by Robert Crais
Chen laughed.
“New shoes. As in, fresh out-the-box new. And the dude was gloved. I found finger smudges on the window, but no characteristics within the smudges, like his fingertips were blank. You see this with vinyl gloves.”
“I don’t get the new shoe business.”
“You walk around, step on stuff, the heel gets nicked, the sole picks up dings and cuts. A pattern develops, right? It’s called a Schallamach pattern. And since no two people walk exactly alike, the Schallamach on your shoe is unique to you.”
“Like a fingerprint.”
“Yeah. Brand-new shoes, fresh out the box, are like fingerprints with only a couple of swirls. New shoes don’t give you much to compare.”
One big, one bigger, and now they were smart.
I hung up, feeling glum, but a message from Matt Simms made me feel better. Files on the eighteen known burglary victims were attached. Then an email from Carla Ellis arrived with the billing information for Amber’s number. I felt like I was on a roll until I saw that the name on the account wasn’t Amber. Carla had sent the email an hour ago, so I decided to call.
Carla was breathing hard when she answered. Music blared and people shouted behind her. Spin class.
Carla said, “Hang on. I can’t hear.”
When she spoke again the music was muffled.
“Did you get it?”
“I was expecting a different name. You sure this is right?”
“If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have sent it. Stupid.”
You see how she is?
“Nora Gurwick?”
“Correct. The account is paid on a Visa card bearing the same name, with the Palisades address as the current billing.”
Nora Gurwick. Not Amber.
“Any other names on the account?”
“Uh-uh. Five other numbers for a total of six, but only the one name. It’s a commercial account. Accounts like this, the phones are used by employees or family members.”
Nora was probably Amber’s mother.
“Looks good, Carla. Thanks.”
“Giants or Cards, behind the net. Aisle.”
“Got a hot dog with your name on it.”
Carla said, “Ho ho. I’ve heard about your little weenie.”
Carla was something.
I pulled on a T-shirt and shorts, and crept down to the kitchen. Devon was still in the guest room. I put on a pot of coffee, opened the sliders, and stepped out onto the deck. The air was chill, and a thin mist softened the canyon. I did the Twelve Sun Salutations from the hatha yoga, rolled the last Sun Salute into a slow tae kwon do pattern, then a faster pattern mixed with Tiger and Crane poses, and a third, even faster, sprinkled with Wing Chun forms. I drove from one end of the deck to the other and back again, lunging and spinning until my muscles burned and the deck was sprinkled with sweat. I finished the workout sprawled on my back, my T-shirt wet and growing cold.
Devon said, “Do you do this every morning?”
I craned my head, and saw her upside down. Devon stood in the door.
“Only if the neighbors are watching. How’d you sleep?”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t look fine. Her face was pasty and shadows circled her eyes.
“Like some coffee?”
“Yes, please. It smells wonderful.”
She followed me into the kitchen. I didn’t tell her the coffee came from the stupid woman in Louisiana.
I poured two cups, offered sweetener and milk, then grabbed a towel from the washer. She tasted the coffee.
“It’s good.”
“Glad you like it.”
She sipped again. She didn’t lower the cup, but held it close. Maybe the warmth and rich aroma were comforting.
She said, “Was that karate, what you were doing?”
“Some tae kwon do, a little kung fu. I like a mix.”
“Tyson loves those movies, all the kicking and everyone flying around. He wanted to do it, so I found one of those places.”
“A dojo.”
“He was twelve. He didn’t like it.”
“Seeing is different from doing.”
“He said the other kids made fun of him. I never saw anyone make fun, but Tyson believed they did.”
Devon fell silent and stared at something beyond the cup. Maybe seeing a younger Tyson kicking and flying.
She said, “He isn’t getting my texts. He wouldn’t ignore me. He just wouldn’t.”
I finished my coffee and rinsed the cup.
“Amber’s cell account bills to an address in the Palisades. I’ll check it out, and maybe Amber and Tyson will be there. If they aren’t, maybe someone knows where she is.”
Her face sparked to life, as if the chance at finding her son had brought her new hope.
“I’ll get dressed.”
I stopped her.
“I don’t know what I’ll find or where it might lead. I’d rather you didn’t come.”
“You can’t be serious. This is my son. I want to help.”
I thought for a moment and realized how she could help.
“You will. Come see—”
She followed me to the little desk where I keep my computer. I opened Matt’s email, and downloaded the files.
“These are police reports and insurance claims from the eighteen burglaries. Can you open the documents and print copies for me?”
She nodded, and the excitement returned.
“Of course. I know what to do.”
“The files will give us names and addresses, but we need background on these people. What they do for a living, whether they’ve been arrested, things like that. You’ll have to dig. Can you do the research while I check out Amber?”
She nudged me out of the way and sat at the computer.
“I’m on it.”
“Print whatever you think looks important.”
