I felt a small flash of recollection and an image of him popped up. I pointed. “A claims adjuster was shot to death. I’d just driven up from San Diego and stopped by the office to drop off some files. You were manning the crime scene tape when I asked for Lieutenant Dolan. I remember you had a little divot right here in your front tooth.”

Dimples appeared as he ran his index finger across his front teeth. “I had it fixed the next week. I can’t believe you remember.”

“A quirk of mine,” I said. “How’d you chip it?”

“Bit down on a piece of floral wire. My wife was making a wreath with pine cones and one of those Styrofoam rings. You wouldn’t think a little nick would be so conspicuous, but I felt like a redneck every time I opened my mouth.”

“That’s what you get for being helpful,” I remarked. “Bet your mom told you not to use your teeth for stuff like that.”

“Yes, she did.”

I glanced at his card. “You’ve moved up in the world.”

“I work property crimes these days.”

I half expected him to take out a pen and notebook, getting down to the business at hand, but he was apparently content to take his time. Meanwhile, I reviewed my behavior, doing a quick scan of present and past sins. While I’m occasionally guilty of violating municipal codes, I hadn’t done anything lately. “Was there a burglary in the neighborhood?”

“I’m here about something else.”

“Not something I did, I hope.”

“Indirectly.”

I thought, Shit, now what?

He took his time, probably deciding how much he wanted to share. “A marked bill was passed in this area a week ago.”

I watched him, waiting for the rest of it.

“We believe it came from you.”

“Me? I don’t think so,” I said.

“Do you remember using cash for a transaction on the sixth?”

“No. You want to give me a hint?”

“I could, but I’d prefer not to color your recollection.”

“What’s to color? I don’t remember anything of the sort.”

“Take your time.”

I was getting annoyed. “What kind of bill? Five, ten, a twenty?”

He jerked his thumb upward.

“A hundred? I don’t carry hundreds. They’re useless. Too hard to change.”

I was about to go on when an “uh-oh” popped to mind. I leaned forward and squinted. “Are you talking about the hundred-dollar bill I used to pay for groceries last week?”

He pointed at me, like he was calling on me in class. “Can you tell me where you were?”

“At the grocery store obviously; the Alpha Beta market on Old Coast Road in Montebello.” I was only adding the details to show I had nothing to hide. My righteous tone sounded bogus, but that might have had more to do with the look he was giving me.

“We’re wondering how that particular bill ended up in your hands.”

“I was hired to do a job and I was paid in cash,” I said. “That bill was phony?”