by Lee Killough
Once he managed to access the records program, he found that, as he suspected, Carrasco was fairly clean locally…a couple of arrests for suspicion of burglary, one for passing stolen checks…the charges dismissed in each case. The lack of convictions explained how he landed the country club job. Sacramento, though, listed several convictions in L.A., the last being for burglary eight years ago. The date of the conviction, Cole noticed, was three months prior to the date on the memorial service program. So Carrasco might have died in jail.
Exiting the program, Cole saw Hamada had still not come in. No problem. That might give him time for a couple of messages.
He was finishing the first — Did Benay TAKE her flight? — when Hamada and Razor walked in. Hamada picked up the affidavits and warrants on Dennis’s desk. Cole thought fast. He wanted them to see this, so he better attract their attention now. Once Hamada had the warrants signed, he would probably head straight back for Sara’s apartment.
Cole yelled, “Razor…come look at the computer!”
As he hoped, caught unaware, Razor heard…and automatically turned before freezing.
Hamada glanced around from reading. “Something wrong?”
Razor turned away. “No.”
Damn it! Cole stepped up on the nearest desk. “You son of a bitch! How much longer are you going to stay in denial!”
Hamada stared Cole’s direction, but obviously saw nothing. Then his eyes shifted toward the computer. He strolled over. Dennis and Razor followed…Razor looking as though he were being dragged by his tie. Cole heard his heart racing.
Studying the monitor, Hamada shook his head. “It’s a real epidemic.”
“Padilla was the last one I saw over here,” Dennis said.
“Padilla wasn’t near Galentree’s computer, though, and sure not at the Flaxx offices.” Hamada raised a brow at Razor. “You positive you don’t have any ideas about this?”
Razor shook his head. “I haven’t touched the computers either.”
Touched the computers! Inspiration hit Cole. Maybe that would do the trick!
Once when he and Razor broke up a fight and chased one of the combatants to his house, the glass panel in the door triggered an idea. He had nudged Razor and shined his flashlight at the glass. “Make a shadow dog.” Razor understood immediately. Grinning, he put his hands in the light beam, creating the silhouette of a dog’s head on the glass. While Razor made deep barking sounds, wiggling his little fingers to work the dog’s jaw, Cole called, “Don’t make us send in the dog!”
Incredibly, the subject had slunk out and surrendered. The phrase sending in the dog had been a running joke with them ever since.
Cole jumped off the desk and thrust his hands into the computer screen from the side. The screen went crazy, creating a dog head-shaped area of chaos. “Don’t make me send in the dog, Razor!”
Dennis and Hamada blinked. “What the hell…” Dennis began.
Razor stopped breathing. “Oh, shit.” He stumbled backward. Hamada and Dennis turned to stare at him, but he left the office walking as fast as someone could without running.
Cole chased after him. “Razor…”
Razor began running. At the elevators he almost collided with a pair of waiting Robbery detectives as he pushed past them to the stairwell.
Swearing silently, Cole followed but said nothing until Razor reached the ground floor and bolted out through the rear entrance into the parking lot. Then he raced ahead and planted himself in Razor’s path. “Damn it, stop running away!”
Razor halted, squeezing his eyes shut. “This isn’t happening.”
Which meant Razor still saw him! Cole grinned at him. “Yes it is, old buddy. Dennis and Hamada saw what happened to the computer screen, too, so you know you’re not flipping out. Admit it. I’m here and you see me. Now let’s talk.”
Razor dug out his cigarettes and lit one, hands shaking so much the lighter flame scorched the middle of the cigarette before connecting with the end. Even while taking a deep drag, he shook his head. “I need a drink.”
“That won’t make me disappear.” Cole slugged Razor’s shoulder in exasperation. “Why are you being so damn pig-headed!”
Razor reeled back, though Cole doubted he felt the blow.
A trio from the decoy squad eyed him as they headed for the rear entrance. “You okay?” asked one with a two-day stubble and the grimy clothes of a vagrant.
