by Robert Crais
A professional voice answered when he called.
"Ms. Chenier's office."
"Guess who?"
Loretta Bean's professional voice melted into warm, Southern comfort. Loretta was Lucy's assistant.
"You dog. You don't call here often enough, and I miss your smart mouth."
"I was falling in lust with you, Loretta. I had to stop calling before I embarrassed myself."
"The terrible things you say, you should be embarrassed, but I love every minute of it. Would you like Ms. Chenier?"
"In more ways than you know."
"You awful dog. Hold on and I'll get her."
Cole was placed on hold and found himself listening to canned music. Harry Connick, Jr., on the piano. He was on hold so long Harry transitioned to Branford Marsalis before she came on the line.
"Hey, you. Sorry I took so long. I was on with a client."
Hearing her voice, warmth spread through him despite the twinge of discomfort he felt these days when he called. He tried not to phone her as often as he once did, but that was more for her than him. He didn't want to push. He didn't want her to cringe when he called.
"No worries. I bill by the hour."
She laughed.
"Then I'm happy to help. We here at Rotolo, Fourrier, Day, and Chenier want you to make lots of money."
"Got a few minutes? I could call back later if now isn't good."
The joking in her voice was replaced by a warm contralto that always made him feel they were the only two people in a remote mountain cabin.
"Sure, hon. Hang on-"
She told Loretta not to put anyone through, then returned to their conversation.
"Everything good?"
"I'm looking for background on a woman named Dru Rayne and a man named Wilson Smith, both of whom claim to be from New Orleans."
"Uh-huh. And why does the word 'claim' draw my attention?"
"Joe knows the woman, and I'm not convinced she's been honest with him about their circumstances or even about who they are."
"When you say involved, you mean like boyfriend-girlfriend?"
Cole described how Pike saved Wilson Smith from the beating, and subsequently met Dru Rayne. He left out the parts about Latin gangs, abductions, and bodies cut so badly their heads were almost severed. The violence he encountered as part of his job was what drove Lucy away.
When he finished, Lucy shifted into lawyer mode.
"All right, first, are we talking about a potential crime here? Is Joe giving them money?"
Cole hesitated, realizing he would have to describe parts of the situation he had hoped to avoid.
"No, it isn't like that. They've disappeared. They might be in trouble, so we're trying to find them."
Lucy was quiet for a moment, and Cole hoped he wouldn't have to tell her Pike was being questioned about the murders of two Venice gangbangers.
"When you say disappeared, are you speaking of a voluntary disappearance or a forced disappearance?"
"Could be either."
"Damnit, Elvis, you should be speaking with the police, not me."
"The police are doing their thing and we're doing ours."
"Why isn't that a surprise?"
"My concern now is Joe. He's all in, and I'm just trying to make sure he's in for the right reason. I'm also trying to figure out what kind of trouble these people are in."
"Hang on-I'll call him back. No more calls now, Loretta, I am out of the office-all right, hon, I'm back. Tell me what I can do."
Cole smiled, and loved the way she said it without hesitation. Tell me what I can do.
"If I can locate someone who knows them, maybe I can get a line on what's happening. Getting a line is the problem. All I have are their names. No former addresses, no social security numbers, no last known addresses, nothing. I don't even have a picture of these people."
"I understand. I'm thinking-"
She fell silent, and Cole let her think.
"They left with the storm?"
"That's what I'm told. I don't know if it's true."
"He owned a restaurant in New Orleans?"
"Owned or worked in, I don't know which, and I don't even know if it's true. He's a cook."
"Okay, pretending it's true, do you have a name for the place?"
"Sorry, Luce."
She fell silent again.
"The storm was so many years ago. There were sites and services for refugees to reconnect with missing family, but I don't know if those things still exist. Did you meet Terry when you were here?"
Terry Babinette was the investigator used by Lucy's firm. He was a retired Baton Rouge Police detective.
"Shook his hand."
"Let me talk it over with him to see if he has any ideas."
"That would be terrific, Lucille. Thank you."
"Why aren't you convinced?"
Cole didn't understand.
"About what?"
"Earlier, you said you weren't convinced they were honest with Joe. Why aren't you convinced?"
Cole propped his foot on the edge of his desk, feeling bad all over again with the deep-in-the-gut fear you might lose something precious.
"I have reason to believe their relationship is not as they've described it."
"Joe and Dru?"
"Dru and her uncle."
Elvis described his conversation with Steve Brown, then repeated the things Jared Palmer told him.
Lucy sounded hollow when she spoke.
"Oh my God."
"Uh-huh."
"Do you believe this kid?"
"He's been spot-on about everything else. And Brown was furious. Smith's been living there without his knowledge, and he's been talking to the woman every couple of weeks. That makes her a liar. She told Joe she moved in with Wilson, not the other way around, so that makes her a liar twice. So she could be lying about their relationship, too."
"What does Joe think?"
Cole hesitated, because this had been eating at him since he spoke with Jared.
"Joe doesn't know. I haven't told him."
"Oh, man, this is so hard."
"I'd like to have more than Jared's word before I lay this on him."
Neither of them said anything for a very long time.
"I miss you, Luce."
