Try Darkness

by James Scott Bell

“How do you expect—”

  “Shut up. You always do that. Five million is not much for the church. You use your lawyer skills and convince them to do that. You let me worry about getting it out of them down in good old Mexico. I’ll take care of that part. And that’s it. The little girl comes back to you all safe and sound.”

  I waited. He said nothing. I said, “What if they don’t—”

  “Make sure they do.”

  “How much time do I have?”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to check on your progress. There better be some.”

  He hung up.

  Sister Mary and Father Bob waited patiently for me to tell them what was what.

  “He wants the Catholic church to pony up five million dollars. He wants it transferred to the church in Mexico. That way he avoids the feds. Is there any way to do this?”

  “Five million?” Sister Mary said.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “So we try to get the money,” Sister Mary said. “We talk to the superior.”

  “Oh, that will be fun.”

  Father Bob said, “Who would want to do this?”

  “What are those seven deadly sins?” I asked Sister Mary.

  “Lust, gluttony, avarice, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride.”

  “Avarice,” I said.

  “An inordinate love of riches,” Father Bob said.

  “But maybe this is just the tip,” I said. “Someone wants something out of the church. Money. But maybe it’s more.”

  “How so?” Sister Mary said.

  “Maybe it’s just my intricate criminal mind, but what if the DeCosses are behind this? They put financial pressure on the church, the church answers out of concern for Kylie.”

  Father Bob rubbed his head. “You’re saying that the whole thing is a plan to move some land deal?”

  “I’m saying that’s one thing that springs to mind. I know I haven’t got any evidence to prove it. But somebody knew a lot about Kylie, about me, about this place, about where the best place to pull the snatch was.”

  “There couldn’t be that many people who fit,” Sister Mary said.

  “No,” I said. “There couldn’t.”

  My cell bleeped.

  141

  “THIS IS LIEUTENANT Brosia. I’m not disturbing you any, am I?”

  I looked at Father Bob and Sister Mary. “No, not at all.”

  “I’d like to talk to the girl again. How’s she doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Well that’s just great. Where is she?”

  “Someone’s watching her.”

  “I’d like to come see her.”

  “Not right now,” I said. The rule from the Voice was no cops, and I wasn’t ready to violate that rule yet. Not with Kylie still out there.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want her disturbed yet, that’s all. Maybe later. Maybe I can—”

  “Mr. Buchanan, I have this feeling that you’re not being—”

  “Talk to me later.”

  “I want to talk to the girl.”

  “I’ll bring her to you when she’s ready.”

  “Are you her doctor now?”

  “I’m whoever it is that’s looking out for her, that’s who I am.”

  “I can force the issue, you know.”

  “I’m asking that you don’t.”

  “I don’t like it when I think somebody’s hiding the ball.”

  “I’ll hand you the ball, Lieutenant. I’ll hand you a whole playground-full. Just give me time.”

  He paused. “I’d really like to believe you will. But I’m having trouble with that.”

  “We’ve all got troubles,” I said.

  142

  IT WAS A little before five in the morning. I’d managed to get a little more sleep, dreaming about monsters with big teeth. Seeing Kylie in the middle of them. They were monsters drawn in crayon.

  I woke up to a pounding on my door.

  Groggy, I opened it. Thought it might be Father Bob.

  It was Sister Mary, standing out there in the dark. “Listen,” she said. “There was no wind in most of the city last night. I checked the weather reports, the National Weather Service, all the local news stations.”

  “So maybe he’s far away?” I tried to shake the sleep out of my head. It stayed. I realized I was standing there in a T-shirt and boxers. I said, “I’m not decent.”

  “It’s just like a basketball uniform. A bad one. Don’t worry about it. But if there wasn’t any wind, I mean around the city, I thought I’d check outlying areas.”

  “It could be anywhere. But you’re on the right track.”

  “I wish I had more resources. All we’ve got is a single desktop.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “I know a guy,” I said. “A guy who can help.”

  143

  I TOOK SISTER Mary with me to DuPar’s. I needed pancakes and plenty of coffee. At eight o’clock we were back in traffic, heading to the west side.

  To the offices of Jonathan Blake Blumberg.

  He saw me immediately. I introduced him to Sister Mary.

  “We use your security cameras at the abbey,” she said.

  “My stuff?”

  “It’s the best,” she said. “I was the one who picked it out.”

  A big smile spread across his face. “I like you,” he said.

  “You’re two for two, Q,” I said. “Your tracker is tracking and that little iProd worked wonders.” I had him sit down—not easy to get him to do—and told him everything. His face remained impassive as he listened. Like this was not something surprising or outrageous.

  There was a rumor that Jonathan Blake Blumberg had once been a shooter for the CIA. He told me as much himself. The CIA would never confirm this, of course. But I couldn’t help feeling that it was true.

  When I finished he tapped his lips with his index finger a couple of times. He swiveled in his chair and looked out his office window toward Santa Monica and the ocean.

  He stayed that way for half a minute, then swiveled back.

