by Robert Crais
49
Frederick
Frederick watched the woman getting out of her car, and realized she was the police officer who was guarding Cole's house. His pulse sped with horrific images of his capture and torture. He was caught in a panicked indecision between killing her or hiding, and he didn't know which to do. Secret cameras might be letting them watch his every move RIGHT NOW1. More police might be surrounding Cole's house RIGHT NOW!
Yet, she wasn't hurrying. Her gun wasn't out. He didn't hear the sound of approaching sirens.
Frederick backed out of the kitchen, ran across the living room, and ducked into the entry closet. He clutched the shotgun across his chest, and gripped the knife tight. He heard her enter the house just as he pulled the door closed.
50
Starkey
Starkey was about to hang up when Cole answered.
"Hello?"
Mr. Witty. She wanted to make a wisecrack, but didn't.
Cole wasn't smarting off the way he usually did because he was hurting.
"Hey, it's me, Starkey. I'm standing in your house."
She was about to launch into it when Cole cut her off.
"Starkey, it's Diaz. Diaz killed him."
He went off into this blur of a story about the Reinnikes and Diaz, and Pardy building the case, and Diaz probably being on her way to Canyon Camino to find and kill David Reinnike. When Cole said he was going to stop her, Starkey flashed on her dream.
... his inevitable death.
"Cole, don't. Wait for Pardy."
She felt it so deep a taste like cold nickels coated her tongue— the medicinal taste of his death.
He said, "It'll be fine."
It was the last thing he said, and then the signal was gone.
"Cole?"
Dead air.
"Goddamnit, Cole."
Starkey punched the redial on his phone, but this time his voice mail picked up right away. No signal.
"SHIT!"
Carol Starkey had been dead, and then risen; she had been drunk, then sober; she had been a cop for thirteen years and had seen every imaginable human depravity; she did not believe in God; she did not believe in premonitions, telepathy, channeling, ESP, clairvoyance, remote viewing, fortune-telling, astrology, or the afterlife. She believed that Cole would be killed.
"SHIT!! SHITSHITSHIT!"
She punched in the number and waited out the ring. His personal number. The one he gave her.
"Yes."
"Pike. Pike, it's me."
Starkey told him where to meet her, and told him why.
51
Frederick
Frederick heard the door slam when she left. He listened to her engine roar, and the rubber shriek as she shredded away. Then he opened the door.
There in Cole's closet, he made peace with his own death, which was preordained and certain. They were too many against him, Cole and all these others. They were tightening their net, they would find him, and they would kill him. It was the punishment Payne had predicted. It had finally come to pass, and in a swell of emotion that filled his eyes with tears, Frederick realized now the truth of why Payne had gone to Los Angeles without telling him—Payne had gone to protect him. Payne had sacrificed himself in the final demonstration of his love.
Frederick could do no less.
Cole was going to Payne's, and that's where Frederick would find him. Frederick went back to his car, and drove hard toward Payne's home.
52
The I-5 curved across the eastern edge of the San Fernando Valley and through the Newhall Pass. Hundreds of thousands of commuters followed that route every day, traveling to and from the bedroom communities that sprout from the freeways like budding flowers. Most everyone turns east when they reach Newhall, where the rolling hills and desert flats are covered with housing developments. The land wasn't flat to the west. The mountains grew steep overlooking Magic Mountain, and the little towns tucked in the pine-filled ridges felt isolated even though they were only twenty minutes from the city. Canyon Camino was a good place to hide.
The Sheriffs Substation was a small brown building located between a convenience store and a video store. I parked at the video store, and walked to the Sheriffs.
A slender deputy in a khaki uniform was leaning back with his feet up, talking on the phone when I walked in. He dropped his feet when he saw me, and hung up.
"Can I help you?"
His name tag read Biggins. I identified myself, showed him my license, then put Pardy's card on the counter.
"I'm here about a local named Payne Keller. Detective Pardy at LAPD spoke with someone."
"I was here. What a bunch of crap, getting killed like that. The sheriff's out now, letting people know. He had to secure Payne's house. What a bunch of crap."
"When is the sheriff getting back?"
"All I can tell you is he'll get back when he gets back. We been real busy this morning."
"It's going to get even busier. Pardy is coming up, and a couple of other homicide cops are going to meet us here. Has Detective Diaz checked in?"
"You're the first."
"Maybe she called."
"A woman?"
"Yeah."
"Someone from Sheriffs Homicide called—Mullen, I think she said. Then there was Pardy and someone named Beckett—"
Diaz had probably posed as Mullen.
"Okay. I need directions to Keller's house, and I'm also interested in talking to his friends. Maybe you could give me a few names."
Biggins was looking nervous.
"Tell me again—what's your involvement in this?"
"I'm working for the family."
I tapped Pardy's card.
"Call Pardy. He knows I'm working the case, and he's good with it. Give him a call."
Biggins frowned at the card, then pushed it aside.
"I didn't know Payne that well, just to trade a cup of coffee when I rolled by his station. I lived in Riverside before we moved up here."
"He had a gas station?"
"Yeah, a little bit out of town—Payne's Car Care."