“I’m on it. Find Tyson.”
I double-timed up to the loft, showered, and dressed. I was tying my sneakers when the phone rang. Cindy. Cindy ran a beauty supply business from the office next to mine. We dated a few times, but I could count on both hands the times she had called me at home. I scooped up the phone.
“What’s up?”
“Not that I ever see you anymore, but if you’re coming to your office, you might want to wait until your visitors leave.”
“Clients?”
“Police. They asked when you’d be in. I told’m you don’t come in anymore, not since you got me pregnant.”
“Detectives?”
“That’s what it said on their badges.”
“Two men? One big, one bigger?”
“Two men, but they weren’t all that big. I wasn’t like, wow, I’m wet.”
“Did you really have to say that?”
“You love it when I talk dirty. Anyway, I asked if they wanted to leave a message. They didn’t.”
“Did they enter my office?”
“I don’t think so. I heard them try the knob. They walked down to the end of the hall, then they came back and stood around by the elevator. I think they left, but I can’t be positive.”
“Thanks, buddy. I’ll stay clear.”
“Smart. Smart makes me more wet than big.”
I finished tying the shoes, and considered my wardrobe. Faded stone-washed jeans, blue mesh sneakers, and a blue-and-white rayon Hawaiian shirt sporting a stylish tropical design. Detective couture, but lacking certain accessories. I added a brushed leather Bianchi shoulder holster, a Dan Wesson .38-caliber revolver, and a lightweight, dark blue sport coat to cover the gun. Devon was still at the computer. The printer was already printing.
She said, “My. Don’t you look nice.”
One night at my house, we were Ozzie and Harriet.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be, but you aren’t a prisoner. If you want to go out, fine, but let me know.”
“I’m staying here to print these things. I’ll call work and tell them I won’t be in.”
“If you hear from Tyson, call me. If anything happens, call me. If you need anything, call.”
“I will. Thank you. Now please let me work.”
Ozzie leaves for the office. Harriet tends to the house. I felt like I should give her a peck on the cheek, but I left to find Amber.
I worked my way down through Laurel Canyon to the flats, turned west on Sunset Boulevard, and aimed for the ocean. Pacific Palisades waited at the end of the line, where Sunset met the sea, but I didn’t make it out of my neighborhood. A dark sedan swerved around a taco truck, and powered up behind me, so close they could kiss my bumper, so close I saw the men in the car clearly.
Two men.
Big men.
26
I DIDN’T STOMP on the gas or scream across oncoming lanes or fishtail away in a cloud of burning rubber. I pretended I didn’t see them. I stayed in the right lane, and drove as if having a car ride my butt two inches away happened every day. Normal. I slipped the Dan Wesson from its hiding place, and put it between my legs.
Devon’s neighbor described a black car, but cars were easy to change. The neighbor was older, so maybe the dark gray car looked black.
I drove another two blocks until I came alongside a cement truck in the left lane. I eased a few feet ahead of the truck, put on my blinker, and changed lanes. The gray car didn’t give ground. They cut in front of the truck, swerved only enough to avoid a collision, and stayed on my tail. The truck driver locked his brakes and leaned on his horn. I put on my blinker again, and eased into the left turn lane at La Cienega. The left turn signal was red. I wanted to stop. I wanted to see what the men in the car would do.
I gripped the Dan Wesson, touched the brake, and eased to a stop. The gray car stopped with me. The two men were close in the mirror. Their faces were ruddy, grim, and flat as piss on a plate. Their sport coats, ties, and sunglasses were straight out of Central Casting. POLICE DETECTIVES. I wanted them to be Neff and Hensman. I wanted them to get out of their car. They didn’t.
The cement truck pulled up beside them. The truck’s horn bellowed and the driver shouted curses and threats. Neither man reacted or responded. They stared ahead. At me.
When the signal changed from red to green, I turned south on La Cienega. The dark gray car turned with me, and stayed on my butt like a barnacle. They didn’t try to stop me or interfere with me or run me off the road or shoot me. They sure as hell didn’t hide. They followed, and stayed on my tail.
I was trying to figure out why they were riding my tail and what I could do about it when my phone rang. The Caller ID surprised me. The incoming number read ELVIS COLE. Someone was calling from my office.
I answered.
“Who is this?”
A female voice responded.
“Cole? It’s Sergeant Cassett. How are you doing this morning?”
Cheery.
“What are you doing in my office?”
“Waiting for you. We need to talk.”
I drove south, keeping an eye on the men behind me.
“I’m busy, Cassett, and I don’t appreciate you breaking into my office. Make an appointment.”
“See the car in your mirror?”
I glanced at the men.
“Of course I see them, Cassett. They’re on me like rust.”
“My guys. A couple of SIS units are on you, too, but I’m guessing you haven’t seen them. Is the gray car still behind you?”
I glanced at the men again.
