“No idea.”

“I’ll check him out.” She wrote down the name in her notepad. “Who’s Darnell Arlington?”

“A pet project of Ben Little. The first time Darnell was expelled, Ben went to bat for him and the school gave the kid a reprieve. The second time, Darnell got the boot and Ben backed up the school. Arlington was in Ohio when the murder happened, and Ben’s widow had heard that the kid turned his life around. Cal Vitton talked to him at the time of the murder, but he’s worth a second look.”

“Consider it done.” Marge wrote down Arlington’s name and gave the slip back to Decker. “So I can bring Oliver into the fold?”

Decker thought about it. “All right, let’s include Oliver. Strapp knows that I can’t do this all by my lonesome, but he doesn’t want it getting back to the big boys that I’ve farmed it out. With all his faults, Scott can keep a confidence.”

“That is true.”

“And who knows? Maybe a special assignment will snap him out of his funk.”

Marge shrugged. “One can hope, and yet one will probably be disappointed.”

CHAPTER 6

CALVIN VITTON AND Arnie Lamar had turned in their guns and shields shortly after the Little murder, but neither had left town. Silent Cal—as he was known—had an address in Simi Valley, a mountainous community northwest of L.A. The area had wide streets, big skies, and lots of undeveloped land that sat atop granite and bedrock. Many working cops called Simi home, and an equal amount of vets retired to small ranches carved from the hillsides. When Vitton didn’t pick up the house phone, Decker left a message on his machine, asking him to please call back at his convenience.

Arnie Lamar lived in Sylmar northeast of L.A. The neighborhood was noted more for its honor farms and detention centers than it was for its natural scenery. It was rugged country: some mountains but also dusty flat areas that were perfect for Lamar’s passions of auto building and racing, and climbing up hillsides in one of his ATVs. When Decker phoned, Arnie was just about to go to the track, testing one of his newest vehicles, something that he had cobbled together using parts from a Viper, a Lamborghini, an old Jag XKE, and a small engine jet. They decided to meet at three in the afternoon.

Decker showed up on time. Upon arrival, he took note of Arnie’s four-car garage, the door to one of its stalls yawning wide open. A chimerical, cherry red vehicle was parked in the driveway with a pair of denim legs sticking out from the undercarriage.

“Hello,” Decker called out.

“In a minute” was the response.