by Robert Crais
I showed them the upstairs bath, and then we went downstairs. When we got down again, Joe Pike was standing silently in the entry. Just standing there.
Charles yelped in surprise and shouted, 'Jeezis, you scared me!'
Pike said, 'Yes.'
Charles scrambled outside and peered in from the deck. Guess Joe scared him more than the snakes.
I said, 'I'll make dinner in a minute, but first we have to talk. Charles, come back inside.'
Charles crept back inside and the three of them stared at me, Charles snapping nervous glances toward Joe.
'I'm going to look for your father tomorrow, so I need clues. Did he say anything to anyone while he was home?'
They looked at each other, and shook their heads. Teri said, 'Not like you mean.'
'Nothing that might indicate where he was going?'
Winona said, 'He said we were going to move away soon. He said we could have a really big TV.' Great.
Teri said, 'He made some phone calls.'
'Anyone listen in?'
They shook their heads some more, but Charles wasn't particularly convincing.
'Charles?'
'I didn't do anything.'
'No. But you might've heard something.'
Charles squirmed, then shrugged. 'He said something about going to see someone.'
'You hear a name?'
'Ray.'
'He said the name 'Ray'?'
Shrug.
Pike said, 'How about "Tre"?'
Charles scrunched his face, but this time he didn't shrug. 'Yeah, maybe that was it.'
Pike shook his head and went out onto the deck.
I showed them my videotapes and told them to pick one. Winona picked Independence Day. I got them going with that, put two pounds of ground turkey in the microwave to thaw, and was just getting ready to join Pike on the deck when Lucy Chenier called again. I said, 'I was about to call you. Did you close the deal?'
There was a great silence from the other end of the line. 'I'm not sure there's a job offer to be closed.'
I stood in the kitchen with the phone in my hand. Winona and Charles watched great elliptical spaceships enter the atmosphere, but Teri watched me. I said, 'What do you mean, no job offer?' Pike looked in from the deck, curious as to what was keeping me.
'God, I've really needed to talk to you, Elvis.' Her voice sounded hollow and empty.
I held the phone tighter. 'Lucy?'
'When David got back to them, they reduced the term of the contract. They changed every one of the deal points, and said they were reconsidering the amount of my salary.' I could hear the hurt in her voice. 'I just don't understand it.'
'Maybe it's just a negotiating tactic.'
'David doesn't think so. He's done this a hundred times, and he says it's as if they've changed their minds about hiring me.'
I leaned against the counter and frowned. 'Maybe you should call Tracy Mannos.'
'I did. She hasn't returned my call.'
I frowned harder. I thought about Richard in my office, telling me that he wouldn't just let Lucy leave. I thought about it some more and shook my head.
'Richard came to see me.'
Silence.
'He hired a man named Epps to follow us when you were here.' I told her about Epps having searched my house, and about Richard coming to my office. You don't think I'm going to let her leave, do you?
She cleared her throat. 'My ex-husband, Richard. Ben's father.' She cleared her throat again. 'He came to see you?'
'Yesterday.'
'And you didn't call me.' It wasn't a question. More a statement, more just wanting to make sure she had the facts of her life straight. 'You didn't think that was worth calling me about.'
I sighed. 'Mistake, huh?'
Silence again. Pike and Teri were watching me until Pike shook his head and turned away. Sometimes you can't win.
'I thought about calling you, but it seemed small. It seemed like something between Richard and me, and I didn't want to bring you into it.'
'A boy thing.' How do you spell 'moron'?
'He's upset because you and Ben are moving away, and he stepped over the line with Epps and this other stuff, but it's a stretch to think he could have anything to do with KROK.'
'You don't know, Elvis. This is exactly the kind of thing he would do.' I could hear her breathing. I had never asked about her former marriage, or what led to her divorce, and I didn't want to go there now. She said, 'I think I should come out there.'
'Talk to Tracy first. You don't want to come out until you know what you're up against because if you're wrong, it will look bad for you.'
