by Robert Crais
Clear.
Pike waited in the garage by her Audi, watching the street. He phoned Cole while he waited.
“It’s clear. What do you want me to do?”
“Where is she?”
“Sent her around the block.”
“He had a laptop on his desk and cash taped behind the drawers. See if they’re missing. Don’t tell her about the cash. I don’t think she knew.”
“Okay.”
“Have her call the police. If these people are cops, they’ll watch for a police report. An innocent person finds her home trashed, she’ll call the police. A person who knows her son is a wanted thief, and maybe knows where to find him, might not.”
“I understand.”
The Cherokee finally appeared, creeping down the street at five miles an hour.
“She’s back.”
Pike pocketed the phone. Ms. Connor turned into the drive, parked, and got out. She didn’t look frightened now. The drive had given her time to get angry.
“You scared me.”
“We had to move fast. Sorry.”
“I didn’t know who you were. Mr. Cole didn’t tell me he has a partner.”
Pike turned away and went into the house. She hurried after him and caught up in the kitchen.
“See if anything’s missing and we’ll call the police. You’ll want a police report for your insurance.”
She crossed her arms and grew nervous again.
“The police?”
“Don’t mention your son or the investigation. You came home, saw the mess, and called the police. Calling the police is what people do.”
She held her arms tighter, and stared at the mess. The open cupboards. The dining room sliders. The mess.
She suddenly looked at him.
“You know who did this.”
“Not yet.”
“You said the men who did this had guns. What men? How do you know they had guns?”
“Call the police. Tell them someone broke into your house, and you’re scared. They’ll ask if the bad guy is in the house. Say you don’t know. Ask them to send a car right away.”
Pike stood with Devon while she spoke with the emergency operator. The operator wanted her to stay on the line, but Pike took the phone and hung up.
“See if anything’s missing. I want to look around before they get here.”
Pike had a license to carry his pistol, but he didn’t want drama. He stowed the Python in his Jeep, and pulled on a blue denim shirt to cover his tattoos. Then he went back to the dining room and checked the sliding glass door. He examined the aluminum jamb and the frame and the latch, then moved to the office and examined the open window. The window jamb showed exterior pry marks, but the slider jamb showed nothing. Pike decided they had entered the house through the window, but left through the dining room. Pike wondered why. The dining room put them in the backyard, which forced them to walk around the house to reach the street. Leaving through the window or even walking out the front door would have been faster.
Pike was still thinking about it when Devon appeared behind him.
“They took my jewelry box. They took Tyson’s pills and six hundred dollars I had in a drawer.”
“That’s it?”
“He gave me that box when he was twelve. It was special.”
Her eyes were red, and Pike realized she was upset.
“They want a laptop.”
“I don’t have a laptop.”
“Elvis saw a laptop on your boy’s desk.”
“Have you seen that mess, all his stuff wired together, and now it’s on the floor. I don’t know if they took anything.”
Pike didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry they took your jewelry box.”
“He gave it to me for Mother’s Day.”
Cole should be here. Cole would know what to say.
“They want a laptop. They took other things to cover the break-in.”
She stalked away.
Pike checked the window again, then went out through the dining room, and circled the back of the house. He approached the window along a chain-link fence threaded with ivy and climbing roses.
The office window was chest-high above a bed of rosemary and scraggly azaleas. The soil was dry and cracked from the recent drought. Pike crouched, and examined the ground. Cole told him shoe prints had been found where Alec Rickey was murdered. Pike pushed aside the rosemary and lowered himself into a push-up position. Overlapping shoe prints cut the dust.
Pike stepped away, and was thinking about this when a black Labrador retriever slammed into the fence, barking like it wanted to rip out his throat.
A man called from next door.
“What’s going on over there?”
The dog barked even louder, and Pike understood why the men left through the dining room.
A man in his seventies appeared in the neighboring yard. His skin was dark and deeply lined, and he needed a shave.
“Who’s that? What’s going on over there?”
“Someone broke into Ms. Connor’s house. We called the police.”
The man told his dog to shush.
“Toby’s been barking his head off. When did it happen?”
“The past couple of hours. You see anyone?”
“I didn’t, but Toby’s been raising hell.”
“They got in through this window.”
The man came closer and peered over the fence.
“I heard ol’ Toby, but I was in the garage. By the time I got out here, he was quiet.”
“The police might want to talk to you.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be in the garage.”
Pike remembered seeing the man’s garage door open. Pike hadn’t seen the man, but the door was up, and the garage was dark with boxes.
“You see anyone out front? Someone you didn’t recognize.”
“Don’t think so. I was working.”
