"Yes," I said. "He also understands that her body is missing."
"He hired you to find a corpse?"
"Somebody has to."
Hammer continued shoveling in his shake. Some of it got into his cop mustache, where it was quickly absorbed. I wondered what else had been absorbed into his mustache.
"Yeah," said Hammer. "I suppose someone's got to." He shook his head. "My first grave robbing case. I mean, have you ever heard of such a thing?"
"Not since Frankenstein."
Hammer shook his head. "What the hell would anyone do with it?" He turned green and actually set aside his shake. "On second thought, I don't want to know."
"Who worked the initial homicide?"
"Yours truly."
"Full circle," I said.
"Yeah. First we catch the killer - the husband, always the husband - and now I have to run down the fucking body. What are the chances?"
"Slim to none," I said. "Where's the husband now?"
"In San Quentin. Death Row."
"Tell me about it," I said.
"The usual story. An abusive bastard. Beat her up often. One day he doesn't stop punching and brings a knife into play. A fucking butter knife that he kept near his bed."
"Premeditative?"
"Yup. Stabbed her seventy-two times."
Now I nearly choked on my orange juice. "Jesus."
"Bloodiest crime scene I've ever seen."
"So why was the body exhumed?" I asked.
"There's a paternity case going on. Apparently, a son has appeared out of nowhere, claiming to be an heir. I'm assuming it's the same son who hired you."
"An heir to what?" I asked.
"A significant fortune. The family was loaded. The loving couple left behind boat loads to two legitimate kids."
"And now there's an illegitimate kid."
Hammer nodded as our food arrived. He immediately shoved three fat steak fries under his mustache into what I assumed was his mouth. His rat-like mustache twitched once, twice, and the fries disappeared.
I ate my fries as well, but I ate them one at a time, and I didn't have a rat-like mustache.
Hammer nodded. "You guessed it. A legitimate kid who wants in on the family's money."
"Was there a will?"
"Of course. And it did indeed name a son whom she offered up for adoption years ago."
"So he might the one."
"Or not. Lots of scams out there, Spinoza. You know that. Anyway, the kid, your client, goes through the proper channels and next thing I hear they're digging up mamma. Only she's not where she's supposed to be."
"Curiouser and curiouser," I said.
"Fucking sick, if you ask me." But not so sick as to stop him from sinking his teeth deep into the burger.
"Any leads?" I asked.
"Nope," he said, chewing furiously. "But if you see a corpse lying around, lemme know. I'm trying like hell to pawn this case off on the robbery division, since they deal with human trafficking, too."
"A loophole in the LAPD divisions," I said.
"Yeah, but it's not shaking out the way I'd hoped. So far, Chief wants me in on it because I'm familiar with the case. Like I've got nothing better to do then look for a stolen fucking body."
"A waste of your considerable talents," I said.
"Don't fuck with me, Spinoza. I got two new homicides in the last 24 hours alone. Last thing I need to be doing is looking for a bunch of bones."
"Sounds like you might need my help, too," I said.
"Not likely, but if you want to poke around, feel free."
"I'll need a copy of your file," I said.
"It's illegal for me to give you a copy of my file."
"It's never stopped you before."
"I know," said Hammer, polishing off the burger. "I just needed to officially say it before I accidentally email you a copy of the electronic file."
I grinned. "Accidents do happen."
Chapter Three
I was in my office when, a short while later, Detective Hammer "accidentally" sent me an email containing the entire contents of his investigation into the murder of Evelyn Drake. He followed his mistake by sending me an email stating that he had fucked up and sent the email incorrectly, and that I was, by law, to delete it immediately.
Which I did, after I had "accidentally" printed out the entire contents. And with my feet propped up on my desk during a quiet afternoon, when my phone neither rang nor clients stepped in, I read the file, glued to the pages. Hammer was a helluva homicide detective, I give him that, although I would never tell him in person. Actually, Hammer reminded me of another detective I'd recently had the pleasure of working with, an ex-football player out of Orange County. Cocky as hell, but meticulous and driven. Like Hammer.
Anyway, Hammer had made detailed file notes and reports, and it was all riveting stuff. From phone calls to interviews, to eyewitness testimonies and crime scene reports, it told a compelling story of heartbreak and murder, and I was glued to the pages until the sun went down.
During the course of the investigation, Hammer had had his hands full. The husband had tried his damnedest to cover his tracks and set up a fake alibi. Through dogged investigative work and following hunch after hunch, Hammer had cracked the case and nailed the murderous husband, who was now currently rotting in San Quentin, awaiting execution.
For good reason. Within these pages was a very sad tale of an abused woman and her worthless husband. She had spent decades being abused and tormented, only to finally find escape in death.
She left behind two teenage children and, according to the will, a third. Apparently, she had given up a boy for adoption when she had been very young. No other information was known or mentioned about the boy, just the small notation in the will...and a sizable trust fund.
I turned in my swivel chair and looked out my second-story window. My office sat on a small hillock above some shabbier homes in Echo Park, a burrow of Los Angeles made famous in movies and film.
For now the street below was quiet and the far horizon shimmered with more beauty than Los Angeles deserved. For all the smog that it pumped into its skies, the horizon should have been gray and black and dead, instead alive with nearly every color of the rainbow.
A corpse, at some point, had been dug up from the grave and removed. I knew there were body snatches out there. Folks who sold cadavers illegally for reasons known only to them. I suspected for illegal research projects. But such cases were damn rare.