“Fine.” Razor dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. “I need to quit these things.”
The three exchanged raised eyebrows as they went on inside.
Razor frowned after them, hunching his shoulders. “Even if I’m not nuts, I look it.”
“So pretend to be talking on your cell phone.”
Razor glanced at him, then quickly away. He fumbled the cigarettes out again and lit another. “This is crazy.”
It was maddening, all right. “Terrific. What a welcome. You moan and groan and want me to go away. I thought you’d be glad to see me.”
Razor took a shaky drag on the cigarette before answering. “Alive, yes. But…” He grimaced.
“So till death us do part applies to friendship, too?”
Razor stiffened and flushed. “It’s just…” He shook his head.
“Impossible? But…ta-da…” Cole spread his arms wide. “Here I am. What’s that Shakespeare quote you use, about Heaven and Earth being full of weirder things than we ever expect.”
“I never expected anything like this.” Razor took another long drag. “But maybe that is really you.” The wry tone steadied his voice. “If you were my imagination, I’d have the quote correct.” He paused. “So…that wasn’t a dream last night? Even walking on the ceiling?”
Cole quashed his impatience. Of course Razor needed time to accept this. Except…if Sara were still alive, how much time did they have to pull her out of danger. “I wasn’t a dream. And now there’s more to tell you. But first…the guys from the decoy squad are coming back. Pretend to be on the phone.”
“So they won’t think I’m talking to myself? But hell, I probably am.” Still, he pulled out the phone, and as the trio passed him, held it to his ear. “What more?”
Cole filled him in about Irah, the conversation with Flaxx, her house, Carrasco’s record, and Sherrie overhearing Brewer at the hospital.
Razor listened without interruption, though he punctuated the recitation with grimaces and twitches suggesting a continued internal struggle to revise his concept of reality. When Cole finished, he shook his head. “I don’t know. Even if you’re right about Flaxx’s sister, we can’t get into her place without probable cause.”
Cole snorted. “I know that. So help me find some.”
“You have any ideas?”
“Call one of your Pig Bowl friends in L.A. and have him run Irah’s name. Maybe she’s had arrests without charges. I’d also like a copy of hubby’s record, including known associates.” Cole lifted his brows. “Maybe she keeps in touch with old friends. She could be fencing the stuff from the burglaries through one of them.”
“Okay.” Razor pitched his cigarette butt and brought up the names list on his phone. After calling one and identifying himself several times to individuals on the other end he finally said, “Yo, Pascullo. This is Kevin Rasgorshek in San Francisco. How they hangin’, man. Are you still working on that Cobra replica? … Great. How’d you do? … That isn’t bad. Say, I wonder if you can help me out.”
Minutes later he had his notebook open on the hood of a car, taking down what the L.A. officer read off his computer. Cole read as Razor wrote. They had nothing on Irah, except as Scott Carrasco’s wife, but plenty on Carrasco himself. Suspicion of auto theft, burglary, suspicion of burglary, suspicion of receiving stolen property, passing stolen checks, forged checks. All his sentences were served in the L.A. county jail. Where his last cellmate shanked him for a carton of cigarettes.
Then one comment from Pascullo pleased Cole. They suspected Carrasco of
having an accomplice, possibly a small, thin male. Carrasco denied it, however, and they were never able to make him give up the name. Small and thin. Cole grinned. Irah. Carrasco might well have played the gallant knight and taken the fall by himself to protect her.
According to Pascullo, Carrasco gave his profession as a stunt driver and movie extra. Working as an extra would give Irah experience with makeup and disguises.
“Got it. Can you fax me all that?” Razor gave a number. “Just mark it for my attention. Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Where’s it going?” Cole asked when Razor disconnected.
Razor flinched. Still spooked by his presence, Cole guessed. “The Central Station. It should be waiting when we get there.”
“You’re thinking of going now?” Cole raised his brows. “What about shadowing Hamada?”
“After the way I bolted out of there?” Razor grimaced. “He’ll expect an explanation.”
