The Watchman

by Robert Crais

  Pike said, Okay.

  They didn't mention King or Meesh or the girl, or any of that. They didn't ask if I knew what was going on or if I had seen you. They just gave me the gun and told me to tell you they were taking care of it.

  You probably shouldn't call me from your house anymore.

  I walked next door.

  Okay.

  Pitman said if I heard from you I should tell you to call. You want the number?

  I have it.

  He said the gun was a sign of good faith, but if you didn't call, the good faith would stop.

  I understand.

  You going to call?

  No.

  Couple more things. Nothing in the record connects Meesh to L. A. or gives us something to work with, so the bodies are our best shot. We get them ID'd we might be able to work backwards to Meesh.

  I'll talk to Bud.

  It's not like I have too much to do. I can call over there.

  Pike sipped the coffee, then glanced at Larkin's door.

  Bud's on it. Did you check out the girl?

  Cole hesitated, and Pike read a difference in his tone.

  She hasn't told you about herself?

  What would she tell me?

  She's the chick in the magazines.

  She's a model?

  No, not like that. She's rich. She's famous for being rich. I didn't place her with the short hair, the way people can look different in person. She's always in the tabloids-going wild in clubs, making a big scene, that kind of thing. You've seen her.

  Don't read tabloids.

  Her father inherited an empire. They own hotel chains in Europe, a couple of airlines, oil fields in Canada. She has to be worth five or six billion.

  Huh.

  If she's cool, she's cool, but keep an eye on her. She's the classic L. A. wild child.

  Pike glanced at the door.

  She seems all right.

  Just so you know.

  Pike had more of the coffee. It had gone cold, but Pike didn't mind. He thought about Pitman and Blanchette showing up at Cole's house with the gun. A show of goodwill. He wondered why two federal agents would do that, but mostly he didn't care. He wanted to find Meesh.

  Pike said, Can you get Bud Flynn's home address?

  Am I not the World's Greatest Detective?

  Something I have to do later. I can't take the girl and I don't want to leave her alone. Could you stay with her?

  Babysit a hot, young, rich chick? I think I can manage.

  Pike ended the call, then punched in Bud Flynn's cell number. Flynn answered on the third ring, sounding hoarse and sleepy. Pike wondered if Bud was at a table somewhere, having coffee the way Pike was having coffee, but he decided Bud was in bed. It was only seven-forty. Bud had probably been up pretty late.

  Pike said, You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?

  As he said it, the girl's door opened and Larkin stepped out. She was puffy with sleep, and still wore only the bra and the tiny green thong. She didn't look so wild.

  Pike touched his lips with a finger. Shh. Larkin blinked sleepily at him, then went into the bathroom.

  Bud said, You're killing me, Joe. Jesus, where are you?

  We're good. Why is everyone so upset?

  Pike, having fun.

  You dropped off the world, is why! You're supposed to take care of her, yes, but you can't just disappear. The feds, they're--

  Pike interrupted.

  How many people know I have her?

  What are you asking? What are you saying, asking that?

  You, your boys in their nice silk suits, the feds, her family? Someone hit my home this morning, Bud, so your leak is still leaking. Trust is in short supply.

  Larkin came out of the bathroom and into the living room, her bare feet slapping the floor. Pike held up his coffee to show her that coffee was available, then pointed the cup toward the kitchen. She didn't seem self-conscious about her lack of clothes or even aware of it. She went past him into the kitchen.

  Bud still had the uncertain voice.

  I understand what you're saying, but we have five bodies to deal with. We have a full-on police investigation, and--

  Pike cut him off again.

  Here's what's going to happen. Larkin and I will meet you. Don't tell her father or those feds or your boys in their silk. Come by yourself, and we'll figure this out. You good with that?

  Where?

  The girl came out of the kitchen with the pot. She looked confused as she held up the pot, her expression saying what in hell is this? Pike raised a finger, telling her to wait, then checked his watch. It was now thirteen minutes before eight.