"Did he have a family?"
"Listen, why don't you talk to one of those guys at the station. He has two guys out there."
Biggins gave me directions to Keller's home, and said I would pass Keller's gas station on the way. He told me that Keller's employees were Elroy Lewis and Frederick Conrad, and that either one of them might be able to answer my questions. Biggins was helpful. After I copied the directions, I wrote out my cell number, tore off the page, and put it beside Pardy's card.
"If I miss the sheriff and he gets back, tell him I need to talk to him. It's important."
Biggins glanced at the number.
"Cell phones don't work up here. You can't get a signal with the mountains."
"I live in the middle of Los Angeles, and I can't get a signal."
Biggins laughed.
"It was like that in Riverside, too."
I turned to leave, then stopped.
"If Diaz or Mullen check in, tell them I'm here. Tell Diaz I asked after her parents, and she should talk to me before she does anything."
"Okay. Sure."
"There's something else you and the sheriff should know. Pardy didn't know this earlier, or he would have told you. Payne Keller and his son are suspects in a multiple homicide. If Keller's son is up here, he will be dangerous."
Biggins stared at me without comprehension.
I nodded toward the transceiver.
"You should tell the sheriff."
53
Frederick
Payne's cabin was as lonely as yesterday, but that was good.
The air still carried the smoky scent of the fires he had used. It wasn't so bad. It smelled like a cold fireplace.
Frederick unlocked the front door, then stepped into Payne's living room. He was trying to decide where best to wait for Cole when a car pulled up the drive. Frederick jumped at the sound, and hurried to the window, thinking
—
"You bastard! This is what you're going to get for Payne, you bastard!"
But when he looked, it wasn't Cole; it was the Canyon Camino sheriff, Guy Rossi.
Frederick stood back from the window, watching as Rossi parked alongside his truck. The sheriff eyed Frederick's truck, probably wondering who it belonged to. The sheriff walked along the length of the truck, and that's when Frederick saw the shovel. Here he had been driving all over Los Angeles, here he had worked so hard at cleaning up Payne's place to get rid of the evidence, and the shovel he used to dig up the stuff was still in his truck. The shovel, with evidence on its blade.
Sonofamotherfuckingbitch.
He had forgotten to clean the shovel.
The sheriff started toward the house.
Frederick set the shotgun behind Payne's couch, then put on the face and stepped out. Maybe Cole had already spoken with the sheriff. No, not likely—a murderer wouldn't talk to the cops.
Frederick said, "Boy, this sure is a sad day."
Rossi stared when Frederick appeared on the porch. In that moment, out of context, it was obvious the sheriff didn't recognize him.
Frederick said, "It's me, Frederick Conrad. I work for Payne."
The sheriff finally placed him.
"I didn't expect anyone to be here. You heard the bad news?"
"Oh, yeah. I've been feeding Payne's cats. Payne has three cats around here somewhere. I don't know what's going to happen to them now."
Frederick ambled over as he gave the sheriff the business about the cats, and stood so the sheriff had to face away from the shovel. Frederick shook his head sadly.
"I guess we can put up a sign at the station, try to find them a home. I could take one, maybe, but three—"
Frederick sighed heavily, as if the unfairness of what was about to happen to Payne's cats was crushing.
The sheriff seemed to consider Payne's house, then put his hands on his gun belt like he wasn't sure what to do next.
"Did Payne ask you to take care of'm before he went away?"
"Not before, no, sir. My understanding is it was some kinda family emergency. He called later and asked me to come out."
The sheriff grunted like he wasn't really thinking about the cats.
"He tell you what happened?"
Frederick assumed the sheriff had already spoken with Elroy, so he fed out the same line.
"His sister was hurt in some kinda car wreck. They didn't think she was gonna make it."
"He call you from Los Angeles?"
"He was in Sacramento."
The sheriff grunted, and Frederick was suddenly worried the L.A. police had told the sheriff a lot more than he was letting on.
"He leave a number up there?"
"No, sir, he just said he would call back when he knew what he was going to do. That was the last time I heard from him."
The sheriff drifted in a slow arc around Frederick toward the house. Rossi studied Payne's roof like he expected something to be up there. Then he studied the trees, then Payne's garage. Frederick didn't like the slow way the sheriff was moving and the way he studied everything. Frederick's palms grew clammy and a pulse started in his ears. What did the sheriff know?
Frederick said, "You want me to leave the door open, or should I lock it?"
"You have a key?"
"Payne keeps one under the pot there."
"Better give it to me. I'm gonna take a look around before the L.A. people get here."
Frederick gave him the key, wanting to move away from the truck but scared to do anything out of the ordinary.
The sheriff dropped the key into his pocket. He studied Frederick.
"I've been up at the Catholic church all morning. I understand Payne spent a lot of time up there."
"Payne was a devout man. Me, I don't go so much, but Payne was very religious. You'll see when you go inside. Jesus is everywhere."
"Was Payne close with the priest, Father Willie?"
"I really don't know. I guess he must've been."
