'But you don't know?'

He shrugged and spit more tobacco. 'If you read the arrest report you know I wasn't listed as an arresting officer. Rossi went back later without me. That way only one name gets credit for the collar. You see how she was?'

'She cut you out.'

Another shrug. 'Just her way. When it came to wearin' a uniform she was just passin' through and she made no secret of it. All she used to talk about was gettin' ahead, gettin' that gold shield. She told me she'd do anything to get that gold shield, and that's what I told Truly. I had to listen to that every goddamned day like a goddamned matrah.'

'Mantra.'

'Whatever.'

The Hispanic woman rapped at the glass then stepped into Haig's office. She was holding a clipboard. ' Warren wan's you to sign these estimates.'

Haig grinned and made a little c'mere gesture. 'Lemme see what you've got.'

She kept her eyes down when she crossed to him, probably because Haig was making a big deal out of looking at her. A gold wedding band and a large, ornate engagement ring were on her left hand, the stone square and flat and enormous, and probably zircon. The polished gold of the rings looked warm against her brown skin. She said, ' Warren says a truck is here with the new tires. He says he needs you to come see.' Warren was probably Haig's assistant.

'Yeah. I'll be out in a minute.'

Haig took the clipboard and flipped through a couple of pages without really looking at them. He used one hand to flip the pages and the other to feel her right hip. He scratched his name and handed back the board, still with the big grin. 'Gracias, babe. Lookin' good.'

' Warren says he needs you about the new tires.' Like Warren had been making a thing and she didn't want to mention it, but felt obligated.

Haig's grin turned brittle. 'Tell Warren to hold his water. I'll come when I come. Compiendei' He patted her hip again, letting his hand linger.

She took the board and walked out, Haig watching her go. He spit more tobacco, and I thought that if any of the flecks landed on me I might shoot him. Haig glanced at his watch and frowned. Warren.

I said, 'Okay, Rossi was ambitious. But did she ever do anything illegal to your knowledge?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'Ever rig an arrest?'

Haig shook his head.

'Plant evidence?'

'Not with me around.' Offended.

'You told Truly that you thought Rossi was capable of falsifying evidence. You said that your statement was based upon your experience as her partner. Do you really know anything, Haig, or are you just blowing smoke?'

Haig frowned. 'Look, Rossi used to skirt the line all the time. She'd do anything to make a case, go through a window, pop a trunk, jump a fence. I used to say, hey, you ever heard of the search and seizure laws? You ever heard of a warrant?'

'And what would she do when you said that?'

'Look at me like I'm an asshole.' He chewed at the cigar some more, then suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped it into the trash. 'Christ, she made me crazy in the car, always running plates, always looking for the collar.'

'Sounds like good police work.'

'Try livin' with it every day.' He glanced at his watch again. 'I gotta get going.'

'One more thing. You weren't with her when she made the Miranda violation.'

'Nah. That was later. I was already off the job and she was a detective-one. Rossi the hot shot, bustin' balls like always.'

'Then how do you know about it?'

'I saw her after. Bobby Driskoll's retirement up at the Revolver and Athletic Club.' The Revolver and Athletic Club is the Police Academy 's bar. 'She was goin' on about it, sayin' how rotten it was, sayin' that she was going to do whatever it took to get her career back on track.'

'Were there other people around?'

'Hell, yes. Rossi never made a secret about her ambition. "They can't keep me down." That's the way she talked. "All it takes is one big bust and I'm on top again." Like that.'

'But you have no personal knowledge of her having done anything illegal?'

Haig frowned at me. 'Any bitch that in-your-face is up to something.'

I closed the pad and put it away. Jonathan Green probably wasn't going to like what I had to say about Haig. 'Tell me something, Haig. Are you an asshole by choice?'

Haig gave me the hard cop eyes, and then the slick grin came back and he stood. 'Yeah, I guess it sounds that way, but there's more to it than her attitude. You see where she lives?'

I didn't know what he meant. 'No.'

'Go see where she lives.'

We walked out to the little showroom together. A guy who was probably Warren was standing with a black guy in a Goodyear shirt, and together they were reading what was probably a delivery manifest. They looked up when we came out and Warren said, 'We got those tires.'

Haig ignored him. He slipped behind the counter and I went to the door, and neither of us said anything to the other.

The Hispanic woman was behind the counter. Haig moved against her and mumbled something that the rest of us couldn't hear. She didn't look at him, and didn't respond. She stared at the TV, as if by staring hard enough it wouldn't be happening.

I went out into the sun, thinking that maybe I should have shot him anyway.

The two kids with their skateboards were gone, but the dog was still sitting by the churro cart, watching the vaquero. The vaquero was still waving his churro at the passing cars and looking sad. All the way up from Zacatecas to stand on a corner and sell something that no one except a couple of kids and a dog wanted. A man who had worked with the Brahmas, no less.

I climbed into my car and opened Truly's envelope and looked at Angela Rossi's address, wondering what Haig had meant about seeing where she lived. 724 Clarion Way. I looked up Clarion Way in the Thomas Brothers Guide, found it in Marina del Rey, and thought, 'Well, hell.'

The Marina wraps around the ocean on a stretch of sand just south of Santa Monica. It's home to sitcom writers and music producers and people who own Carpeteria franchises, maybe, but not cops. The cheapest house in the Marina maybe goes for six hundred thousand, and even the smallest apartments would set you back fifteen hundred a month before utilities. Condos had to start at three hundred grand. Raymond Haig was probably just a raging sexist who had been shown up on the job and was working out on the person who had shown him up, but how did that explain a cop living in the Marina? Of course, there were probably ten million explanations for how Rossi might live there, but I probably wouldn't ferret them out sitting in front of a tire store in Glendale.

The churro salesman caught me staring at him and gestured with the churro, his eyes somehow embarrassed in their sadness. I climbed out of my car and paid him thirty-five cents for ten inches of fried dough that had been dusted with powdered sugar and cinammon. He thanked me profusely, but he still seemed sad. I guess there's only so much you can do.

I went back to my car and worked my way across the valley floor, then up onto the San Diego Freeway and down through the westside of Los Angeles to the Marina. It was sunny and bright, with the sun still riding a couple of hours above the horizon. The air smelled of the sea and crisp white gulls floated and circled overhead, eyeing McDonald's and Taco Bell parking lots for fast-food leftovers. Women with pony tails raced along the wide boulevards on Rollerblades and shirtless young men pedaled hard on two-thousand-dollar mountain bikes, and everybody had great tans. Aging vaqueros selling rubber-hose churros weren't in evidence, but maybe I hadn't looked close enough.