The Wanted

by Robert Crais

  “The watch belonged to the Slausons.”

  I nodded.

  “Jesus, man, how much do you have?”

  I showed them the picture of Kenneth Loan.

  “How about this guy? Know him?”

  They recognized Kenneth Loan the instant they saw him, and stared to buy themselves time to think. Rivera broke first when he glanced at Cassett. Cassett looked up, and the tip of her tongue tasted air.

  “Sure. Kenny Loan. I’ve known him for years.”

  Rivera seemed more careful with his answer, as if he knew something bad was coming.

  “He attends our briefs. What’s it matter?”

  I adjusted the picture.

  “See what he’s holding? Under his arm.”

  “I see.”

  I adjusted the picture again.

  “His back is to us, but the shoulder here is Hensman. We followed Neff and Hensman from the Valley to the building where Mr. Loan works. Hensman delivered this particular laptop to Loan a minute or so before the picture was taken.”

  I flipped to the next picture.

  “Not a great shot, but you can see Hensman a little better. The black Chrysler is their car. You can’t see Neff, but he’s the driver.”

  Cassett’s mouth puckered, and her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “You’re saying Neff and Hensman work for Kenneth Loan? I want to be clear here. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I’m saying they’ve been hunting for a particular laptop. They killed Louise August and Alec Rickey to find it, and here they are delivering a laptop to Kenny Loan. An astute detective might see a connection.”

  Rivera leaned back.

  “Is this the laptop they’ve been after?”

  “Uh-uh. I have the laptop they want.”

  They stared at me.

  “And why would Ken Loan want that particular laptop?”

  “Dunno. All I found on it were pictures of Derek Hoop. Ivar Hoop’s son. Loan’s boss.”

  Cassett seemed nervous.

  “We know who he is, Cole. Do you?”

  “He’s rich.”

  “Mr. Hoop is a huge supporter of law enforcement. The money he gives, you can’t count. Lets us use buildings and properties for training, helps raise money for special—”

  I cut her off with a picture of the PowerBook.

  “I have an expert checking it. Seeing if we can find something besides pictures of Mr. Hoop’s son. Something is in this box, Cassett. You don’t send animals like Neff and Hensman to find a lost memory book. You send them to make sure no one else finds what you’re trying to hide.”

  I didn’t tell her the expert was a bow-tied teenager who spoke in third person and hacked video games.

  The three of us stared at each other until Rivera broke the silence.

  “Ken Loan used to be on the Sheriffs. You know how he came to work for Mr. Hoop?”

  “No idea.”

  “Arrested a dude named Marquis Nelson. It was Loan found the murder weapon in Nelson’s house. That’s how the boy got free. Loan found some things in Nelson’s house.”

  He glanced at Cassett, and made half a shrug.

  Cassett took a breath and stared at the table. When she tired of staring she cleared her throat.

  “What else do you have?”

  “A lot. Not everything, but enough to close two murders and the eighteen burglaries. I can give you the kids, their testimony, and whatever stolen items remain in their possession. The kids will cooperate.”

  “You trying to cut a deal for these kids?”

  “Both suspects are with the male’s mother at a secure location. She has a lawyer standing by to arrange their surrender. I want them off the street, and protected until this is over.”

  “Over how?”

  I told them about my meeting with Loan, and the jewelry, and the move I’d set into play.

  “I want you to let me run with it. Doesn’t matter whether it’s Hoop or Loan calling the shots, they’ll want their laptop, and they’ll send their killers to make sure I don’t keep it.”

  “They’ll make sure with a .45, Cole.”

  “I want these kids safe. They’ll surrender to you, under the proper terms, and you will not blab to the rest of the department. No briefings.”

  Cassett nodded, and her eyes looked milky.

  “Nobody knows but us.”

  “That’s it. Keep them safe, and I’ll give you everything.”

  Cassett gave me another card, and this time she wrote her personal number.

  “Give this to their lawyer. If they have a D.A. they’re dealing with, they should tell me.”

  I tucked her card in my pocket, and started away.

  Rivera said, “Cole.”

  He offered his hand, and we shook.

  I felt tired as I walked back to my car, and kept looking over my shoulder. I called Devon before I started the engine.

  “She’s in. Let me give you her number.”

  I read off Cassett’s contact info.

  “Call your attorney, give her Cassett’s number, and have her get started. I’ll pick up Tyson, and we’ll come to the house.”

  “Thank God this is finally over.”

  I hung up, and started my car.

  46

  DEVON CONNOR

  NORA GURWICK CALLED from the Calgary Airport twenty minutes or so after Elvis and Tyson left. Amber jumped when Devon’s phone rang, as if she somehow sensed the call was her mother. Amber’s reaction was so intense, Devon wondered if the girl suffered from post-traumatic stress.

  Nora said, “It was the only seat left, all the way back at the ass end of the plane by the toilet, one of those awful center seats. Coach.”

  Amber watched as Devon listened, so Devon kept her expression pleasant.

  “That’s lovely, Nora. When will your flight arrive?”

  “Rush hour. The worst possible time. Where’s Amber?”