  “I’m going to give you something,” he said. “A digital stick to record your calls. I want you to get this guy’s voice, then bring it to me. The moment he calls you and you get the voice, I want you to contact me. Because time is running out on the girl. Tell him you can only get eighty-five thousand right now, but you’ll keep working on the rest. I will arrange the transfer of the money. It will come from offshore right into the coffers of that church in Mexico.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” I said.

  “I’m not asking you to ask me,” he said.

  144

  BLUMBERG SHOWED ME how to attach the device to my phone. Now it was a matter of waiting for the call.

  I drove to the beach, near the Santa Monica pier. If Sister Mary and I had to wait, why not wait where there was some life going on?

  We found a bench and looked down at the sea. Rollerbladers and old couples passed in front of us. On the sand people threw Frisbees, while the pier buzzed with tourists. Life was going on. I envied all of them.

  Sister Mary was pensive. Silent.

  “We’ve got to believe we’ll get her back,” I said.

  She managed a smile.

  “Look who I’m telling to believe,” I said.

  “There’s hope for you yet.”

  “I’m not taking that to the bank just yet, but thanks.”

  The breeze was nice and it wasn’t too warm, and we sat for another hour or so. Then the call came.

  145

  “WHEN CAN I expect a transfer?” the voice asked.

  “A couple days,” I said.

  “That’s not soon enough.”

  “You’re talking about a lot of money. You can’t just walk up to the cardinal and say, ‘Do it, please.’ And this abbey doesn’t have the resources on its own.”

  “That’s why I had you drive out to the pay phone,” he said. “I saw what you can do when you put your mind to something
.”

  “I want to talk to Kylie.”

  “We’ve been over that—”

  “You want money? Give me Kylie. You’re going to be a rich man. You can be benevolent.”

  “I can be what?”

  “You can throw me a bone. Come on.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up.” I said it before I thought about it. “Let me talk to Kylie and I’ll get you money. I can get you eighty-five large right now. You owe me an exchange.”

  “I don’t owe you a thing, man.”

  “You want the money, I talk to her now.”

  He hung up.

  146

  “I HOPE I didn’t blow it,” I said. “And I hope I got his voice on this thing.”

  I handed the digi stick to Sister Mary.

  “He didn’t understand the word ‘benevolent,’” I said. “We’re not dealing with an educated guy.”

  “What do we do with that?”

  “It’s just more data to put in the pan.” I stopped because of the picture in my mind. “If anything happens to her . . .”

  Sister Mary put her hand on mine. A good, strong hand.

  My phone buzzed again.

  “I’m going to be right here,” the voice said.

  Then I heard, “Ty?”

  “Kylie, are you okay?”

  “I don’t like this place. Come get me.”

  Voice said, “That’s all.”

  In the background I heard Kylie yell, “No!”

  “Six o’clock,” Voice said. “If the eighty-five isn’t there, well, then that’ll be that.”

  I sensed he was bluffing. He was this close to getting some serious money and wasn’t going to kill Kylie. Yet.

  “What about the big money?” I said.

  “I’m going to give you a couple of days longer for that,” he said. “If you come through now.”

  “You’re not going to get anything until we decide how the exchange is going to take place.”

  “I’ll tell you that later.”

  “Just so you know, just so there are no surprises, you’re going to bring Kylie to a place where I can see her. I will okay the transfer, and then you will let Kylie go.”

  He clicked off.

  147

  I CALLED B-2 with the transfer numbers. Then he told us to meet him at his house in Marina del Rey.

  House? That’s like calling Disneyland a playground.

  The elaborate security system outside looked like a TV studio. Made me think of Sam DeCosse’s place on steroids. Inside the walls it was a juiced Steven Spielberg movie. Part landing pad from Close Encounters and landscaping by Indiana Jones.

  Inside it was A.I.

  A young guy in black jeans, who said he was part of Blumberg’s R & D team, let us inside the ultramodern abode. He took us to the second floor, where B-2 had about a thousand square feet of office space designed in techno. You got the feeling the world was controlled here, by touch screen.

  “Welcome,” B-2 said.

  I gave Blumberg the stick and he plugged it into a laptop that was sitting on a desk that could’ve roofed a single-family dwelling. He told us to look up at the flat screen monitor on the wall.

  Up popped a screen with tracks and lines and something that looked like an equalizer.

  “This is a voice analysis program the FBI doesn’t even have yet,” Blumberg said. “It’s still in development, but watch what it can do.”

  Blumberg tapped and moused his way across the screen. In a few moments, after a colorful screen or two, we were back at the main screen. It showed several waves of sound.

  “Looks a little like GarageBand,” Sister Mary said.

  “I can make Buchanan here sound like Plácido Domingo,” Blumberg said, “but that’s not the point. If this guy is changing his voice on the cheap with an artificial larynx, we may be able to get something. If he’s using a digital voice changer, we won’t be able to get much. So let’s give it a shot.”

  We waited as he tapped a couple of keys. Then a voice came through the speakers, much clearer: That’s why I had you drive out to the pay phone. I saw what you can do when you put your mind to something.

