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leaned back.
    “Point is, you were hearing just fine until you passed out. Here in your statements, you mentioned you and Officer Anders were talking about how quiet it was. You stated she turned off the car so you could hear the silence.”
    Scott felt his face flush, and a stab of guilt up through the center of his chest.
    “Yes, sir. That was on me. I asked her to turn off the vehicle.”
    “You hear anything?”
    “It was quiet.”
    “I get it was quiet, but how quiet? Were there background sounds?”
    “I dunno. Maybe the freeway.”
    “Don’t guess. Voices on the next block? Barking? A noise that stood out?”
    Scott wondered what Orso was going for. Neither Melon nor Stengler had asked him about background sounds.
    “Nothing I recall.”
    “A door closing? An engine starting?”
    “It was quiet. What are you digging at?”
    Orso swiveled toward the crime scene poster. He leaned toward it and touched the side street from which the Kenworth had come. A blue X had been drawn on a storefront three doors from the intersection.
    “A store here was burglarized the night you were shot. The owner says it happened after eight, which was when he locked up, but before seven the next morning. We have no reason to think the burglary occurred when you and Anders were at the scene, but you never know. I’ve been wondering about it.”
    Scott didn’t recall Melon or Stengler mentioning the burglary, which would have been a major element in their investigation.
    “Melon never asked me about this.”
    “Melon didn’t know. The place is owned by a Nelson Shin. You know that name?”
    “No, sir.”
    “He distributes candy and herbs and crap he imports from Asia—some of which isn’t legal to bring into the U.S. He’s been ripped off so many times, he didn’t bother to file a report. He went shopping for a weapon instead, and got named in an ATF sting six weeks ago. He shit out when the ATF scooped him, and claimed he needed a full-auto M4 because he’s been burglarized so many times. He gave the ATF a list of dates to show how many times his store was cracked. Six times in the past year, if you’re curious. One of those dates matched with your shooting.”
    Scott stared at the blue X that marked the store. When Stephanie shut off the engine, they listened to the silence for only ten or fifteen seconds, then began talking. Then the Bentley appeared, but the Bentley was so quiet he remembered thinking it moved like it was floating.
    “I heard the Kenworth rev. Before it came out of the side street, I heard the big diesel rev up.”
    “That’s all?”
    Scott wondered how much to say, and how to explain.
    “It’s a new memory. I only remembered hearing it a couple of weeks ago.”
    Orso frowned, so Scott went on.
    “A lot happened that night in a short period. I remembered the big things, but a lot of small things got lost. They’re beginning to come back. The doctor says it happens like that.”
    “Okay.”
    Scott hesitated, then decided to tell him about the sideburns.
    “I caught a glimpse of the getaway driver. You won’t find this in the interviews because I just remembered.”
    Orso tipped forward.
    “You saw him?”
    “The side of his face. He raised his mask for a second. He had white sideburns.”
    Orso pulled his chair closer.
    “Could you pick him out of a six-pack?”
    A six-pack was a grouping of six photographs of suspects who looked similar.
    “All I saw were the sideburns.”
    “Can I put you together with a sketch artist?”
    “I didn’t see him well enough.”
    Now Orso was looking irritated.
    “Race?”
    “All I remember is the sideburns. I might remember more, but I don’t know. My doctor says the way it works is, one memory can trigger another. I remembered the Kenworth revving, and now the sideburns, so more things might start coming back to me.”
    Orso seemed to consider this, and finally settled back in his chair. Everything about him seemed to soften.
    “You went through