"I know, baby. I miss you, too. What are you going to do?"
"Talk to you. I guess that's why I called."
She sighed. A long, slow breath into the phone that he wanted to feel on his skin.
"Do you believe this boy?"
"Yeah. I can't prove it. I have nothing but his word for it, but after what Brown said, I believe him. I believe he was telling the truth."
"Tell him."
Cole nodded to himself, but found nothing to say.
"The longer you wait, the worse it will be. Do you understand that?"
"Yeah."
"Joe's built to save people. That's how he sees himself, and that's who he is. He's trying to save her, so whatever he feels for her, it will get deeper."
"I know."
"I know you know. That's you, too. That's why you two found each other, and why you're joined at the hip. It's why you do what you do."
Cole rubbed his left eye. His throat felt thick.
"Is that why I lost you?"
"You didn't lose me, baby. Here we are. If he wants to save her, fine, but he deserves to know who he's saving."
"Being a friend is hard."
"If it was easy, anyone could do it."
"I love smart women."
"Smart women love you."
"I'd better go."
"Call me later."
Cole put down the phone. It was still early, but he had plenty to do, and Lucy had given him a good idea. He scanned the list of food purveyors and suppliers Smith had dealt with. All were people in the food and restaurant business who probably swapped stories about cooks, cooking, and the good and bad restaurants where they worked. It was possible Smith mentioned a New Orle
ans restaurant where he had worked, or maybe a chef he had worked with, and one of the people on the list might remember. Having a place to start would make Lucy's job easier.
Cole opened a fresh bottle of water, pulled the phone close, and got back to work.
26
Elvis Cole
Cole was still at his office later that day when Pike phoned, saying he was coming over to fill Cole in about the bodies. Cole suggested they meet at his house, saying he would make dinner while they talked, and they could have a few beers. Cole did not mention Dru or Wilson, or the sick feeling he had from the ugly news he was about to share with his friend.
The twilight sun melted into a magenta haze as Cole crept up the hill toward home. The traffic on Laurel Canyon was brutal, so Cole took a neighborhood bypass, winding between the trees and gated homes up Outpost Drive to Mulholland. Cole drove a yellow 1966 Stingray Convertible, and liked it a lot. It ran well and was fun to drive, but Cole didn't wash it often, so it was dirty. Pike washed his Jeep every day. Its immaculate red skin was so slick with polish, Cole joked that dirt probably blew off with the wind. Thinking about Pike's gleaming Jeep left Cole feeling sad. It would have been a lovely drive home, any other night, with the Stingray's top down and the cool canyon air scented with eucalyptus and wild fennel. Any other night, it would have been fine.
Home was a redwood A-frame on a narrow street off Woodrow Wilson Drive at the top of a canyon. The little house was a two-bedroom, two-bath fixer Cole bought during a flush year before prices went crazy. If he wanted to buy it today, he couldn't. There was no yard to speak of, what with being perched on a drop-away slope, but a deck across the back of the house gave Cole a great view of the canyon and glimpse of the city.
Cole pulled into the carport, and let himself in through the kitchen. A black cat was on the counter. It looked at its bowl when Cole walked in, and made a soft mrp.
"Okay. Let's get you squared away."
Cole put out fresh food and water, then helped himself to a beer. Negro Modelo. The cat looked up from the food.
"Mrp."
"Okay, but not too much."
Cole poured a little beer into a saucer.
The cat had come with the house, and had been part of Cole's life longer than any living thing except Joe Pike. It was a mean animal, and given to attacking people. Cole did not know why. Once, a heating and air-conditioning repairman was working on the forced-air unit in Cole's hall closet. The repairman was kneeling in the door with his back to the hall when the cat climbed his back and bit him on the neck four times. Cole's insurance company settled the claim, but Cole had to do a personal job off the books for his broker to get a new policy.
"It's going to be a tough night, bud."
The cat bumped his hand with surprising gentleness, then went back to eating.
The house was warm from being closed all day, so Cole opened the big deck doors. He took a small skirt steak from the freezer to thaw, then rinsed a large can of white beans and put them aside to drain. The first Modelo was gone by then, so he helped himself to a second, drinking it while he sliced zucchini, Japanese eggplant, and two large tomatoes for the grill. The joy of cooking was oblivion. Slicing and seasoning made it easier not to think. The Modelo went a long way toward helping that, too.
When the vegetables were good to go, Cole went upstairs, changed into a T-shirt, then returned to the deck to fire up his Weber. The sky was a beautiful sangria by then, and inspired him to have another beer.
When Cole went in, Joe Pike was in the kitchen. Unannounced and silent as a ghost. The cat was twined between his ankles, purring. Pike was the only person besides Cole the cat would abide.
Cole tipped his empty toward the vegetables.
"White bean salad with grilled veggies we can share. Maybe a little couscous. Carne asada for me. Sound good?"
"Good."
Sure.
Notice how the loyal friend prepares his subject for the evening's festivities.
"I'm having a beer. Get one, then you can fill me in while I'm prepping the coals."
Pike took a beer from the fridge. Cole grabbed a third, and followed him out. The cat trailed behind them. He liked to watch the slope for field mice and gophers.