  “She’s taking a shower.”

  Amber placed her hands together like she was praying, and mouthed, ‘thank you.’

  “I hope she appreciates the sacrifices I’m making.”

  “I’m sure she will.”

  Devon ended the call. Pleasant.

  “She’ll be home this evening.”

  Amber rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

  “I wish she wasn’t coming.”

  Devon couldn’t bring herself to offer up platitudes about a mother’s love when she knew nothing about this girl’s life.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I think she did drugs when she was pregnant. That’s why I’m messed up.”

  Jesus.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a cup of coffee.”

  Amber rolled upright and brightened.

  “Coffee!”

  They ate Cheerios with nonfat milk and bananas, and drank coffee brewed at the little neighborhood market three blocks away. Since they were without a coffeepot, they bought four large coffees so they’d have plenty for refills. The coffee turned out to be bitter, and tasted like bark.

  Amber took a sip, and made a sour face.

  “Yuck.”

  Devon sipped, and wrinkled her nose.

  “I wish we had chocolate. Chocolate would help.”

  Amber closed her eyes and looked dreamy.

  “Chocolate makes everything taste better.”

  Devon said, “Yum.”

  Her phone rang again, but this time Amber didn’t jump. It was Elvis.

  “She’s in. Let me give you her number.”

  Devon gave Amber a thumbs-up, and jotted the number. Elvis filled her in, and asked her to call their attorney.

  “Okay. I’ll call right away. Thank God thi
s is finally over.”

  She hung up, and breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief.

  “They agreed. The lawyer has to work out the terms, but Sergeant Cassett understands the situation. It shouldn’t take long. Maybe later today.”

  Amber seemed thoughtful.

  “Will I get to go home, you think?”

  Devon wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to lie.

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask when I talk to the lawyer.”

  Devon had been worried about the same thing. She didn’t want Tyson to spend the night in a juvenile facility. She wanted to take him home.

  Devon said, “You can come home with us if they’ll let you.”

  Amber looked surprised.

  “That’s really nice.”

  Her surprise became thoughtful, and maybe confused.

  “Do you hate me?”

  Devon wasn’t sure how to answer, and less sure she could describe her feelings. She didn’t want to elaborate on Tyson’s struggles, or on the soul-searching she had done these past few days, but she wanted to be real with this girl.

  “I believe with all my heart Tyson is a good person. I raised him to know better, but he did what he did, and I can’t help but feel the failing is mine. I wish none of this had happened, but I’m his mother. I keep asking, what did I do? How did I fail? I don’t hate you. I don’t even blame you. I’m trying not to hate myself.”

  Amber stared at Devon, but her eyes seemed distant, as if the girl were looking at something farther away. Then Devon realized her lips were moving. Amber was saying something. She was speaking so softly, Devon couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “I was saying, I wish I was you.”

  Devon smiled, and touched her arm.

  “You can talk to me.”

  “Really?”

  “I’d like that. I mean it.”

  Devon remembered Cassett’s number, and glanced at the time.

  “I’d better call the lawyer. They’ll be here soon.”

  “Do I have time for a shower?”

  “Sure. They won’t be here that soon.”

  Amber got a bottle of water from the kitchen, and took it with her into the bathroom. Devon sat on the floor against the wall in the living room. She gathered her notes, made sure she was clear on the particulars Elvis described, then made the call. She spent almost twenty minutes on the phone with her attorney, at which point her attorney was ready to speak with both the D.A. and Sergeant Cassett. When they finally hung up, Devon heard the shower. All this time, the water still ran.

  “Amber?”

  Water.

  The bathroom door was closed, in plain view from the living room, right there in front of her.

  “Amber?”

  Devon hurried to the door, and knocked hard three fast times.

  “Amber!”

  Pike had fixed the doors so they couldn’t lock. The knob turned, and Devon opened the door.

  The shower rained on the cheap plastic curtain, but the bathroom window was open.

  Devon ran to her phone.

  47

  ELVIS COLE

  I WAS WITH TYSON AND CARL, thinking the smell of failure was pickles and body odor. The pictures of Derek Hoop flashed on the PowerBook’s screen, almost as if he were winking at me.

  “You didn’t find anything?”

  The Carl huffed at my choice of words.

  “I found there is nothing to find, which is, in fact, finding the fact that no encrypted or hidden data is present.”

  The PowerBook was wired to Carl’s computer, which sprouted external drives like pumpkins from a pumpkin vine. The video game commando on the oversized monitor had been replaced by multiple windows. Each window showed the results of software used to detect digital image compression loss and steganographic signatures, both sure signs of hidden files.

  “You checked all the pictures?”

  “Pictures are data. The total binary data on this device was examined.”

  The images of Derek Hoop scrolled past, one followed by another. I didn’t want to believe they held nothing.

  “Are you positive?”

  The Carl drew himself up.

  “I am The Carl.”

  Tyson said, “Carl knows what he’s doing. He encrypts everything.”

  The Carl grunted.

  “Only way to protect my work. The legacies would steal my ideas and loot my code.”

