“It’s totally normal.”
“This is not normal,” I said.
“It’s not good, man,” Nate said.
“No, it’s fine.” Henry leaned forward and put his hand back on my shoulder. “A few years ago, Sac PD shut down a number of their units. Narcotics and Vice, among them. They didn’t have funding to keep them going. Most of the officers were reassigned, but a select few consult directly with the FBI field office.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Nate said.
“Same.”
“I’m saying, this is how all the narcotics cases are investigated in Sac. They didn’t bring the FBI in just for you. You’re not special,” Henry said.
“You’re saying my mother lied to me?” Nate asked.
I smiled because he was trying to lighten the mood. But it didn’t help. This morning I was concerned that the chick I had slept with hadn’t stayed the whole night. Now, I was concerned that a Sac PD officer was consulting with the FBI to lock my ass up. Nothing could make me feel better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“There’s movement at the door,” Nate said.
I was reading through the articles Henry had given me for the third time. We had been waiting for an hour. The AC was running, but the SUV was hot and rapidly beginning to feel like a tomb.
“Who is leaving?” Henry grabbed the camera and started taking photos.
I watched as the door on the second floor balcony opened. The FBI guy came out first. Laurel followed him. She locked the door, and they started down the stairs running alongside the house.
“What’s the plan, Henry?” I asked.
“We need to follow them. Nate, get ready to go back to your car. You stay on him, okay?”
Nate nodded. “Sure. What about you guys?”
“We are going to follow her.”
Laurel and her buddy casually scanned the street. We froze even though there was no way they could see past our tinted windows. He went to his car and she followed. When she got in the passenger side, Henry whispered, “Yes.”
“What?” I asked.
“New plan. Nate, you follow them. Cash, we’re staying here.”
“Got it,” Nate said.
“We’re going to break in. Text us when they are far enough away,” Henry said. Nate and I looked at him like he had lost his shit.
“Get your head out of your ass,” I said.
“You want to find out how much she has on us? This is the best way.” Henry seemed confused.
“You just showed us that she’s a cop working with the FBI. How the fuck can you possibly deduce that breaking into her apartment is smart?” I asked.
“Guys, they’re leaving. I’m going to follow,” Nate said.
“Go,” Henry said.
Nate touched my arm. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Don’t worry. Get out of here.”
He nodded and got out of the SUV. We watched him jog back to his car. They turned the corner as he pulled out onto the street.
“Look, I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s the only way we will get any information. Why can’t you see that?” Henry asked.
“It’s colossally stupid.”
“Nate is watching her. It’s the best chance we will get. Why wouldn’t we go in?”
I tried to formulate a response. All I could think of was that it was a violation of her privacy. And considering that she had dated me, slept with me, to build a case against us, the violation argument was kind of null and void. “I don’t know. It seems wrong. I don’t do this kind of shit.”
“You broke into Jerome’s house without hesitation,” Henry said.
“Yeah, but that was to protect us. I have a responsibility to Nate and Clive and you.”
“How is this different?”
And that was it. It wasn’t. “Fuck.” I texted Nate, We’re going in. Give us a heads-up if she’s coming back.
He wrote back a minute later. Idiot. I’ve got u.
“Ready?” Henry asked.
“Yeah.”
Henry climbed over the seats to get to the front. He turned off the Suburban and pocketed the keys. He pulled two sets of latex gloves from the console and handed a pair to me. Then he grabbed a leather case and a small point-and-shoot camera off the passenger seat. I was still trying to figure out what was in the case when he climbed out. He leaned back in and asked, “You coming?”
“Yeah.” I followed him out.
We crossed the street as casually as possible. Henry led the way up the stairs. He pulled on his gloves so I followed suit.
“Keep an eye out.” Henry dropped to his knees and opened the case. It was a lock picking kit.
“You were planning this all along, weren’t you?” The kit and camera had been carefully set out.
“Yes, but I didn’t realize the opportunity would be so soon.” He wrestled with the lock for what felt like several minutes, then there was a small click as it tumbled open.
I walked in to Laurel’s apartment. For the second time that day, I felt like an intruder. But this was much worse than Robin’s side of the house. Here, it smelled like cedar and boot oil, soap and salt. The smell invoked a visceral response. I sucked in deep lungfuls of it and hated myself. Laurel’s apartment was clearly her sanctuary. It was a bit of a shotgun place. The small front room opened into a center room. The walls were painted in unapologetic, contrasting colors. Blue, olive, mustard. Bookcases lined the wall to my left. The books weren’t perfect, rather they were cultivated. Newer volumes were shelved with worn, faded texts. The titles seemed to be arranged according to a system other than the alphabet.
To my right was a desk next to a large window. It was an oak behemoth. Henry went straight to it. He took a photo before he started sorting through papers.
“Make sure you leave it the way you found it,” I said.
“I already took a picture for continuity. Do you think I’m a complete idiot?”
I chose not to answer. “I’m going to check the rest of the place.”
“Good. Don’t forget to pay attention to your phone.” He spread out some documents and photographed each of them in succession.