“Couple of men in sport coats and ties. Maybe one man.”
“Wish I had. Wasn’t paying attention.”
Pike heard the siren, far away but coming fast. He started back the way he had come when the man suddenly spoke.
“Saw a car I hadn’t seen.”
Pike stopped.
“A big ol’ black Chrysler, looked like a limo. Had those dark windows. Gone now, but it was across the street.”
“See the driver?”
“Didn’t see anyone. It was parked out front of the Wymans. Didn’t think anything of it, but they don’t own a big ol’ Chrysler.”
“When was this?”
“After Toby raised hell. I went back into the garage and saw it. A big ol’ black Chrysler with black windows.”
The siren was so loud it sounded beside them, then abruptly stopped, and the patrol car roared to a stop on the far side of the house.
Pike said, “Thanks.”
The old man said, “Send’m on over. I’m happy to help.”
20
HARVEY AND STEMMS
SIX MINUTES AFTER trashing the Connor residence, Harvey and Stemms tossed the jewelry box into a Dumpster behind a taqueria, and picked up drive-thru from Tommy’s World Famous Hamburgers. They’d found a laptop computer and forty-six thousand dollars in the boy’s room. The laptop would be delivered to their client for analysis. The cash, they would keep. Tommy’s was a reward.
Stemms ordered two hamburgers, pickles and onions only, with extra pickles. Harvey bitched about his intestines, but wolfed down a chili tamale topped by an egg and a hot dog with extra mustard and onions. Dude was a beast. They parked behind Tommy’s and ate in the car while they worked.
A grocery bag with the papers, files, and materials they’d taken sat on the console between them. They went through the bag, searching
for clues to the kid.
Forty minutes earlier, when they returned and found the garage closed, Stemms felt hopeful they’d find the Volvo behind the door and the kid in the house, passed out on filthy pillows in last night’s clothes, hoses from one of those ornate, monster-tall hookahs tangled around him, old pizza boxes everywhere, maybe the girl tangled up with him, your typical low-life, a-hole, criminal teenagers, but no one was home and the house was surprisingly normal.
With their limited DMV information, they had known almost nothing about James Tyson Connor. Now, they knew he lived at home with his mother, and the two of them lived alone. They knew which school he attended, and the name of his doctor. A federal tax return filed by Devon Connor gave them her place of employment. Stemms circled the address and noted she filed as the head of household and claimed one dependent. This meant dad was out of the picture and the boy was an only. A tax return was a gold mine.
Harvey dug in the bag and came out with a brown prescription bottle. He studied the label, and rattled the pills. Stemms took a bite of his burger, and noticed the bottle.
“What’s that?”
“Had the kid’s name on it so I took it.”
“Medicine?”
Harvey read from the label.
“You heard of sertraline?”
Stemms took another bite, and spoke with his mouth full.
“Generic. A reuptake inhibitor.”
Stemms knew things.
“What’s it do?”
“They use it to treat panic attacks, social anxiety, things like that.”
“Mm.”
Harvey fished out a second bottle, and flashed an evil grin.
“Ritalin! Yes, thank you, don’t mind if I do!”
Harvey made a show of pocketing the pills.
Stemms said, “I can’t believe you took someone’s medicine.”
“It’s Ritalin, and he ain’t gonna need it much longer. Relax, Stemms. You scared I won’t share?”
Harvey raised another bottle.
“Lorazepam?”
“A benzo. Anti-anxiety stuff.”
Harvey grunted, and turned to his phone. Stemms put the tax return aside, and chomped a bite of his burger.
Harvey said, “You think this kid’s retarded?”
Stemms stopped chewing. He stopped breathing, and felt a stillness settle within him. A Tommy burger, pickles and onions only, extra pickles, was one of his most treasured pleasures, but now his mouth seemed to be filled with cold grease and paper.
Stemms forced himself to swallow and looked at Harvey.
“What did you say?”
Harvey glanced up from his phone.
“This high school. It’s one of those special schools. You know. For kids who can’t hack it in real schools.”
“I meant the word.”
Harvey shook his head. Confused.
“What?”
“That word. What did you say?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t call someone retarded. What’s wrong with you?”
Harvey showed his phone.
“I’m reading about the school.”
“That word. Don’t use it.”
Harvey raised his hands.
“I apologize.”
“It’s hurtful.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Stemms stared at his hamburger. His appetite was gone, but he tried another bite. Ruined. He bagged the remains, and checked the time. It was close to the end of the school day, but they might be able to make it.
“The school’s not a bad idea. Let’s check it out.”
He started the Chrysler.
Harvey looked surprised.
“Are you serious? He isn’t at school.”
