Meg had received a visitor yesterday afternoon. A tall man with dark hair, a man of about forty in a jacket and tie.
What the hell was that all about?
She didn't know. She couldn't think. Maybe it was Dan, making contact on the sly, and Mrs. Grandy had gotten the details wrong. But why would Meg neglect to mention a visit from her father? The two of them weren't close. It made no sense.
She could call Dan, tell him what had happened, feel him out amp;
No, not yet. There was another call to make first.
She speed-dialed her home number. A man's voice answered. "Officer Pierce."
"This is Robin Cameron. It's my house you're in."
"Yes, ma'am?"
"I wonder if I could speak to whoever's in charge."
"The supervising detectives from RHD just got here. They're still being briefed by the first officer."
"Is there somebody, uh, working the scene? Gathering evidence?"
"You mean SID?"
She thought he'd said Sid. "If that's his name amp;"
"No, I mean SID." He spelled it out. "Scientific Investigation Division. The forensics guys. They're bagging and tagging."
"May I talk to one of them?"
"One moment." There was a pause, some faint conversation, then a new man's voice on the phone. "Dr. Cameron? This is Criminalist Gaines."
She was glad he knew she was a doctor. It might help him take her more seriously.
She reported what Mrs. Grandy had said. "I know we're all working on the assumption that Justin Gray took my daughter. And that's probably what happened. But amp;"
"You think this other man might have something to do with it?"
"It's possible."
"That's interesting," Gaines said. He pronounced the words slowly, as if tasting them.
"Is it?"
"There's no sign of forced entry. From what we can tell, your daughter let in the assailant voluntarily."
"I thought the security gate was disabled."
"It was, but there was no damage to the door of the unit."
"She wouldn't have opened up for Justin Gray. She'd met him. She knows what he looks like."
"Well, of course, she might have opened without looking through the peephole. Especially if she assumed that only a neighbor could get to the door without being buzzed in at the gate."
"Or this other man might have come back. If he visited her yesterday, why not today?"
"Are you sure it wasn't your ex-husband?"
"The description didn't match. And I don't think it's in character for Dan to do anything like this, or for Meg to see him behind my back."
Gaines grunted, a dubious noise suggesting that human character was not so predictable. "We'll have to check out your ex anyway."
"Do that. He needs to know what happened. But there's something else that occurred to meanother thing we could look into."
"I'm listening."
"You could read her diary." Robin felt cheap and low for suggesting it, but she couldn't worry about Meg's privacy now. "She keeps it in her room. In her bureau. Top drawer, I think."
"We haven't been in there yet."
"I think you'd better find it. If she was amp; involved in anything secretive, she might have mentioned it there."
"I'll do that, Doctor. And I'll have someone contact your ex-husband too. We've got your address book here. His number is in it, I assume."
"Yes. Let me give you a number where I can be reached."
"That's not necessary. You have caller ID. I already jotted down the number you're calling from. It's your cell phone."
"How'd you know that?"
"I had Officer Pierce check it against your phone records. You see, I had to be sure I was really talking to Robin Cameron, not a reporter."
Gaines was thorough. Robin was glad.
"Once I've looked at the diary," he said, "I'll get back to you."
He clicked off. She exhaled a long breath, relieved that he had listened and not merely brushed her off as a hysterical civilian.
There might be nothing in Meg's diary. But she had to be sure.
It was possiblejust barely possiblethat Gray didn't have Meg, after all. In which case the roadblocks in the desert, the alerts issued for a man and a girl together in a stolen Saab, and most of the other measures already taken would be ineffective. Gray wouldn't be replaying his MO, at least not yet, and not with Meg.
Then what would he be doing? Where would he go?
And who had taken her daughter?
Chapter Thirty-three
The sun was dropping lower, flooding Brand's bungalow with hot orange light. He sat in his armchair in the living room, eyes unfocused, staring into the glare.
He was fucked.
That was the long and short of it. He had turned over the situation in his mind, trying to determine exactly where he stood, and this was his conclusion.
Things could have worked out differently. If Cameron had died today amp;
But she hadn't. And now everything had come apart at the seams.
Idly he noticed that the TV's remote control was still in his hand. He'd been holding it ever since he clicked on the local news and watched the story develop. Attack on a psychiatrist, unnamed in the newscast. Abduction of the psychiatrist's daughterher photo shown but name withheld. Serial killer on the loose. Deputy sheriff declared dead on arrival at the hospital ER. Huge dragnet being coordinated among municipal and county law-enforcement departments. Updates as they become available. Stay with Eyewitness News amp;
He hadn't stayed with them. He had clicked off the TV and stared at nothing while the day dragged toward nightfall.
Seriously fucked. That was pretty much all there was to say.
The phone rang. He let his gaze slide toward it. To answer, he would have to leave the chair and cross the room, a small room but one that now seemed immense, requiring a journey of heroic scope. He would let the answering machine get it. But after seven rings, he remembered that the machine was broken. Just another thing around the house he'd been meaning to fix.
On the tenth ring he roused himself and shambled across the room, blinking at the harsh, lurid light. He fumbled the handset off the cradle. "Yeah," he said.