“Yes.”
“Wave bye-bye.”
The dark gray car fell off my tail like a tumbling rock, and was gone.
“What do you want?”
“What I said. I’m here at your office, and I’d like us to talk. I’d appreciate it if you made the time.”
She was being nice, but only after she flexed her muscles.
“The dicks in the gray car, what are their names?”
“Quirkmeyer and Baines.”
“You send them up to my office earlier?”
“I did. Did you really make the woman in the next office pregnant?”
Maybe she thought she was being funny. Maybe she thought she was being friendly. I didn’t laugh.
“Make the time, Mr. Cole. It’s important. I’ll explain when you get here.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
Eight minutes later I parked in the parking garage, climbed the four flights to my floor, and walked down the hall. The building has an elevator, but tough guys climbed stairs. Picture me bristling with manliness. Also, impatience. Cindy’s door was closed. The door to the little insurance agency across from my office was closed. My door was open.
I walked in and found Cassett.
My office suite included two rooms, and came with a little balcony off the main room. The main room was my office. The back room belonged to Pike, but Pike didn’t want an office, and left the room empty. Maybe the emptiness added to his mystique. I had a desk, a couple of director’s chairs for meetings with clients, and a couch. A little fridge sat opposite the couch beneath a Pinocchio clock. Pinocchio’s eyes swept the room as it tocked.
Cassett was alone on the couch, watching the eyes.
I said, “Where’s Rivera?”
She stood, but offered neither her hand nor a smile.
“I wanted to speak privately. I thought your office would be the best place.”
I checked Pike’s office. Empty. I checked the balcony. Empty. Maybe Rivera was under the desk.
“You couldn’t call, say how about we get together? You had to make a big show?”
She studied me like she was having second thoughts, then took the same seat, crossed her legs, and glanced at the fridge.
“You wouldn’t have a bottle of water, would you?”
“I would, but the water is for people who don’t break into my office.”
She smiled.
“You’re going to make this hard, aren’t you?”
“What did you want to talk about, Cassett? I’m busy. I’ve got a mani-pedi on deck.”
She uncrossed her legs, shifted, and crossed the other leg.
“You lied.”
“True. I’m not getting a mani-pedi.”
“You’re not sniffing around after claim money. Doesn’t line up with the Elvis Cole people describe.”
“Those people haven’t seen my credit card bills.”
“I don’t think so, Cole. Whatever you’re doing, you’re on the job. You’re in this for a client.”
She was edging closer to something, but I didn’t like the direction.
“Yeah, Cassett, I am. Me. Like I said.”
“The people I talked to, even the dicks who hate you, say you’re for real about the confidentiality thing. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. You’re lying to cover a client.”
“Get out of my office, Cassett. Please.”
She raised her palms.
“I’m not accusing you. I’m not saying you’re breaking the law or involved in anything crooked.”
“Then what?”
“I’m saying I understand why you’ve been shading the truth. I get it. I really do. But the shit’s getting deep, and you seem to know a lot more than me, so we’re here—”
She spread her arms.
“—in your office, just us, alone with Pinocchio—”
She raised her hands to the clock and made a weird face.
“—because I need more than you’ve been giving. I need some honesty here. I need help, even if you have to violate a confidence.”
I
took two bottles of water from the fridge, gave a bottle to Cassett, and sat at my desk with the other. We unscrewed the caps at the same time, and drank at the same time.
I said, “Talk to me.”
“Louise August.”
“And?”
“I followed up. Funny, how you dropped her name.”
“Told you I had something, didn’t I?”
“She was murdered, which I’m sure you knew. Her skull was crushed, supposedly during a robbery.”
“Supposedly.”
“You believe she was murdered for a different reason?”
“She may have had information about one or more of the burglars. If so, I don’t know what, but she may have been murdered by a person or persons who is trying to find them.”
She leaned toward me, frowning.
“Trying to find the kids committing the burglaries?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“Don’t know.”
“You dropped two other names. Neff and Hensman. Did they kill her?”
“Don’t know.”
“They told you Ms. August had information?”
“I lied about that part. I haven’t met them.”
“Then why did you say they had?”
“I wanted to see if you knew them.”
“How would I know them?”
“They told the Crenzas they worked for you.”
“Martin and Marge?”
“Flashed badges, identified themselves as police, and said they worked on your task force. Ask the Crenzas. Ask them about Louise August.”
She stared at me for a very long time. I wondered what she was thinking, but her face was empty. She finally sat back.
“Anything else?”
“Nada.”
“I still don’t know how you’re involved.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
She stared a few seconds longer.
“I can live with it. For now.”
She stood, and tipped her water at the Pinocchio clock.
“How do you expect people to take you seriously with this thing on the wall?”
“He’s up there for me, Cassett. I don’t give a damn what people think.”
She looked at me and smiled.
“Yeah. I heard that about you.”