  Where are you right now?

  Home. In Cheviot Hills.

  The subway stop in Universal City at noon. Can you make it at noon?

  Yes.

  What will you be driving?

  A tan Explorer.

  Park in the north lot. As far north as you can. Wait in your car until I call.

  Pike turned off his phone. Larkin took this as a sign she could speak, so she waved the pot.

  What is this?

  Coffee.

  It's sludge. There's stuff in it.

  Pike finished his cup, then went to the couch and pulled on the long-sleeved shirt.

  Pack your things. We're going to see Bud.

  She lowered the pot, staring at him as if she were fully dressed.

  I thought we were safe here.

  We are. But if something happens, we'll want our things.

  What's going to happen?

  Every time we leave the house we'll take our things. That's the way it is.

  I don't want to ride around all day scrunched in your car. Can't I stay here?

  Get dressed. We have to hurry.

  But you told him noon. Universal is only twenty minutes away.

  Let's go. We have to hurry.

  She stomped back into the kitchen and threw the pot into the sink.

  Your coffee sucks!

  We'll get Starbucks.

  She didn't seem so wild, even when she threw things.

  PIKE didn't bring her to Universal and didn't wait until noon. Cole had Bud's home address before they were out the door. Cheviot Hills was an upscale neighborhood set on the rolling land south of the Hillcrest Country Club in midtown Los Angeles. Gracious homes with immaculate yards and manicured sidewalks were scattered throughout the area, though the larger homes were closer to the park. The homes farther south and closer to the I-10 freeway were smaller, but still beyond a police officer's salary. Back in the day when Pike rode with Bud, the Flynns had shared a duplex in Atwater Village.

  Bud's current home was a small split-level not far from the freeway. A tan Explorer was parked in the drive as if it had been there all night. The house sat at the top of a rise, with a gently sloping drive and a front lawn that struggled against the brutal summer heat. Many of the homes had not been changed since they were built in the thirties, which gave the street a sleepy, small-town feel. A brace of jacaranda trees colored the car and the driveway with purple snow.

  Larkin swiveled her head as they drove past the house, alert and excited.

  What are we going to do?

  You're going to stay in the car. I'm going to talk to him.

  But what if he's not here? What if he left?

  See the jacaranda flowers on the driveway? They haven't been disturbed.

  What if he wasn't here? What if he lied?

  Please be quiet.

  Pike parked across the mouth of Bud's drive so Larkin would be clearly visible in the car, then got out and went to the front door. Pike stood to one side of the door, positioning himself so he could not be seen from the windows. He called Bud's cell.

  Bud said, Gotta be you, Joe. The incoming call says restricted.

  Look in your driveway.

  Joe?

  Look outside.

  Pike heard movement over the phone, then inside the house. The front door opened. Bud stepp
ed out. He stared at the girl, but didn't yet see Pike. Bud had already dressed for the day, but Pike thought the years had caught up with him in the past thirty-six hours. He looked tired.

  Pike said, Bud.

  Bud showed no surprise. He scowled the way he had scowled when Pike was a boot, like he was wondering what he had done to be cursed with this person who was ruining his life.

  He said, What did you think I would do, have Universal surrounded? Have spotter planes up in the sky?

  Pike made a rolling gesture so Larkin would roll down her window.

  Pike called out to her.

  Say hi to Bud.

  Larkin waved and called back from the car.

  Hi, Bud!

  Pike called out again.

  You want to stay here with him?

  Larkin made a two-thumbs-down gesture and shook her head. Pike turned back to Bud, but Bud was still scowling.

  What do you think you're doing?

  This is a nice house. You've done all right.

  What in the fuck do you think you're doing? Do you know how much shit I'm in?

  I'm showing you she's alive and well. You can tell her father and Special Agent Pitman she's fine. You can say she doesn't want to come back because she likes staying alive.

  Bud grew irritated.

