Page 116 of Hanging and Burning

We had to drive all the way to Santa Monica before finding a bar where we could have a little privacy.

Once we were in a corner booth, I pretty much came up with the entire plan: a simple strategy that would scuttle either Melton Lamming or me.

“So your friend, this Sergeant Palmer, is a New York cop?” she asked after my rough-hewn pitch.

“Yeah. But he’s not your everyday sergeant, and he can make things happen anywhere in the country.”

“And he’ll help us…” she put forward doubtfully. “Why?”

“He’s like one’a those lions you see on YouTube, when a dachshund wanders into his cage and the lion adopts it instead of biting off its head. It’s just in his nature.”

She gave me a leery sneer and nodded. “Okay?”

“I can make it work. And think of the benefits.”

“What benefits?”

“Well, for one, you won’t have to add murderer to your résumé.”

That sat Caledonia back on her bench. Her eyes got big again and something like anger gathered in her gaze.

“Those are your choices,” I said as if responding to spoken hesitation.

“Will it be safe?”

“Is that lion safe?”

At least she smiled.

“Hello?” he said over the line. It was four o’clock in the morning in New York.

“Glad?”

“King?”

“Sorry, man. I need your help.”

“Where are you?”

“Beverly Hills.”

“That’s out of my jurisdiction, Joe.”

“What if I had a way for you to solve that Sheepshead Bay thing?”

There was silence over the line for a short while, then: “What do you need?”

“Reach out to an LAPD detective name of Carlton Van Arc. Tell him that you know me and that together we might bring down a serial rapist who has been operating in Southern California for years.”

“Why can’t you tell him all that?”

“I could. But he’s an honest cop. You remember what that was like, don’t you?”

“There’s a faint memory.”

“Well, if you come to him he’ll be more liable to give us official support.”

“And why would I care about a rapist in California?”