Cole grinned. “You could always tell him the truth. He won’t believe you.”
Razor grunted. “Right. Then he’ll have me hauled away to the funny farm.” He sighed. “Maybe I should be.”
Give him time, Cole reminded himself. “So make him think about something else. Tell him you’ve had a tip that Flaxx’s sister has criminal connections. Say your CI — which I am — heard she did burglaries and auto theft with her husband, though she never got caught because hubby always took the fall alone.”
Razor shook his head. “He’ll be interested for maybe five minutes…until I tell him Carrasco is dead and I don’t have anything more than rumor about Irah.”
“That’s fine. The point is…” Cole slung an arm across Razor’s shoulders. “…you’ll be back there. By this time Hamada could be ready to have the warrants signed. But when he goes to the apartment, he won’t be looking for evidence that someone besides Sara packed.”
Razor eyed him for a long minute. “I need my head examined, taking suggestions from a ghost.” Still, he headed back for the Hall.
Falling into step with him, Cole grunted in mock disappointment. “You make me feel so appreciated.”
After a glance at a pair of uniformed officers, engrossed in their own conversation and cigarettes, Razor raised a brow. “How do I know whether you’re right…or should I say, how do I know whether you’re dead right or dead wrong?”
Cole grinned. They were making progress.
Inside, a group including uniformed officers and a pair of public defenders also waited for the elevator. To avoid one of them intruding into his space, Cole walked up the wall until abreast of the doors’ top. Razor started, then pulled off his glasses and concentrated on polishing them on his tie.
Cole strolled on up to the ceiling. “Look, Razor, I’m Dracula.” He grabbed the edges of his suit coat and wrapped it around him as though folding bat wings.
Razor polished his glasses harder.
The elevator doors opened. Cole hurried inside, keeping against the overhead panels. Razor put his glasses back on and stared at his feet.
When the doors opened on the Bureau floor, however, Razor lifted his head. Hamada stood outside. Cole reached down to walk his fingers across Razor’s neck. “The gods are kind today.” He slipped out of the elevator.
Razor followed, halting beside Hamada. “I was just coming back to see you.”
Hamada’s gaze searched him. “To talk about computers freaking you out?”
Razor flushed. “To let you know about an interesting call from an informant. If you’re headed down to have the warrants signed, let me walk along and tell you on the way.”
The down elevator looked crowded. Cole opted for the stairs and rejoined Razor as he and Hamada walked around to the judges’ chambers. They halted outside Judge Barbour’s door. A good choice. Barbour wanted the ducks lined up and she could smell creative probable cause from across the room, but she tended to give officers the benefit of the doubt on iffy points.
“Interesting,” Hamada said when Razor finished, “but…don’t you reckon Dunavan would have heard any rumors about the sister? He never said anything to you, did he?”
Razor hesitated. “No. But a buddy of mine in the LAPD ix faxing me a list of Carrasco’s known associates. Even though he never gave up the name of his accomplice, I’m thinking maybe a former pal will tell us if it was Carrasco’s wife.”
Hamada grunted skeptically. “We’ll see. It doesn’t sound like there’s any more evidence of her involvement in the burglaries, though, than there is for Flaxx.” He knocked on the chamber door.
It opened almost immediately. Judge Barbour smiled at them, a rawboned horse of a woman that rumor liked to whisper had been born male, despite three children proving the contrary. “Come in, Inspectors.”
Just Hamada went.
Razor leaned against the wall outside to wait. “How can I tell whether she packed or someone else did?”
He had a point, Cole realized. Like Sherrie, Sara must have favorite clothes for trips. But only someone who knew her well would recognize whether the “right” clothes were gone.
“Kenisha Hayes might be able to tell,” Cole said. “I’ll go on to the apartment and see if I can spot anything that will justify you suggesting Hayes have a look. Catch you there.”
