Part 8 (2/2)
Of course Sonia would ask. No matter what happened in the neighborhood, she needed to know about it. Despite this annoying compulsion, Sonia deserved props for organizing The Eyes of Encino-a neighborhood watch that patrolled our community in times of, well, peril. Since Dax Martin's murder, the Eyes had been walking and driving up and down our streets at night, carrying their walkie-talkies and wearing matching yellow T-s.h.i.+rts, with a big eyeball logo on the back. Sonia's idea.
The patrol leader was Ron Wilson, a Korean War vet, who lived with his wife on the next street over. Ron's military crew cut had long ago turned white and spa.r.s.e, but he and some of his fellow geezers took community safety very seriously. Even old Tony DiArco joined the patrol on his Chair-A-Go-Go scooter, oxygen tank strapped to a holder in back. They shortened his s.h.i.+ft to one hour because the scooter's batteries were unreliable.
Sonia could be pesky when she nosed around in someone else's business. As far as I could tell, though, she never meant anyone harm.
”Ed's okay. He's been through a lot, poor guy.”
”Like what?”
”Well, I'll leave it up to Ed to decide how much he wants to tell other people about his business.”
A shadow of hurt crossed Sonia's face.
”I can tell you his spirits are good and he has a strong support network.”
Sonia reached up and adjusted the tortoisesh.e.l.l clip holding her long brown hair in place at the back of her neck. I had recently been in Sonia's house and saw her with her hair hanging loose. She looked a dozen years younger then, and the wrinkles became softer around her eyes and mouth. That was also the day I saw a photo of her with Mick Jagger in her younger, groovier days.
”So, do the cops think a homeless person is the killer?”
How much does she know about the homeless couple, and where does she get all her information, anyway?
”I wouldn't know what the police think. I did see evidence someone lived in the bushes across the river from the crime scene. I don't think it's possible they killed Dax Martin.”
Sonia leaned forward in eager antic.i.p.ation. ”Why do you say that?”
I explained my theory that Martin would never have gone outside the field with someone he didn't know and trust. ”I just think it's more likely they witnessed the crime and fled the scene out of fear.”
”Those poor people. I can't stand the thought they actually live without decent shelter. Sure, the weather's dry now in the summer, but what do they do when the weather's cold and rainy? I wish we could give them blankets or something. . . .”
Bingo! I looked at Sonia and smiled. ”We can.”
”Can what?”
”Give them blankets.” I explained how our guild gave away quilts to hospitals, shelters, and the homeless. Maybe we could organize some kind of distribution. With Switch gone, I wanted to get into the wildlife reserve in the worst way so I could try to find out where Javier and Graciela had disappeared.
Sonia looked doubtful. ”n.o.body's going to go anywhere near the place, Martha. It's way too dangerous.”
”Things may have changed recently.” I wasn't going to tell Sonia about Crusher putting Switch out of business. ”I'll check with some friends of mine to make sure, but I think that with some help, we could go in there and do some real good.”
Sonia smiled and stood a little straighter. ”Well, I'm a pretty good organizer. I'll be glad to help you.”
”Sure! I'll call you later.”
I phoned Lucy the minute I got inside. I sat on the board of the quilt guild and my friends sat on the philanthropy committee. ”Hi, Lucy. Are you still doing charity at the guild?”
”Yeah. Birdie and I still go once a month to help tie quilts. Why?”
I told her about my idea to organize an outreach in the Sepulveda Basin and to look for Javier and Graciela at the same time.
”Were you not listening yesterday? Did you not vow to change your ways? I thought you were through with your obsession to solve the murder and save your friend Ed.”
”Yes, I listened. I'm no longer obsessed.” I wasn't going to correct Lucy and remind her I made no such vow. ”Anyway, I think I stumbled upon a real suspect.”
”Get out!”
I told Lucy about Diane and her husband, Jefferson Davis, the headmaster of Beaumont School and Martin's boss. ”So you see, if Davis thought his wife had an affair with Dax Martin, that cradle-robbing control freak could have killed him in a jealous rage.”
”But that's pure speculation on your part.”
”Doesn't matter. As I understand it, we don't need to prove he actually killed Martin. Finding proof is up to the police and the DA. We only want them to look at someone other than Ed Pappas. In the worst-case scenario, if Ed is arrested and goes to trial, we want to have enough evidence to convince a jury someone else could have done it. We need to create reasonable doubt.”
”Well, good luck with that.”
I ignored the sarcasm. ”You remember my neighbor Sonia?”
”The one we met the other day? The former disco queen-slash-flower child?”
”She's not so bad. She came up with the idea to distribute blankets to the homeless. Does the guild have any quilts to give away?”
”At the moment, we only have about five completed, but we've been gearing up for Veterans Day in November. We've at least ten more quilt tops ready to tie.”
Not all quilts were st.i.tched together. To save time, many quilts were tied together every few inches. Strong yarn or heavy thread was st.i.tched a couple of times in place through the three layers of the quilt and cut, leaving two-inch to three-inch ends. Then the ends were tied together to make a permanent suture. Using this method, one person could finish a bed-sized quilt in just a few hours.
”I'm going to ask Hilda to help. Today's Thursday. The longer we take to arrange this outreach, the less chance we have of finding Javier and Graciela. So let's aim for Sunday as the day to give away the quilts. What do you think?”
”We'll have to call an emergency meeting of the committee to tie those other tops. We could end up with fifteen finished quilts by Sunday.”
”That'd be great, Lucy. Could you please get started right away? I'm off to find Hilda.”
My homeless friend was fanning herself in the shade near her usual s.p.a.ce on Ventura. She wore a short-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt, which had a picture of a hairy dog and the words I LOVE MY LABRADOODLE. The pockets of her chambray pleated maxiskirt were bulging and the hem was frayed. Hilda parked her shopping cart in front of Rafi's place, where she could see it. We sat at a table near the window and each ordered a falafel combo plate, with a.s.sorted cold salads.
She stood. ”I gotta go wash my hands.” This wasn't the first time I noticed that even though she didn't have access to regular facilities, Hilda worked to keep herself reasonably clean. When she returned from the restroom, she'd also washed the sweat off her face and combed her tangled hair.
She tore off a piece of pita bread and swiped it through the baba ghanouj, a puree of roasted eggplant, olive oil, lemon, and garlic. ”I heard what went down the other night. You and your friends really did a number on Switch. I also hear he's cuffed to a hospital bed.”
She went on to describe how, after the brawl, the homeless people banded together and forced the other thugs to leave. ”It's a lot safer there now.”
”I'm glad, and I'll tell you why. The weather won't be hot like this forever. In just a couple of months, it'll be cold out and the rains will come. I'd like to help those people prepare for the winter, so here's my idea. We go into the reserve on Sunday with blankets to distribute. While we're there, we can look for Javier and Graciela.”
”You should go soon. I heard someone say a couple was looking for a ride to Mountain View. I don't know if it's them.”
The town of Mountain View sat four hundred miles north in Silicon Valley. If Javier and Graciela left Los Angeles, we'd never find them. We needed to visit the reserve before they fled.
Hilda tilted her head. ”You know, these people down there could use other things besides blankets.”
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