  The legacies were the big gaming software companies.

  The Carl made a dismissive wave at his monitor.

  “Trust me. This isn’t rocket science. Pedophiles and terrorists use these same techniques.”

  Maybe the FBI would find something.

  Devon called as I stared at the PowerBook, her voice tight with strain as she told me Amber was gone.

  “How long ago?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe. Fifteen at the most. I thought she was taking a shower.”

  Tyson read the edge in my voice.

  “What happened? Is it Amber?”

  I nodded, and motioned him silent.

  “I’m with Tyson at Carl’s. We’ll leave now, and we’ll find her. She hasn’t gone very far.”

  “She took my car. She must’ve snuck my keys before the shower, and now my car is gone.”

  The car made it bad. I told her to hang on, and turned to Tyson.

  “Amber took your mom’s car. Where would she go? Is there a friend, maybe?”

  Tyson answered immediately.

  “Jazzi’s. She’d want her car. Maybe money, but she’d definitely want her car. She’ll go to Jazzi’s.”

  I left Tyson with Carl, and ran to my car.

  48

  HARVEY AND STEMMS

  STEMMS TOOLED THE MERCEDES down Beverly Glen to the Valley, and turned toward Jasmine’s apartment. He ran his fingers over the dash and his seat, admiring the stiff German leather. Excellent quality. Beautiful appointments. The vehicle drove like a dream.

  Harvey said, “You and this car should get a room, Stemms. Keep stroking, you’ll give it an orgasm.”

  Stemms was trying to think up an insult when the Pink Panther theme blasted from Harvey’s phone, the original recording with Plas Johnson on sax.

  Harvey held his phone at arm’s length like it smelled bad, and gave it the finger.

  “Answer it, Harvey. C’mon.”

  Their client. Harvey had chosen the Pink Panther theme for his ringtone, the music bringing to mind the cartoonish, bumbling Inspector Clouseau. Stemms thought the choice was brilliant, Harvey being Harvey.

  Stemms pulled into a parking lot, popped an Adderall, and offered the bottle to Harvey. Harvey waved him away, listening close to the call.

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay. Yeah, we’re going there now. He was there. How about I put you on speaker? Yeah, with Stemms. We’re in the car.”

  Harvey rolled his eyes, and flipped off the phone.

  “Whatever you want. Got it.”

  Harvey lowered his phone.

  “Asshole.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Got our ID. The dude in Jasmine’s apartment? He’s a private investigator. Elvis Cole.”

  “Wait. What’s his name?”

  “Elvis Cole.”

  “For real? Elvis?”

  “The client says he’s Elvis, he’s Elvis. Who gives a shit what he’s named?”

  “Take it easy. What’s the big deal?”

  “The deal is, Inspector Clouseau wants us to drop everything and find the guy. Lives up in Laurel. Has an office in Hollywood. He’s sending the address.”

  Stemms didn’t like it.

  “He just left Jasmine’s. We should figure out why he was there before we go chasing around, don’t
you think?”

  “I think the client wants what he wants, and I want my picture.”

  The bright, happy sound of Windy suddenly chimed again. Stemms beamed, and punched Harvey’s arm.

  “Maybe the a-hole came back.”

  Harvey opened the video feed, but this time it wasn’t Cole. Amber stepped through the door, and hurried into the bedroom.

  Stemms looked at Harvey.

  “We’re five minutes away.”

  Harvey said, “Let’s get her.”

  The big white Mercedes powered out of the parking lot.

  49

  AMBER REED

  AMBER DROPPED into a spindly rose bush beneath the bathroom window. The bush raked her legs, but she didn’t slow. She walked directly to Devon’s car, and threw open the door. The Audi beeped so loud when the door unlocked, Amber freaked. Devon had heard, for sure, and would come flying out of the house.

  Amber jumped in behind the wheel, and freaked even more. The Audi was totally different from her Mini. She fumbled with the fob and frantically searched for an ignition button, certain that Devon was racing down the drive.

  “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look—”

  The Audi woke with an even purr. Amber pulled away, and did not look back. Hands at ten and two. Her eyes burned. She forgot to breathe. Amber drove to the end of the block, put on the blinker, and left the safe house behind. Going to jail was not part of the plan.

  Amber wasn’t familiar with the east Valley, and felt kinda lost. She studied the dash map to get her bearings, then pulled over to adjust the seat and the mirrors. Once she was on the freeway, Amber was fine.

  Ninety-two thousand dollars in cash and a spare key for the Mini were waiting in Jazzi’s apartment. Devon would call the police and Elvis, and Elvis would look for her at Jazzi’s. She didn’t have much time. She needed to grab her cash and car, buy a new phone, and disappear into Amberland. The possibilities made her smile.

  Amber parked the Audi half a block from Jasmine’s building, and hurried to the gate. She jabbed the call buttons, but nobody answered. Assholes. She punched the call buttons again, jabjabjab-jabjab, but wasted no time by waiting. She gripped the bars, put her foot on the knob, and climbed over the gate. This wasn’t the first time Amber came home without a key.