I left him to the desk and continued into the center room. There was a TV and a couch. The couch was stark mid century; the frame was solid wood. The walls were almost bare except for a few choice pieces of art. Her taste was impeccable. Somehow that made it worse. The space was exactly as I would have imagined it. It seemed that she hadn’t lied about herself. She was exactly who she had told me she was. The only lie she told was how she felt about me, what her intentions were.
Two doorways led out of the room. One to the kitchen, which led to the back patio. The other was a hallway that ended in her bedroom. I went there first. The bed was made in a half-assed sort of way. There was a pile of books on her bedside table. They were mostly worn books, well loved. Except the top book. It was a new copy of Nightwood.
The top of her dresser held a variety of items. A glass bowl with a handful of change, a few collar stays, a silver lighter. Two polished wooden boxes were roughly aligned with the back edge of the dresser. I opened the shorter one and found designer sunglasses. The other box was a valet. It held neatly arranged cuff links and tie clips. I lifted out the velvet insert and found jewelry. It was tossed in like an afterthought. The gold chains were tangled. The jeweled pendants piled haphazardly. A pair of pearl earrings were set in the corner. The back was missing from one of them. I replaced the shelf with the cuff links and closed the valet.
Her drawers mostly held clothing. No surprise there. Half of the top drawer was partitioned off for dozens of slim silk and wool ties. The other half held two empty gun holsters. One was a soft leather shoulder holster. The other was small and looked like it would slide inside a waistband. I shut the drawer.
The clothes she had worn last night were tossed toward the closet, but they hadn’t made it all the way. I glanced in the closet. Shoes were lined
up along the wall. Her oxfords and boots had been recently shined. That explained the smell of oil when we came in. Her clothes were hung military straight. Suits and pressed dress shirts. Chinos arranged by color. Police uniforms were at the back, still in their dry cleaner plastic. I stood there for an eternity, just staring at the perfect blue polyester. One was clearly a dress uniform of some sort. The tie and belt were meticulously hung with it. Somehow that seemed like the most offensive thing I could have found.
She had told me—convincingly—that her parents were overbearing, controlling, oppressive. Yet, she had joined their beloved police force. Those uniforms were cared for, loved. She wasn’t just a cop. She was proud of it.
I stumbled back into the bedroom. I almost tripped on the discarded pile of clothes. There were the shorts I had unbuttoned. There were the perfectly tight underwear that she had left on while I fucked her. I took long, shallow breaths as I tried to erase the memory. It didn’t work. I could still feel her moans against my lips. I still felt the soreness of bruises on my shoulders and arms. I could still feel the hot clench of muscles when she asked me to stay inside her.
I had been wrong when I thought breaking in here was a violation. This place was the violation. What she had done to me was a violation. I rushed back to the front of the apartment. Henry had given up on the papers and was rummaging through the drawers.
“Hey, you find anything?” he asked.
“No. I…I don’t think I can be in here.”
“Whoa, hey. Chill out, okay?”
I’d fallen for a woman who had lied about everything. Nothing. Everything that mattered. And Henry wanted me to chill out?
“I can’t. I need to go outside.”
“I’ll be faster if you help me.”
“Believe me, I’ll only slow you down. Give me the keys.” I held out my hand.
Henry looked annoyed but he handed over the keys. “Watch the street and pay attention to your cell phone.”
“Fine. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
*
Nate texted periodic updates on locations. He only sent cross streets so I knew how far away they were. Henry texted every twenty or so to make sure he was in the clear.
I studied the street and saw nothing. The apocalypse could have broken out in front of me and I wouldn’t have noticed a damn thing. The smell of her clung to me. I knew it was imaginary, but I couldn’t seem to rid myself of it. I glanced at Laurel’s windows but didn’t see any movement. Henry was a pro. Of course he wasn’t visible.
Laurel’s vintage truck was parked in front of the building. Once I noticed it, I couldn’t look away. I remembered the rumble of the engine and pop of the driver’s door opening. It felt so familiar.
As I watched the truck, a terrible idea started to form. Once it was there, it stayed. I gave up fighting after a minute and called Henry.
“Do I need to book it?”
“No. You’re still in the clear. They are up off Auburn Boulevard near Carmichael.”
“On Orange Grove?”
That was uncanny. “Yeah. You’re really good at this game.”
“They are at the FBI field office.”
I took a deep cleansing breath and didn’t feel cleansed at all. “Any chance you have a Slim Jim in here?”
Henry chuckled. “Aren’t you the little risk taker?”
“Fuck you.”
“Calm down. In the back there are a few bags of gear. The black tool bag should have one. Let me know when you find it and I’ll keep an eye on the street until you’re in.”
“Just a sec.” I set down the phone and climbed to the back. The tool bag was on the bottom of Henry’s gear pile. I hauled it onto the seat next to me. The Slim Jim was tucked along the side with a crowbar. I pulled it out and tossed the tool bag in the back. When I picked up the phone again, Henry was whistling Jeopardy! music. “Got it. Are you watching my back?”
“Yep. Just be cool and make it look like you belong. And open the passenger door so that no one can see you from the street.”