  “Did you hear that other sound?” he said.

  “What sound?” I said.

  “Listen.” He replayed the clip.

  “Yeah,” I said. “A little squeak right there in the middle.”

  “I’m going to isolate it,” he said. “Let’s see what it sounds like.”

  He played the section with the squeak. Stopped and enhanced it, played it again.

  “Sounds like a door opening,” Sister Mary said.

  I looked at Blumberg. His look told me he didn’t agree. I didn’t either.

  “Can you isolate the voice now?” I asked.

  “Yeah baby.” He worked the keyboard. As he did I looked at Sister Mary. She gave me a reassuring smile. Like a coach’s pep talk without the audio.

  A year ago I was a partner at a major law firm getting ready for marriage. The phrase settle down, which my grandfather might have used, kept running through my mind. And I liked it.

  Now I didn’t know what to like. Or if I should like anything again. What I had to do was find the girl.

  “Ready,” B-2 said. The voice came through again, this time with a more normalized tone. That’s why I had you drive out to the pay phone. I saw what you can do when you put your mind to something.

  Something clicked in my head.

  “You got anything that can help me see at night?” I asked.

  B-2 said, “You want night vision?”

  “Do you?” I said.

  “Ask me something hard.”

  148

  DRIVING BACK TO St. Monica’s, Sister Mary said, “I don’t like the look in your eye.”

  “Who asked you to look?”

  “I see darkness there.”

  “You got a pretty keen sense of sight.”

  “I know something about light and darkness.”

  “And I know all about gray.”

  “Maybe, but no one can stay in the middle. We all drift toward one side or the other. The idea is to go toward the light.”

  I said nothing. Kept my eyes on the freeway. Kept thinking about what I was about to do. Planning in my head for something that could land me in the slam for a long time.

  “Do you know Genesis?” Sister Mary said. “The creation?”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. But the earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And God said, ‘Let there be light, and there was light.’ The light was good. God divided the light from the darkness. And that is a picture of what God does for those who seek him.”

  “Does what now?”

  “Get rid of the darkness.”

  I was on the verge of a comeback, but the words got stuck on my tongue. We ran into some traffic and it hit me then that having a discussion about something that mattered more than the flow of cars in L.A. was not a bad thing.

  We finally came down the other side of the Sepulveda Pass. Clouds covered the tops of the mountains on the other side of the Valley. The sun reflected off them, making everything bright and silver.

  Sister Mary mentioned the homesick-for-heaven thing again and I said I wasn’t homesick for anything.

  That seemed to make her upset. She didn’t say anything else after that.

  I dropped Sister Mary off and drove away, waiting for night.

  149

  WHEN IT CAME, I was waiting somewhere else.

  The odds were not good any way you looked at it. The Voice had every advantage and I knew that.

  I was on a bluff looking down at the mobile home park near the ocean. Watching for the lights.

  It was a shot in the dark with a pea shooter, but I was going to blow. The sound I heard on the voice track sounded like a seagull. And the voice, normalized, sounded like a certain has-been rocker.

>   The wind whipped, like it always did here at the beach. I was in weeds, with night scopes, courtesy of J. B. Blumberg.

  The ocean waves whispered.

  An hour or so went by. I imagined all sorts of things crawling through the weeds, looking for some fresh leg to bite. This was a habitation of snakes. They were here first. They had property rights.

  But I didn’t care. If I got bit, I was going to bite right back. I was in that kind of frame.

  I could see the lights of Santa Monica all the way down the coast, where the curve of the land headed right, toward the Palos Verdes Peninsula. In the distant sky, like a string of neon pearls, were the planes coming into and going out of LAX.

  Life was happening and I wasn’t close to any of it—and didn’t care.

  Not much happened down below. If life was happening in the park, it was mostly on the inside.

  The mobile home I was looking at had no lights on. No car in front. How long I’d have to wait didn’t matter to me.

  I kept thinking I could hear Kylie crying. It was only my mind, of course. The question I started to have was whether I could get it to stop. Maybe I was losing it, going a little over the edge here. Not telling the cops, not telling anybody.

  Brosia was not going to be pleased. I was a little sorry about that. I was getting to like Brosia. He knew what he was doing. He was a cop who liked what he did. That’s how I remembered my dad.

  I wondered what he’d think of what I was doing. Wondered what he’d say. I’d tell him I was out there on a wire, I know it, and I can’t go back. I have to try to make it to the other side.

  Then the car pulled up. I followed the headlights from the front of the park entrance, past the kiosk, and in front of Fly’s single-wide.

  And I had a vision. I saw everything that was going to happen, I knew where everybody in the world was, who was watching and who wasn’t. I knew that he would get out of his car and go into his trailer and all would be right with his world.

  Knew that I would shuffle down from the weeds without being seen by anyone. That I would knock gently on his door, and Fly would answer, and his eyes would go wide. And he’d try to close the door and I would know for certain he did it. That certainty wouldn’t stand up in a court of law, but there wasn’t a courthouse within shouting distance. That’s all that mattered.