She didn't say anything for several seconds, and then she said, 'Elvis, I'm really sorry about this.'
'You don't have anything to be sorry for.'
'Richard.'
She hung up without another word. I stood in my kitchen, holding the phone and listening to the dial tone, and then I hung up and joined Pike on the deck. The end of the day was approaching, and the sky to the east was hazy with smoke the color of bone. Somewhere, something was burning. Pike said, 'What?'
I told him.
Pike listened without comment, then said, 'Figured we should kill him.' Always with the helpful comment.
'I just don't see it, but you never know. What could some guy from Louisiana have to do with a television station here in Los Angeles?'
Pike crossed his arms and leaned against the deck rail. His head tilted ever so slightly, like maybe it was beyond him. I could see the TV reflected in his glasses. 'First the Russians, now this. You've got a lot to think about.'
'Yes, but I am large.'
He nodded. 'Keep your head in the game. Think about the wrong thing at the wrong time, it'll mean your ass.'
'Thanks.'
'Maybe mine, or those kids'.' You see the way he is?
I said, 'You get a safe house?'
'Place in Studio City. Three bedrooms, furnished, phones. We can use it as long as we want.' He told me the address.
'Sounds good. I'm thinking maybe I should stay at Clark's house tonight. If the Russians haven't gotten him, Clark might go back there. He might he there now.'
Pike's mouth twitched. 'Sure.'
'Well, miracles happen.'
Pike told me he needed to buy supplies for the safe house and that he would be back later. I went into the kitchen to start dinner. I had half a head of iceberg lettuce and a fresh bag of spring greens and a couple of tomatoes that would do for a salad, and maybe half a dozen new potatoes that I could roast with the turkey loaf. I was gathering things together when Teri came into the kitchen and said, 'Can I help?'
'Sure.'
I told her what I planned, then showed her the cutting boards and knives, and gave her a small Maui onion and two carrots to dice. She said, 'What are you going to do with the carrots?'
'For the turkey loaf.'
She looked at me.
'We'll toss in raisins, too, along with a little soy sauce and maybe some peas. You'll see.'
'Winona doesn't like peas.'
'Okay, forget the peas.'
She started with the onion. I worked with the potatoes. Teri used the knife carefully and well, and cut the onion into uniform pieces while Charles and Winona watched the destruction of the Earth. Twice I glanced up at her, and twice I caught her looking at me. Both times I smiled, and both times she looked away. After the second time, she said, 'How can Lucy be your girlfriend if she lives in Louisiana?'
'We didn't plan it that way, it just kind of happened.' I guess she'd been listening to my conversation.
'Do you date other girls?'
'No. I did for a while, but I kept thinking about Lucy, so I stopped seeing other people.'
'Does she date other men?'
'No.'
'How do you know?'
I frowned at her. 'She's been offered a job out here and she may move out – if she can work out the terms of the job.' If the job is still hers to be had.<
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Chopping. 'What if she can't move here?'
I chopped harder. 'We'll deal with it.' This kid was worse than Joe Pike.
When Teri was finished with the carrots I had her add them to the turkey, and then we mixed in the raisins and the soy sauce and a couple of eggs. I let Teri shape the loaf while I dug out a roasting pan. We put the meat in the pan and surrounded it with the potatoes. The fresh potatoes didn't look like enough, so I added a can of whole peeled new potatoes, and sprinkled everything with paprika. We put it in the oven at four hundred and set the timer for an hour. Teri said, 'I'm sorry about what happened at our house.'
'What do you mean?'
She looked embarrassed. 'When I cried.'
I remembered her eyes filling. I remembered a few tears. Then I remembered her packing it away and shutting it down like a SWAT team cop with twenty years on the job. I said, 'You don't have to apologize for that.'
She shook her head. 'I can't afford to lose control.'
'You're fifteen. It's okay to cry.'
She looked at the floor. 'I'm all they have. If I fall apart, who will take care of Winona and Charles?'
I stared at her. 'What about you? Who do you have?'
She pursed her lips. When she spoke, her voice was soft. 'I don't have anyone.'