16
After two tries, he managed to ziptrip to the street outside Sara’s building again. Hunting a reason to bring in Hayes frustrated him, however. How did he make Hamada care about which clothes had been packed. As far as he could tell, the choices were appropriate for a warm climate. The shoe racks had gaps in the section of casual shoes and sandals. One of the partially open drawers still held a few shorts, t-shirts, and tank tops.
Cole leaned on the dresser, drumming his fingers while he peered around. There must be something here they could use to-
A woman’s distant scream broke into the thought. A scream that kept repeating.
He rushed into the front room and through the window to where he could see down the street. A block and a half away, people gathered in the street. The posture of one indicated she was screaming. Smoke rose into the air.
For a moment it took him back to 1989, settling in to watch the World Series at Razor’s apartment while Sherrie and Razor’s first wife Jessie fussed over the five-week-old twins. Only to have the world suddenly wrench beneath them. As the boards and cinder-block bookcase collapsed, dishes spilled from the kitchen cupboard, and beer cans toppled over on the coffee table, they stared at each other, sharing the same terrified thought: was this the Big One? With no memory of having moved, he found himself in the street, leaning against a parked car for support, an arm around Sherrie and each of them holding one twin. The ground continued its spasms for what seemed an eternity. When it went still, for a few moments the world felt eerily silent. Then he heard screams and saw smoke rising into the afternoon sky. Exchanging one glance with Razor, he had thrust Travis at Jessie and the two of them ran toward the screams.
Reflex set Cole running toward today’s screams, too…angling down to the street.
As he came nearer, the screaming resolved into a man’s name. “Steve! Steve! No! Come back!”
The smoke poured from the doorway and a second floor window of a three-story apartment building. This Steve must be playing hero, going back inside to rescue something.
“Has anyone called 911?” Cole shouted.
Distant sirens, one paired with the air horn of a fire truck, answered that question. Moments later a man staggered out of the smoke with a yowling pet carrier. Bleeding scratches covered his hands. In the middle of the street he set down the carrier and collapsed to his knees, coughing.
The woman went down beside him, bursting into tears as she embraced both him and the carrier. “That was crazy!”
“Is anyone else still inside?” Cole called toward the bystanders. He thought he heard pounding and a faint voice.
He ran to the door, straining to hear. He did hear someone inside. A thumping came from an upper floor alo
ng with a muffled cry for help. He hesitated, staring into the smoke, then laughed at himself. What was he afraid of? Smoke inhalation? Burning to death?
He charged through the smoke into the hallway and up the stairs two at a time toward the second floor. The pounding and cries for help sounded higher, on the third floor. A woman’s voice. Flames ate at the upper steps and the hallway carpet. Shaking away the reflex that said to run away from fire, he plunged into it.
And halted in amazement. With flames surrounding him, a tremendous surge of energy filled him…even more than a vehicle running through him. Simultaneously, the flames died in the space he occupied…as if he had sucked them in.
A faint cry upstairs abruptly reminded Cole of the reason he came in. He raced to the third floor stairs. Maybe he could use the fire suppression thing to help the woman.
Or not. Smoke filled the hall.
The pounding came from a spot toward the rear of the building. Cole passed through the wall by the sound and found himself in a bathroom. An elderly woman with one arm in a cast used her good arm to slap the handle of a toilet plunger against the wall in time with her calls for help. Wet towels filled the gap under the door. She had filled the bathtub and soaked herself in it. Water dripped from her slacks, blouse, and hair. After preparing herself to run for safety, had the smoke grown too thick for her to brave, or the fire had reached the stairs? Now she was trapped. The bathroom had no window.
Her only hope was to leave her sanctuary and go to the front window, where she could be seen by the firefighters on the trucks he heard arriving. Could he make her hear him so he could give her instructions?
Passing into the bedroom, however, he found it full of smoke, too. To stay under it and reach the front window, she needed to belly crawl. Could she manage that?
“Hello. Hello in there!” Oh for the ability to knock on the door! So much energy filled him, he felt he should be able to. His voice even felt more robust. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”
A gasp of relief came through the door. “Oh, thank God. Yes! I hear you.”