Cole pushed at the coals, which was a completely unnecessary act. Notice the immaculate technique as the World's Greatest Best Friend stalls the moment of truth.
"You go first, then I'll go. What happened with Mendoza and Gomer?"
Pike related what he knew about Mendoza, then moved on to Gomer. At first Cole only pretended to listen, but the graphic nature of their murders drew him in. Gomer's body was found behind the wheel of a car parked near the north end of Grand Canal. The blood in the vehicle suggested Gomer was killed at the scene. The first cut was likely a downward stab wound on the left side of the neck that sliced through the carotid artery, the esophagus, most of the surrounding musculature down to visible bone, and into the upper thorax. The second cut was drawn from the right ear across the throat to the base of the left ear, also exposing visible bone.
Pike said, "They didn't have a good time-of-death on Mendoza, but Gomer probably died between eleven P.M. and one A.M. this morning. When the cops cut me free, I checked the spot where they found him. He had a head-on view of Wilson's house. Mendoza was probably set up on the other side."
When Cole realized what Pike was saying, he held up a hand.
"Waitaminute. Are you telling me these guys were watching the house?"
"Yes."
"But that doesn't make sense. If they grabbed Wilson and Dru this morning, why go back to the house? What did they want?"
"Maybe someone Wilson and Dru told them about, but that's only a guess. It was probably the man who killed them. The light I saw in the upstairs bedroom when I called you this morning, that was probably the killer. The same man who jimmied the kitchen window."
Cole didn't like it, or what it might mean.
"Mendoza and Gomer came back for this guy, but he was already there. He saw them first, and took them out?"
Pike cocked his head the other way, and the tangerine sunset gleamed on his glasses.
"Yes. I think he was still watching the house when I was there this morning. I could feel him."
Cole prodded the coals, and watched firefly embers swirl in the heat. Everything had changed in the space of a day. A neighborhood shakedown had become an illusion. Vandalism and assault were a sleight-of-hand trick to hide something worse, and now Cole knew the magicians were liars. None of it was real, and probably never had been.
Pike's voice came from the embers.
"Now you."
Cole looked at his friend.
"I spoke with Steve Brown today, the man who owns Smith's house, and I had another talk with Jared. I have to tell you some things, and you're not going to like it. I don't think Dru has been honest with you."
Cole paused for Pike to react, but Pike gave him no more reaction than a department store mannequin. The cat left the edge of the deck, twined once through Pike's legs, then sat, its eyes narrow and watchful.
Cole put his bottle on the rail.
"Brown has never met Wilson Smith or heard of him. He let Dru use the house because they had a relationship. She was supposed to be there alone, and Brown was furious when he found out someone was living with her. He knew nothing about her uncle, or Dru working at Wilson's food place, or any of it. He believed she was living on alimony. Until we spoke this morning, he expected to resume their relationship when he returns."
Pike remained motionless, floating at the edge of the deck. Cole wished he could see behind the black glasses, but that view was hidden.
"After I spoke with Brown, I talked to Jared. Jared told me things that put the lie to everything this woman told you about herself. It's not good, Joe. It's pretty damned bad."
"What?"
The cat crouched at Pike's feet. Its tail snapped and twitched as Cole repeated Jared's story. Cole kept it brief, but left not
hing out.
"If you want to talk to him again, I'll go with you, but I believe Jared is telling the truth. When I left him, I took some things from their house that should have their prints, and gave them to John Chen. I don't know that these people are in the system, but they might be, and the prints might help us figure this out. Also, I spoke with Lucy. Until we hear back from Chen, all I could give her were their names, but her investigator is going to see what he can find in New Orleans. That's it. That's been my day."
Pike seemed to sway, as if pushed by a breeze, only the air was still.
"I'm sorry, man. If you want me to call off Chen and Lucy, I will."
Pike turned toward the canyon and placed his hands on the rail. Cole wondered if he needed the rail to stop swaying.
"No. Don't call them off."
"All right. You want another beer?"
Pike shook his head.
Cole said, "What do you want to do?"
"About what?"
"We're in this because you want to help this woman. I'm fine with that, but now, well, maybe things have changed."
"She still needs help."
"Okay. If that's what you want."
"That's what I want."
The cat whipped and twitched its tail at a furious rate, and its eyes were dangerous slits.
Cole said, "I'm sorry, man."
His phone rang. Cole wasn't going to answer, but decided to give Pike some time. He covered the grill then went inside for the phone. He scooped up the handset a second after the message machine, and spoke over the recording.
"Hey, I'm here. Don't hang up-it'll stop."
"Mr. Cole?"
Cole didn't recognize the man's voice.
"That's right. Who's this?"
"My name is Charles Laine. You were at my home today on the canal. You spoke with my housekeeper about my surveillance system."
Cole glanced outside to signal Pike, but Pike had left the rail.
"Yes, sir. Thanks for getting back to me."
"Not a problem. Is this about the police investigation? The police came by yesterday."
"Yes, sir, same thing, but I am not a police officer. I'm a licensed investigator working in private employ."
"I know. I have your card here. Irma says you asked if we record the camera feed."