I shook my head. 'No, that's not true. You have me.'
She frowned at me, then cocked her head. 'Oh, sure.' She stalked out of the kitchen and went up the stairs.
I said, 'Huh?'
I stayed in the kitchen, opened a Falstaff, and stared at the oven. The living room was rocked by alien explosions and Winona laughed. It seemed safer in the kitchen.
Charles edged into the dining room, fidgeting like something was bothering him. I said, 'What?'
'Nothing.'
I had more of the Falstaff. I glanced at my watch and wondered when Pike would get back. This baby-sitting was damned tough work.
Charles sidled into the door. 'I didn't mean it.'
'You didn't mean what?'
His hands were in his pockets and his face was red. 'I don't want him to be dead.'
I looked at him and sighed. 'I know, Charles. It's okay.'
Charles edged back into the living room. I stayed in the kitchen.
Joe Pike got back forty minutes later, and not long after that the timer dinged. Joe and Winona ate. The rest of us weren't hungry.
When the dishes were cleared I drove back to their house to wait for Clark Hewitt.
* * *
CHAPTER 18
The Saturn was still in its place. The Hewitts' house was dark, one of only two sleeping houses on their street.
I cruised the house once, parked around the corner, then walked back. The night air was cool, and traffic sounds from Melrose blended with the voices and laughter of children playing and adults taking an evening stroll.
I waited until two young women walking a dog were beyond me, then sauntered up the drive and let myself in using Teri's key. The lights were off, and I did not turn them on. I wanted to search the house again, but not at the risk of alerting either Clark or a passing car filled with Russians. I took off my jacket and holster, put the Dan Wesson near at hand, and settled in on the couch. After a while I slept, but I woke often at sounds made by the strange house, rising when I did to make sure that those sounds weren't Clark or Russian thugs. They never were, and little by little the dark brightened to dawn. Clark Hewitt did not return.
Fourteen minutes after six the next morning, it was light enough to work. I did a more detailed search now than I had with Teri, stripping Clark's bed and checking the mattress seams and the box spring liner, taking out every drawer in the dresser and chest to see if anything was taped behind or beneath them. I didn't know what I was looking for, or even think that I would find something, but you never know. When the phone company offices opened at nine I planned on checking the calls that Clark had made while he was home, but until then it was either search or stay on the couch and watch Regis and Kathie Lee. At least this way I could pretend to be a detective.
I went through Clark's closet, checking the pockets in his shirts and pants and coats, and I looked in his shoes. He didn't have many, so it didn't take long. I went through the bathroom, then once more went through the kitchen, and then the kids' rooms and the living room. At sixteen minutes after eight I was finished, and still hadn't found anything.
I went back into the kitchen, located a jar of Taster's Choice instant, and made a cup with hot water from the tap. At least I found the coffee.
I was sipping the coffee and thinking about phoning Tracy Mannos when I noticed a ceiling hatch in the hall. I hadn't noticed it before because the cord that's supposed to be there so you can pull down the door had been clipped, and also because most houses in Southern California are built without attics because of the heat. If you have anything, you might have a crawl space. I went into the hall and looked up at the door. It had been painted over a few hundred times, but the door seemed free and usable, and, with finger smudges around the edges, looked as if it had been used. Maybe I could detect more than instant coffee after all.
I used one of the dining room chairs, pulled down the door, unfolded the ladder, and climbed far enough to stick my head into the crawl space. Twelve minutes after eight in the morning and it was already a hundred degrees up there.
I went back to the kitchen for a flashlight, took off my shirt, and went up into the crawl space. Maybe ten feet back along one of the rafter wells was a dark, lumpy shape. I boosted myself up, then duckwalked along the prewar two-by-eights to a military surplus duffel bag, as clean and dust-free as if it had just been put there. I opened it enough to look inside and saw banded packs of hundred-dollar bills. I said, 'Aha.'
You hang around an empty house by yourself long enough, you'll say damn near anything.