  Now waitaminute, goddamnit-this isn't only about the girl. You dropped five bodies in two days. You think, what, Pitman can tell LAPD, hey, it's all right, our civilian killed those dudes to protect our witness, and Northeast Homicide will let it go? You have to help straighten this out.

  Pike didn't care if they let it go or not. He wondered why Bud hadn't mentioned that Pitman had returned his gun. Then he wondered whether or not Bud knew, and, if not, why Pitman hadn't told him.

  What does Pitman want?

  You, the feds, a couple of assistant chiefs from Parker and the Sheriff's, that's what we're talking about. You and Larkin answer their questions, Pitman says the locals will go away.

  Won't happen.

  Pitman says if you don't come in he'll issue a warrant for kidnapping.

  The corner of Pike's mouth twitched, and Bud reddened.

  I know it's bullshit, but you're out here running around and nobody knows what's happening. The feds believe they can protect her. They think the problem is me, and that's what they're telling her father. He's this close to firing me.

  So tell me, Bud-is she safer with you now or me?

  I turned over my personal records to the DOJ. I gave them my guys-their cell records, hotels and expenses, everything. Her father, he gave Pitman an open door on his lawyer, his staff, their e-mails and phones-all of it. We'll plug the leak.

  Who's checking Pitman?

  Bud blinked as if he was facing a dry wind, and finally shook his head.

  I can't keep her safe. I can't even cover for you. I know that was part of the deal, but now I don't know.

  My way, the leak doesn't matter.

  Bud finally looked at him. His eyes were hard stones hidden by flesh weakened with age.

  Joe. What are you doing?

  I'm looking for Meesh.

  You aren't just looking. I don't want to be involved with anything like this. You want my help, but I don't even want to know.

  I only have two leads back to Meesh-the men in the morgue and the Kings. If the Kings were in business with him, then they probably knew where he was staying and how to reach him. Maybe I can find him through them.

  They're still missing.

  The feds must have something. Can you help with that?

  Pitman has their home and office under twenty-four-hour surveillance. He has their phones tapped. He even has someone watching their yacht. If those people fart, the feds will be on them. If you try to get close to anything they own, the feds will be on you, too.

  Then the men I killed are my last door back to him. What do you know?

  Bud darkened, but glanced at the girl and wet his lips.

  I gotta get my keys. Inside in the entry. That okay?

  Pike nodded.

  Bud stepped into his house, but only long enough to fish his keys from a blue bowl inside the door. Pike followed him out to his car. Bud opened the Explorer and Pike saw the same cordovan briefcase he had seen in the desert. Bud took out three pictures. They were the security stills taken when the Barkleys' home was invaded. Pike had seen them up in the desert, too.

  Bud handed them to Pike, and tapped the top picture.

  This man was one of the original home invaders. You shot him in Malibu. He's the only one of the five you shot who was also one of the home invaders.

  What's his name?

  I don't know. But this man--

  Bud shuffled the pictures to point out a man with prominent cheekbones and a scarred lip.

  -he's the freak who beat the housekeeper. You recognize either of these other guys from Malibu or Eagle Rock?

  Who are they?

  Don't know. We haven't been able to identify any of the five people you put in the morgue. The Live Scan kicked back zero. No IDs were found on the bodies, and they weren't in the system. You can keep these pictures, you want.

  Pike stared at the pictures, thinking it didn't make sense that none of the five had been identified. The type of man you could hire to do murder almost always had a criminal record. The Live Scan system digitized fingerprints, then instantly compared them with computerized records stored by the California Department of Justice and the NCIC files, and those files were exhaustive. If a person had ever been arrested anywhere in the country or served in the military, their fingerprints were in the file.

  Pike said, That doesn't sound right.

  No, it does not, but all five of these guys were clean.

  No IDs or wallets?

  Not one damn thing of a personal nature. You arrested a lot of people, Joe. You remember many shitbirds smart enough to clean up before they did crime?

