After he married Beth, he didn’t come see me no more.”

“He moved to California.”

“He coulda wrote.”

“And Belize never told you what happened to Manny?”

The old man shook his head no.

“Did you ever wonder if Belize murdered your son?”

“No, sir.” Hernandez shook his head. “I never did wonder that. I figure if Manny never visited me before the Beth incident, why would he visit me after? Like I tol’ you, being too curious ain’t a good thing.”

“What would you say if I gave you proof that Belize murdered Manny?”

“Maybe I’d care, and then maybe I wouldn’t. Manny was always a mama’s boy. Belize was mine, for better or worse. I mighta been rough on him, but that was because he could take it.” Hernandez leaned across the table. “The deal was that I’d say what Belize told me. The deal was not that I’d lie just because you want me to. And where I come from, a deal is a deal.”

“No one is asking you to lie.”

“A deal is a deal.”

“Ray pushed Beth. You have that in your statement to me.”

“Well, maybe Ray pushed her and maybe it was Manny. You can read your statement and I can say I don’t remember. I’m an old man. Ray made his confession to me a long time ago and I don’t remember who did what. I’ll tell your grand jury that Ray was there and you can ask me all the questions you want. But I won’t lie for you.” Hernandez folded his thick arms across his barrel chest. “Now, are you gonna keep your end of the bargain?”

With the old man backtracking, his statement virtually matched the statement that Ray Holmes had given him in San Jose. The D.A. could put Raymond Holmes at the scene of the murder, but now it looked like it was going to be nearly impossible to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he killed Beth. Decker still had the old man’s signed and sworn statement, when the taste of freedom had meant more to Martin than blood ties. The capital murder case would most likely move past the grand jury. “We’re working on a deal, Martin, but you have to keep your end of the bargain.”

“What can you do for me?”

“If you agree that you’ll cooperate with us, you’ll get parole. Parole means a parole officer and reporting in once a week. Parole means you can’t move out of state. And most important, this parole also means you’ll have to wear an ID ankle bracelet. Once you’ve made your statement to the grand jury, you’ll be off the hook. The bracelet comes off and you’re free as a bird. If you don’t make a statement, you’re back in Santa Fe Correctional and you’ll have to make up the free time that you had in prison.”

“I thought I was going to get early release period.”

“I tried, Martin, but I couldn’t swing it. First parole and then early release.”

“When is this grand jury?”

“In about six months.”

“If I agree, when do I get out of here?”

“Just as soon as the deal is inked with the DA here and in Los Angeles.”

“And when will that be?”

“Hopefully in a couple of weeks. Do we have a deal?”

Hernandez sighed. “As of right now, I’m in. But don’t wait too long, Lieutenant. I could change my mind. Or I could die.”

AFTER TWO WEEKS of hunting down BMW dealerships, car washes, and custom shops, Marge got a break. Jim’s Hot Rods, Dragsters, and Funny Cars took up residence on a side street off Roscoe in the industrial section of the San Fernando Valley. Sitting behind a wall of chain link topped with barbed wire, the shop included a warehouse whose windows and doors were protected by iron bars and a concrete yard littered with the exoskeletal remains of automobiles, trucks, and motorcycles. Jim’s did everything-from little jobs like custom upholstery to converting lowly soccer-mom vans into drivable pleasure palaces.

Dunn found herself surrounded by more mullets than inside an ocean and lots and lots of ponytails as well. But she gave the guys an A for their work ethic. The place absolutely roared with activity, the noise level deafening even without the three barking pit bulls chained up in front of the main office.

Jim Franco-better known as Jumbo Jimbo, due to his height more than his girth-was cooperative and articulate. He wore a gray T-shirt (probably once white) and denim overalls, grease rags sticking out of every pocket. His hands were big and callused, his nails short and surprisingly cared for. Not that they didn’t have dirt under them, but Marge could tell that the man took pains to make a decent appearance when he put on street clothes. He stood around six five and was packed with muscle. He turned to the dogs and they withered under his scowl.

“Yeah, I remember Dresden.” He looked down at Marge and made her feel short. He spoke with a voice that was foghorn low. “The guy was not only an idiot, but a tool.”

“Why do you say that?” Marge had to scream to be heard over the noise.

Jimbo clapped his hands and shouted, “Hey!” The din took a breather. “Five-minute break. I need to talk to this lady.”

The mullets and the ponytails headed inside the warehouse. Marge waited a moment, then looked way up. “I said what did Dresden do for you to call him an idiot and a tool?”

“First off, any man who forgets to put the top up on a convertible in the pouring rain is an idiot. Second, he’s a tool because that’s what he is-a middle-management dick who was trying to be one of the boys. If he’s a pretentious asshole, he should just be one.” Jim waved a disgusted hand in the air. “No big whop. We get ’em all the time. Anyway he brought in a black 330 ci that reeked of mold. I told the guys in the shop to wear face masks and to pop antihistamines. Man, it was bad!”

“What did you do?”

“Took everything down to the metal.”

“Including the seat upholstery?”

“I probably could have cleaned it up on the outside-it was leather-but I wouldn’t take responsibility for what was growing inside the upholstery. It would have always smelled and who would want to breathe that shit in. Didn’t matter. He wanted it stripped to the metal anyway. He said insurance would pay for it, but I didn’t trust the guy. I told him I’d help him collect from insurance, but if he wanted me to do the job, it would be cash and cash only. I asked for sixty percent up front hoping to scare him off, but he agreed.”

“Why did you want to scare him off? Did he give you any problems?”

“No, he didn’t,” Jimbo admitted. “Paid whenever I asked him to.”

“Did you also replace the carpeting in the trunk?”

“Everything. Dresden wanted everything to match.”

Marge winced. “That’s too bad. Nothing was salvageable?”

“Why?” Jimbo gave her a look. “Something funny happen inside the car?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like we’re never going to find out.”

The jumbo man gave her an oversize smile, exposing tobacco-stained teeth. “You know, ma’am, today might be your lucky day. The carpet in the trunk didn’t need to be replaced, but as long as we were redoing the interior carpeting, I knew we’d probably have enough square feet left over to do the trunk, too. So it wouldn’t cost Dresden extra to replace it. The car mats were a different story.”