“No, I’m not positive, but that wouldn’t be hard to verify.” Lamar got up and wiped his face with a cloth. “Man, it’s a scorcher. Want another beer?”

“Water would be great.”

“All I have is lukewarm tap.”

“Bud it is.”

Lamar returned a few minutes later with a couple of cold ones. “So you’re gonna talk to Rudy?”

“If I can find him.” Decker popped the top and drank with gusto. “He seems to be avoiding me. I only talked to him once over the phone, and as you said, he was foulmouthed.”

“Primo Ekerling was also found in a car trunk like Ben Little?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to talk to Rudy about the Ekerling murder since Primo and Rudy were in a long-standing lawsuit?”

“Yes.”

“Even though Hollywood already has a couple of carjackers in custody. They don’t mind you nosing around the case?”

“They’re not happy about it, but we’ve reached a cold war understanding.”

Lamar looked at his watch. “I’d like to catch a little more sunlight out there. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Keep me posted, Decker, and I’ll do the same for you. My memory isn’t too good, but if you jog it here and there, it just might get up and take a nice long run.”

CHAPTER 22

BANKS’S CELL HAD gone immediately to voice mail. It was probably a waste of time and police resources to trek over the hill for the appointment, but Decker made the plunge, sitting in wall-to-wall traffic for over an hour. It didn’t surprise him that his peevish knock went unanswered. This time Banks didn’t bother to leave a note, so Decker left a note of his own.

He was about to leave when he saw the door to the stairwell open. A neatly dressed man in his twenties emerged. He had a trimmed goatee, and his dark hair was buzzed short. He wore a white T-shirt, cutoff jean shorts, and sandals and carried a bag from L.A. Art Supplies. He was attempting to act disinterested in Decker’s six-foot-four, 220-pounds-of-muscle frame, but his eyes flitted like a hummingbird. He stopped across from Banks’s door and when he took out a set of keys, Decker saw his hand tremble.

“Excuse me, sir.” The man looked up. “I’m Lieutenant Decker from Los Angeles Police. Can I talk to you for a second?”

The man paused. “What about?”

“Your neighbor, Rudolph Banks.” Decker took out his badge.

The man said nothing, but his eyes fell upon the open billfold. Decker said, “I had an appointment with Mr. Banks this afternoon. He doesn’t seem to be home now and from my dealings with him, he isn’t home a lot.”

“I didn’t have much to do with him. He wasn’t very friendly.”

“I’ve heard he’s a bastard.”