I let myself out and jogged across the street. I was sweating and it wasn’t from the heat. This was stupid. I glanced up and down the sidewalk. It was empty. This stretch of T Street was residential. Most of the tenants were at work. I pulled on another pair of gloves.
I slid the Slim Jim down the window, wriggled it into place, and failed to catch the lock. It took me three tries to get it, but then the lock popped up. I opened the door and jumped in.
I put the phone back to my ear. “I’m in. You can go back to ransacking.”
“There is no ransacking. I’m a goddamn artist.” He hung up.
The inside of the truck was pretty spare. The seats and dash were clean. The glove box held the usual contents. Registration for Laurel Kallen. Insurance for Laurel Kallen. Under that was a slim wallet. I opened it and found driver’s licenses for Laurel Collins, Laurel Thompson, and Laurel Greensburg. There were passports to match two of the aliases. There was also a bag of what appeared to be cocaine. And another of weed. Fascinating. I snapped cell phone photos of everything.
There was a small bench seat in back. It was littered with clothing that clearly didn’t belong to Laurel. There was a backpack that was not her style and a briefcase that looked more her speed. I took photos of the backseat with my phone before touching anything. Then I started in on the briefcase. It was a tragic fucking goldmine. My police file was disturbing in its breadth. The file on Nathan Xiao was sparse in comparison, but damning nonetheless.
I called Henry. “I need your camera.”
“Bring whatever you have up here and I’ll take photos. You’re too exposed.”
“Okay. I’ll be up in a minute.”
He hung up on me again. I glanced in the backpack and found more files. I flipped the first one open. Jerome St. Maris. Great, because I so wanted to be lumped in with that guy. My phone rang again. I swiped without looking.
“I told you, I’m coming up,” I said.
“Huh? Never mind. They’re heading back toward midtown,” Nate said.
“Fuck. How long do we have?”
“Fifteen, twenty minutes. Get your asses out of there.”
“On it.”
I grabbed the briefcase and the backpack. There wasn’t time to finish searching. I vaulted up the stairs two at a time and let myself into Laurel’s apartment.
“Cash?” Henry called.
“Yeah. We have fifteen minutes. Give me your camera.”
“Dammit.” Henry joined me at the desk.
I opened the briefcase and laid open my file. Henry started taking pictures. He cursed at each page. We had finished mine and Nate’s files when my phone rang again. It was Nate.
“We’re off the freeway. They are definitely headed back to her place. Are you out?”
“Shit. No.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“Okay.” I hung up. “We need to go. Is everything back in its place up here?”
Henry shook his head. “Give me two minutes. Go put that shit back in the truck.”
“But we haven’t finished.”
“We don’t have time. Go.”
I gathered the files and put them back in the briefcase in the order I’d found them.
Henry went back toward Laurel’s bedroom. I let myself out and ran down to the truck. I positioned the bags among the shit in the backseat, then checked my photos to make sure they were in the same spot. I grabbed the Slim Jim, locked and slammed the door closed. Behind me, there was pounding on the stairs as Henry sprinted down them. So much for being unobtrusive.
We climbed in the Suburban and started scanning the street. Three minutes later, we could see the black Impala approaching us. It stopped outside Laurel’s apartment. She got out, then leaned back in to say something. When she closed the door, she was smiling at whatever he had said. He waited until she opened her front door and waved at him, then he drove off.
Henry started the SUV and pulled o
nto the street. “Call Nate. Tell him to stay and watch Kallen’s place. If that fed hasn’t spotted the tail yet, he will soon. We can follow him.”
I did as Henry asked. I really didn’t want to be in this car anymore, but I didn’t have much of a choice. What I really wanted was to look at those photos and see what was in my file. No, that wasn’t right either. I wanted to go home and curl up with my cat and pretend none of this was happening. But that wasn’t an option either.
“Did you look in the backpack at all?”
“I glanced. It had a file on Jerome St. Maris. I assume the rest were on his buddies.”
“So you’re not her only focus?”
“I guess not.”
The Impala got back on 99 and headed south. He got off in Elk Grove and turned into a neighborhood. When he turned into a driveway, Henry continued on. I turned and watched him pull into the garage.
“Looks like Mr. FBI is home for the evening,” I said.
“Or home for a while at least.” Henry parked at the curb far enough away that we wouldn’t be obvious, but close enough that we could sort of see what was going on with the help of his big ass camera lens. Henry climbed into the backseat and got comfortable with his camera.
“What’s the plan? Just watch him and see if he stays?”
“It’s early still. I don’t trust that he’s going to stay home.”
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“That sucks.”
“Seriously. Do you have any food in here?”
“No. But there’s water.” Henry pointed at one of his bags.
“You brought latex gloves, two cameras, a bag of tools, a Slim Jim, a lock pick kit, but no food?” Clearly, I picked the wrong guy to be on my team. Nate would have brought snacks.
“Three cameras. And all of my equipment makes perfect sense.”
“Food makes sense.”
Henry shrugged and continued watching the FBI guy’s house.
I pulled out my phone and did a search for restaurants. We were a quarter mile from a strip mall. Suburbia was a fascinating place.
“There’s a deli in walking distance. I’m going for sandwiches. You want something?”
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