I dropped the duffel out of the crawl space, opened it on the living room floor, and counted out a little more than twenty-three thousand dollars in worn C-notes that were perfect mates to the bills Special Agent Marsha Fields had confiscated. Markov money. Money that the Hewitts had been living on for the past three years, money good enough to get by with as long as you didn't flash it at a bank or in front of a Secret Service agent. Then I said 'Aha' again.
Mixed with the money were half a dozen printer's catalogs, all of which bore a mailing label addressed to one Wilson Brownell in Seattle, Washington. Clark was definitely printing again, and probably with Brownell's help. Maybe they were partners.
It was two minutes after nine when I put the money back into the duffel, and the duffel back into the attic. I kept the catalogs. I had a pretty good idea who Clark had phoned, and after I stowed the duffel I called my friend at the phone company and had her run a line check on the Hewitts' number covering the past three days just to be sure. It didn't take long. She told me that three calls had been made to two numbers, one of which lasted twenty-six minutes and showed a Seattle area code. Brownell. The other two numbers were both in the Los Angeles calling area, and belonged to Tre Michaels. Charles had called it right on that one.
If I hung around the house long enough, Clark would return. The money was here, and, as far as Clark knew, so were his kids, but considering Clark's track record I might have to wait for days. Since Clark had phoned Tre Michaels, I was sure he was looking to connect, and that meant either he had been or would be visiting Culver City. Junkies may never go home, but they always go back to their connection. Ergo, Tre Michaels might know something. Maybe they were shooting up together right now.
I washed up, locked the house, and drove south to Culver City and the Bestco. I asked a Pakistani sales-clerk named Rahsheed for Tre, but Rahsheed told me that Tre had the day off. Great. I went along Overland to his apartment, figuring it was a long shot, but as I turned onto his street Michaels passed me going in the opposite direction in a dark blue Acura. Lucky is better than good every time.
I swung around in a fast K-turn, thinking my luck might hold a
nd he might bring me to Clark. He didn't. He turned into the Culver City park and parked next to a rusted-out Dodge van where a couple of younger guys with long, sun-bleached hair were jumping skateboards. The younger guys were well muscled and shirtless, with dark tans and baggy shorts and high-top felony flyers, and they stopped the jumping and opened the van's side door when Tre got out of the Acura. Michaels opened the Acura's trunk, and everybody carried brand-new Sony laser-disc players to the van. Still in their boxes and almost certainly ripped off from Bestco. Tre closed his trunk, and everybody climbed into the van. The van didn't start and didn't move, and its windows were curtained over. Your friendly neighborhood dopemobile.
I parked at the far end of the lot, then crept back to the van and listened. Nothing. Out in the park, two women were jogging with babies in three-wheel strollers and a couple of guys had their shirts off to catch the sun and a half-dozen Latin guys were playing soccer and here in the parking lot Tre Michaels was scoring dope. Life in the big city.
I took out the Dan Wesson, waited for the women with the strollers to pass, then threw open the sliding door, and yelled, 'Police!'
Tre Michaels and the two young guys were sitting cross-legged on the bare metal deck, dividing up money and nickel bags of white powder amid the laser-disc players, all three of them frozen in mid-count, staring at the Dan Wesson with bulging wet eyes. The money was a short stack of worn hundreds, and I wondered if Tre had gotten them from Clark. One of the kids said, 'Oh, shit.'
Tre Michaels said, 'It's you.'
I lowered the gun. 'Good job, Officer Michaels. Couldn't've done it without you.'
The two kids looked at Tre.
Tre Michaels opened his mouth, then closed it and looked at the kids. 'I'm not a cop.'
The bigger kid's eyes narrowed. 'You prick.'
Michaels said, 'Hey. This is bullshit.'
I pulled Michaels out of the van. 'I think we can cut these kids a deal, don't you?' I jerked him harder, then slammed the side door and walked him away. The van's engine roared to life and its tires smoked. Michaels said, 'Are you nuts? Do you know what you did to me?'
'They're kids, Tre. You're not scared of a couple of kids, are you?'