“It’s a weekday. It isn’t a holiday. Why wouldn’t he be at school?”
“Because he’s a degenerate criminal with the cops on his case? Because his friend Alec told him we chased his ass all over town, and Alec was shot?”
Stemms felt tired.
“They have no idea what happened, Harvey.”
“They were yakking when we ran him off the road.”
Stemms made his voice patient.
“Alec didn’t know what was happening. So, okay, they all got on the phone, and Alec told them a big black car was chasing him. So what?”
Stemms spread his hands, like, wasn’t it obvious?
“No black-and-whites. No flashing lights. He didn’t know why we were on his butt. Dude could’ve cut us off and we were pissed. A road rage thing. You see what I’m saying?”
Harvey shrugged. Glum.
“I guess.”
“Then the moron hit the rail, and the play-by-play stopped. What can they know? They might not even know the poor fucker’s dead, but if they do, even better. You know why?”
Harvey rolled his eyes.
“Please tell me.”
“The news won’t say Alec was a burglary suspect. It won’t say he died running from the police. Am I right?”
“If Alec wasn’t a suspect, they aren’t suspects.”
Harvey made a big sigh. He always got mopey when Stemms showed him up.
“Correct. And you don’t have to be such a drama queen.”
“You made your point. I agree. They cut a hellacious relief fart, and life goes on. School.”
“Worth checking. This kid could be sitting in class right now, pretending he gives a shit.”
“You think?”
Stemms guided the Chrysler out of the parking lot without answering. Checking the school was a waste of their time, but it was a box they had to check. He was thinking about the boy’s mother, and what they had learned in her home, when Harvey spoke.
“I meant it.”
Stemms didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What?”
“What I said. That word.”
The stillness returned. Small, but growing. Harvey never knew when to quit.
“Forget it.”
“I can be thoughtless, and you’re sensitive about certain things. I get it.”
“Shut up.”
“I meant it, is all, my apology. I feel like a bad friend.”
“Stop. Talking.”
Harvey. Finally. Stopped.
They drove in silence. The quiet was good. Necessary.
Stemms concentrated on the boy and his mother.
The boy was emotionally young and uncomfortable with others. Pictures of the boy and his mother covered their fridge and dotted her dresser. Stemms sensed the mother was key. The boy might run, but he would not leave. He might hide, but he would always go home.
Home was his mom.
Stemms knew things.
If they couldn’t find Tyson Connor, they knew where to find his mother. Mom would give them the boy.
21
ELVIS COLE
PIKE CALLED as I hit the Cahuenga Pass and headed for home.
“The laptop you saw in the boy’s room is missing. So is the cash.”
“Could Tyson have taken them while Devon was gone?”
“Not enough time. A neighbor saw a black four-door Chrysler. Dark windows, he said. New. He didn’t see people.”
“Get a plate?”
“No. It was parked across the street, so I asked the neighbors. No one else saw it. Work day, people were gone.”
“I don’t suppose one of the neighbors has a security camera with a view of the street.”
“No. The dead kid?”
“Can she hear you?”
“She’s with the officers.”
“Alec Rickey. What about him?”
“You mentioned shoe prints.”
“Yeah. The police f
ound shoe prints at the scene. Two sets of men’s shoes.”
“Shoe prints here, too. Outside her office window. They’re faint, but maybe enough to compare.”
I thought about it, and knew they would match.
“I’ll call Chen.”
“One more thing. If these guys are hunting, they might come back. I should stay. She shouldn’t.”
Pike was right.
“Is she okay to drive?”
“She’s fine.”
“Send her up. Have her bring enough for a couple of days.”
“Rog.”
I hung up and called John Chen. His voice was soft and suspicious.
“I’m working a murder. Can’t talk.”
“Fake it. You’ll be glad you did.”
“Is this about the other thing?”
The other thing.
“Yes. Copy this address.”
Chen interrupted, a whispery hiss.
“He’s been identified.”
“Alec Rickey?”
“His parents called. They heard he was murdered and called to see if it was true. That gave us dental, and now it’s confirmed.”
Claudia had told his parents.
“Have the police put him with the burglaries?”
“No prints to match. As of now, he’s only a vic.”
I gave him Devon’s address and told him what happened.
“Officers are at the residence now. They’ll roll it to detectives, and the dicks will ask for a criminalist. Can you be the guy?”
“No way, man. I’m up to my elbows in blood. You should see this mess.”
He lowered his voice even more.
“Dude killed his family with a hatchet, then chopped off his own feet. Six vics and a bleeder with no feet. I love this job.”
I said, “Listen, John. If another criminalist works the site, they’ll get credit for the connection.”