Sweat crawled down Frederick's sides like bugs. He was certain that Cole would drive up at any second, and he didn't like the way the sheriff was looking at him. Now the sheriff was wondering how Payne and Father Willie were connected. Maybe Payne had confessed to Father Willie, and Father Willie had told someone else. The sheriff just kept staring at him, and Frederick's breath came faster and faster.
"Let me ask you something."
"What's that, Sheriff?"
The sheriff walked to the truck. He glanced into the truck's bed, studied the shovel, then draped his arm over the side panel. Frederick's heart thundered.
"How long have you known Payne?"
"I dunno," Frederick mumbled. "Must be ten, twelve years."
The sheriff seemed to study him even more closely.
"You know he once went by another name?"
"I didn't know that."
"He never mentioned another name to you?"
"No, sir."
"George Reinnike?"
"No."
"He tell you about his son?"
Frederick's vision blurred, and his lungs couldn't get enough air. He barely managed to speak.
"He didn't tell me anything."
Frederick was certain the sheriff was watching him. The sheriff's head floated up and down in a slow-motion nod. His head tilted ponderously as he considered the shovel again. He studied the shovel forever before his eyes returned to Frederick. They rested on Frederick. They crushed him.
The sheriff smiled. Not a happy smile, but wise. Knowing. As if he could see the connections between Frederick and Payne.
"Looks like Payne had a few secrets."
The sheriff moved past Frederick toward the house.
"Looks like they're about to come out."
Frederick said, "Sheriff?"
As the sheriff was turning, Frederick picked up the shovel. The blade bit deep, and then it was done.
54
Biggins's directions led me to a small independent service station with a single pump island and a tow truck parked at the rear. Large yellow signs at the edge of the turnoff announced WE HAVE PROPANE and DIESEL. A thin man in a blue windbreaker came around the side of the building as I pulled up. A yellow lab gimped along behind him, then flopped to the ground by the station's front door. When the man saw me, he waved like he was waving good-bye. He was too young to be David Reinnike.
"Sorry, partner, I just turned off the pumps. We're closed."
"Are you Lewis or Conrad? I just left the Sheriffs Substation. The deputy said I would find Lewis or Conrad here. I'm from Los Angeles, about Payne Keller."
"I'm Lewis. This is the goddamnedest thing, isn't it? The god-damnedest thing. I'm supposed to take the wife up to Cambria tomorrow, and now this. I gotta get this place closed."
Lewis was looking around the station, with his lips silently moving as if he was making a list of everything he needed to do. I pointed up the road.
"Mr. Lewis, is this the right way to Payne's house?"
"Yeah, right up there. It's not much farther. The sheriff's up there."
"Okay, good."
I felt a little better thinking the sheriff was at Keller's house. Diaz would probably avoid him.
"Have any other officers come by?"
He stared at me like he was having a hard time concentrating.
"Yeah, another one from Los Angeles. She might be up there with the sheriff. She asked about it."
"Was that before or after the sheriff?"
"After. Listen, I gotta get this place closed. We got a gas truck coming up here, and I gotta get that gas canceled. Payne's dead, and we got a whole damn truck of gas on its way."
His eyes suddenly filled, and he hurried past me into the service bays. I helped him pull down the overhead doors, and talked to him as he shut the power to the hydraulic lifts.
"I know this is a bad time, Mr. Lewis. I'm sorry."
"I know. I understand. They said Payne was us
ing a fake name. What in hell is that all about? I never knew Payne had another name."
"George Reinnike."
"I didn't know. I been here for eight years; all I knew was Payne."
"Payne had a son. Did you know about his son?"
"Jesus Christ, no. That's what the sheriff said. I didn't know anything about a son."
"His name was David."
"Jesus, next you're gonna tell me Payne was Elvis-fucking-Presley."
We moved into the office. If Lewis had worked with Reinnike for eight years, he could probably name Reinnike's closest friends. I asked him. Lewis hesitated, and I could see he was bothered by how little he knew about the man with whom he had worked so closely.
"Payne didn't have friends. He kinda stayed to himself."
"Everybody has someone."
"Maybe up at the church. Payne was big on the Bible. He was up at the church a lot."
"Anyone else?"
"Just me and Frederick, that's all I know. We helped him here at the station, then up at the house when he needed it. Frederick's been here longer than me."
"How long has Frederick been here?"
"I don't know—ten, twelve years, something like that. You want his number?"
"What does Frederick look like?"
"Little younger than you, maybe. About your height, but heavy. I dunno. Why you asking about Frederick? What does that have to do with Payne?"
"Did Payne tell you why he was going to Los Angeles?"
"I thought he was in Sacramento."
"He told you he was going to Sacramento?"
"He called Frederick. His sister got T-boned in a bad wreck, he said. I thought he was in Sacramento taking care of her, not down in L.A. getting himself shot."
"He called Frederick."
"Yeah. Frederick talked to him."
"Payne didn't have a sister."
Elroy Lewis muttered under his breath, and we were both wondering why Frederick had gotten all the calls and not Elroy Lewis. Lewis turned off the last lights, then locked the door behind us.
He said, "If you see the sheriff up there, you tell him I went home. He said he was gonna call."