"Where the fuck were you?" A familiar voice, one he didn't want to hear.
"Nowhere."
"You drunk?"
"Wish I was." He hadn't touched alcohol or food all day. "What the hell do you want?"
"Things have been clarified."
"What things?"
"Cameron doesn't know anything. We don't need the daughter anymore."
Brand frowned. "What do you mean, you don't need her?"
"You've got a job to do."
It took a moment for the words to make sense. "Me? No way. No motherfucking way."
"It's not like you've got a choice, Al."
His heart was beating fast, his grip on the phone suddenly unsteady. "I'm not killing any kid."
"She's in the boiler room of an old bottling works in South-Central. You can get there in twenty minutes."
"No way."
"One shot to the head. Or the heart, your pick. She won't feel a thing."
"Why the fuck don't you do it?"
"I'm a little busy right now. The job falls to you. You're elected."
"I'm not doing the kid."
"You've got no choice, Al."
"Stop calling me Al like we're friends. I'm not doing any damn fourteen-year-old girl."
"She's fifteen. This is LA, the city of angels. Fifteen-year-olds die every day."
"Suck my dick. I'm not doing it."
He almost hung up, but the voice on the phone was still speaking, exerting a hold that was almost hypnotic.
"If you won't, I'll find someone else who will. The kid will be just as dead, and you'll have missed your chance to prove yourself."
"Just leave me out of it, God damn it."
A pause. "There's still the problem of Cameron herself."
"Not about this afternoon." The words came slowly, as if addressed to a child. "She still knows what you told her yesterday."
"Right, right." This was obvious. He should have remembered. Wasn't thinking clearly.
"You need to prove your loyalty, Al."
"I'm not listening to this."
"Look"the voice was reasonable now, almost gentle"I can understand not wanting to do the kid. I get it. No hard feelings about that. But Robin Cameron's all grown up. She's plenty old enough to die."
Brand shook his head slowly. "Shit."
"She's at Parker Center right now. My advice is to watch the parking exit. She has to leave eventually. When she does, I'll send you an SOS on your pager."
"Fuck you." His words were barely audible.
"Think about it, Al. You could do yourself a world of good if you play this right."
Silence, then a dial tone. Brand hung up, his hand shaking. He thought about the scotch in the kitchen cabinet. He thought about calling Evelyn, having her drop by for another roll on the carpet.
Instead, he threw on a windbreaker, holstered his off-duty gun, and left the house, heading for Parker Center.
Chapter Thirty-four
The door to the interview room opened. Robin looked up as Wolper came in.
"What's this about your neighbor?" he asked before she could speak.
His face was grim. She tried to deflect his irritation with a smile. "News travels fast."
"She saw some guy yesterday. Some guy with Meg?"
"Apparently."
"And when were you planning to let me in on this?"
"As soon as possible. I called"
"I know who you called. You talked to a SID technician. Guess you didn't feel like going through channels, is that it?"
Channels. Her daughter was missing, and he was talking about channels. "What I felt like," she snapped, "was getting Meg back. I assume that's how you feel, too."
Wolper looked away. "I just wish you'd worked with me, gone through me."
"Why?"
"We can't have the investigation ranging all over the place. We need centralized command and control."
"This isn't an academic exercise. It's Meg's life."
"I understand that"
"I did the first thing I could think of. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. Can you blame me?"
He sighed. "No. No, I can't." He sat opposite her. "You think this mystery man is a legitimate lead?"
"I don't know."
"It would be a hell of a coincidence, this guy taking Meg at the exact same time Gray makes his escape."
"I know. But coincidences happen."
"Not often."
"My daughter doesn't get kidnapped often, either."
"Fair enough, Doctor." He looked at her. "So what else is on your mind?"
"What do you mean?"
"There's something you want to talk about. I know the look. I've done enough interviews to know when somebody has something to say."
She nodded. "I've been thinking amp; suppose Gray doesn't have Meg. Then he won't be running to the desert or doing any of the other things we assumed."
"So what would he do?"
"That's the question. He's out on the street. Free again after twelve months. He's in a state somewhere between panic and exhilaration. He's gotten loose, but the whole city will be looking for him. He can hide anywherebut he may not be safe. He's a free man and a hunted animal."
"Okay."
"So how does he feel?"
"Do we care?"
"We do if it helps tell us what action he might take."
"Granted. How does he feel?"
"Disoriented. Confused. Like he's riding a roller coasterscared and thrilled at the same time. It's all happening so fast. He needs amp; he needs to slow it down, sort things out, clear his head. He needs to go someplace safe."
"No place is safe," Wolper said. "Not for him."
"Someplace that feels safe. Someplace he's familiar with."
"His old neighborhood? He lived in Culver City. Units are patrolling there."
"That's not it. He's too smart to go to his old address. Anyway, have you seen photos of his apartment? It was empty, almost unfurnished. No keepsakes, no pictures on the walls, nothing in the fridge. It wasn't home to him. It was just a place to crash."
"Then what was home?"
"His van, maybe."
"Impounded for evidence. He might boost another one."