  Pike shook his head.

  Me neither. So here we are.

  Bud slammed his trunk, then stared at the girl.

  I guess I should apologize, getting you involved in this mess, but I won't. You could just give her back to Pitman. It's your choice, playing it this way.

  Bud studied Larkin for a moment longer, and Pike wondered what he was thinking. Then Bud turned, and with the new angle of light, Pike thought he looked as hard as ever.

  Bud said, I'm trusting you won't let this little girl down.

  Pike watched Bud walk away, then returned to the Lexus and immediately drove away.

  Larkin said, He seems like a nice man.

  He was a good officer.

  That's what he told my dad about you, that you were a good policeman. What he said was, you were the best young officer he ever worked with.

  Pike didn't answer. He was thinking about the five nameless killers, cleaned up for crime with no criminal records. Pike thought he might still use them to find Meesh, and he believed he knew how.

  DEPLOYMENT PERIOD ONE

  RAMPART DIVISION ROLL CALL

  EVENING WATCH, 1448 HOURS

  His dark blue uniform was crisp and fresh, with creases as straight as ruled lines. His stainless steel and copper badge caught light like a mirror, and the black leather of his holster and shoes gleamed as they had in the Marine Corps. Military-issue sunglasses hung from his pocket in the approved position. Pike's kit, gear, and appearance were in order and by-the- book perfect, which was the way Pike liked it.

  Pike, Charlie Grissom, and Paul P-bag Hernandez were seated in the front row in the roll call room of the Rampart Division Police Station. This being their first official day on the job after having graduated from the Los Angeles Police Academy, they wore badges and carried loaded weapons for the first time. Today, they would begin their careers as probationary police officers, known within the Los Angeles Police Department as boots.

  Pike and the other boots sat erect with their eyes on Sergeant Kelly Levendorf, who was the evening watch commander. Slouching, s
lumping, or leaning on the table was not permitted. Being boots, they were required to sit in the first row, face forward, and were not allowed to look at the veteran officers who filled the room behind them. They were not allowed to join in the banter during roll call, or react or respond to the veterans, no matter how many spitballs came their way. They had not yet earned that right. Though they had graduated from the academy, they would spend the next year becoming street certified by experienced senior officers known as P-IIIs - Pee Threes - who would be their teachers, their protectors, and their Gods.

  Two things would happen at this first roll call. They would meet their P-IIIs, which Pike was looking forward to, and they would introduce themselves to the veterans, which Pike dreaded. Pike wasn't much for talking, and talked about himself least of all.

  Levendorf made car assignments, then rolled through everything from suspected criminal activity and suspects known or believed to be in the area, to officer birthdays and upcoming retirement parties. He read most of his announcements from a thick, three-ring binder. When he finished he closed the book and looked up at the shift.

  Okay, we have some new officers aboard, so we'll let'm introduce themselves. Officer Grissom, you have one minute, one second.

  Pike thought, Here it comes.

  At the academy, each recruit was given one minute plus one second to introduce himself. The recruit was expected to be brief and on point-just as he or she was expected to be when dealing with superiors, radio dispatchers, and the public.

  Grissom surged to his feet, all gung ho enthusiasm, and turned to face the crowd. He was a short, chunky kid with delicate blond hair, who always seemed anxious to please.

  My name is Charlie Grissom. I graduated from San Diego State with a degree in history. My dad was an officer in San Diego, which is where I was born. I like to surf, fish, and scuba dive. I'm always looking for dive buddies, so look me up if you're interested. I'm not married, but I've been dating the same girl for about a year. Being a police officer is all I've ever wanted. My dad wanted me to go on the San Diego PD, but I wanted to be with the best-so I'm here.

  This brought a roar of approval from the shift, but as it died a ragged voice behind Pike cut through the din.

  He kisses ass real good.

  Pike saw Grissom flush from the corner of his eye as Grissom took his seat.