She stood, paced. "No. I'm looking at this wrong. It's not home he wants. Home was a nightmare to him. It was the scene of abuse, torture. He never had a home. After the kind of adolescence he went through, he wouldn't want one."
"I'm crying for him."
"You don't understand. I'm not trying to feel for him. I'm trying to feel with him. To feel the way he feels right now amp; Whenever his father hurt him, he would leave home. He wasn't running away. He just needed space, distance."
"Where would he go?"
"As a kid, he gravitated toward seedy, crowded, urban areas."
"That covers pretty much all of LA."
"I mean really seedy, like a red-light district. He would hang out in pool halls, video arcades, tattoo parlors." She fixed her stare on Wolper. "Tattoos."
"What about them?"
"He started getting tattoos when he was a teenager. Later he moved on to body piercing and scarification. He likes to punish himself. He takes pleasure in having his skin pricked and bruised."
"All right, so"
"He got some of his tattoos after he moved to LA. He even mentioned the place in today's session. He said the name amp;"
"Robin, even if you remember the name, I doubt he's going into any tat parlor today."
"Wild Ink," she said. "That was it. The guy who applied the tattoos was Ernesto. Ernesto at Wild Ink. That's what he said."
"Okay. But"
"I know, I know, he won't go there now. I understand that. But you're missing the point. That's the area where we should be looking. That's the neighborhood. That's his zone of comfort. It's where he feels safe."
"Unless he has Meg. Then he'll need to take her somewhere."
"Yes, probably. But if he doesn't have her amp;"
"Then finding him won't help us find her."
"It will narrow down the possibilities. Help us focus in the right direction. That's got to be worth something."
Wolper nodded slowly. "Give me a minute," he said, rising from the table. He left again. Robin wondered if he was looking up the address of Wild Ink or arranging for a psychiatric consult. He might think she had lost her mind. He could even be right. Then he was back.
"It's on Hollywood Boulevard, east of Highland. But there's no way he'll go there. He can't go walking the boulevard. A wanted man isn't going to expose himself to those crowds."
"You never know. It's irrational, but if he's motivated by old fears, he may revert to old patterns of behavior."
"I can have Hollywood Division keep an eye out"
She shook her head. "We need to go there."
"Robin, I had to call in a few favors to handle this interview."
"I gathered as much. So what?"
"I have no official involvement in this case."
"Then you won't be breaking any rules by taking me to Hollywood."
"If Gray is there, it's the last place you ought to be."
"If he's there, it's where I have to be."
He studied her, thinking. "How sure are you of this?"
"I don't know. There's a chance I'm right, i can't compute the odds."
"It's a gut feeling. A hunch. Intuition. Right?"
"You could say that."
He seemed relieved to have pigeonholed the problem in a convenient category. "Then you can call my ex-wife about it. I'm not in the market for hunches."
He started to walk out the door. Robin grabbed his arm. "If you'd unbend for a minute, have an open mind amp;"
"An open mind is an empty mind."
Her patience had frayed. "You're very damn complacent, you know that?"
"Now you're actually starting to sound like my ex."
"I'm starting to relate to her. Look, we have to do something"
"Chasing mirages isn't doing something. It's wasting time."
"You promised me you'd do everything possible."
"That doesn't include wild-goose chases after a red herring. Excuse the mixed metaphor."
She released his arm and picked up her phone. "All right, if you won't take me, I'll call a cab and go by myself."
"That's also not a good idea."
"Why not? Gray's not going to be there anyway. You told me so."
"Gray or no Gray, it's a dangerous neighborhood."
"Not as dangerous as the one you sent me into yesterday afternoon."
He looked embarrassed. "Yeah, well amp; I didn't think you'd have the stones to actually go."
"Then I guess you really don't have much intuition, do you?" She took a step past him. "Now I'm getting out of hereunless you plan to place me under arrest."
Wolper spread his hands. "All right."
"You're arresting me?"
"I'm driving you to Hollywood. Come on, Doctor."
Chapter Thirty-five
Hammond stood under the glare of portable arc lamps at the entrance to a mid-Wilshire parking garage, facing a bank of microphones from every local radio and TV news operation. Reporters stretched before him in a semicircle of faces and lenses. He imagined that he could see his reflection in each lens, and he wished again that he were wearing his dress blues.
Behind him was Captain Turkle, commanding officer of the Wilshire Area station, a man who plainly did not enjoy being upstaged. Hammond couldn't blame him. Turkle's people had done the work and made the connections, and now the deputy chief had swooped in to steal the glory. Life was unfair sometimes. But Hammond didn't feel too bad about it. He looked a lot better on camera than Turkle. He was better able to represent the department. And it was the department that mattered, not anybody's personal ambitions.
Yeah, right.
"The Saab was recovered at seven-thirty this evening," he was saying in a smooth, measured cadence. "A security guard at this garage was making his rounds when he saw the vehicle parked in a reserved space. He recognized the car and its license plate number from media reports. Because there was a possibility that the suspect was still in the garage, the building was immediately sealed oft. LAPD's D Platoonour SWAT unitthen executed a floor-by-floor search and determined that the garage was clear.
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