Night Tremors

by Matt Coyle

  I’d only seen him twice before, and I now could only see him from behind, but I felt fairly certain that the dead man was Eric Schmidt, the Raptor who’d met in secret twice with Trey Fellows. Once at the bar in Pacific Beach, and the second time with the lawyer Alan Rankin two nights ago.

  Who had killed him? Trey? Could he have possibly done it? No. Sometimes people surprise you, but Trey Fellows wasn’t a killer. Besides, I was pretty certain that he’d spent the last forty-eight hours holed up in his sister’s apartment.

  Then who? A fellow Raptor at Steven Lunsdorf’s behest? My pal, Wayne Delk? Maybe somebody at LJPD leaked that Trey Fellows had signed a sworn affidavit stating Lunsdorf had confessed to the Eddington murders, and Lunsdorf found out about it. Schmidt and Rankin must have been working against Lunsdorf and someone ratted them out. A power play at the top? Whatever the reason, Lunsdorf found out, and Delk had the Candlelight address in his car. Thus, the dead body. If Lunsdorf could pin the murder on Fellows and discredit him as a witness in the Eddington case, he’d get a twofer.

  Just by staying here for a day, Trey’s DNA and fingerprints were in the house. Now, by walking inside, there was probably a tiny trace of my own DNA too. A few dead skin cells, a hair, a drop of sweat. I was now a part of the crime scene. When they discovered the body, the police crime-scene techs would test for fingerprints everywhere. Trey had a conviction for drug possession, so his prints would be in the FBI’s IAFIS. When the prints were run against IAFIS, some would have Trey’s name on them.

  IAFIS had my prints too. Because of my arrest for my wife’s murder, even though I was never tried, much less convicted. But they didn’t have my DNA in IAFIS, and I was going to make sure they didn’t find my fingerprints here.

  But I still had to find out if Trey was lying somewhere else in the house. Injured or dead. I went into the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel off the handle of the stove, and went back to the front door. I opened it a crack and peeked outside. No cop cars. Yet. I wiped down the outside doorknobs, closed the door and locked it, then wiped down the inside doorknobs. I carried the towel with me in case I had to open any doors and checked the living room, two bathrooms, and three bedrooms downstairs. No Trey. First good news of the day.

  Upstairs was just one room, the master bedroom. No Trey on the floor or in the bathroom. Something on the bedside table on the far side of the unmade bed caught my eye.

  A gun.

  A Ruger .357 Magnum SP101. I walked over to the table and picked up the gun to check the serial number on the barrel. But I knew the number even before I read it.

  My gun. I checked the cylinder. Four bullets. One empty shell. The one that had held the bullet that went through Eric Schmidt’s head.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number on the screen. Then I did. Sierra.

  “I’m on my way,” I said.

  “A police car just drove by.” A desperate whisper. “It turned up Candlelight!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  My body went nuclear and my heart bongoed against my chest. No way would I be able to get back downstairs and out the front door before the police cruiser pulled up in front of the house. Walking outside with my hands up and telling the cops the truth wasn’t an option. Not on LJPD’s turf. Neither was shooting it out over a crime I didn’t commit.

  I jammed the gun in my coat pocket and spun my head looking for an escape route. I might have found one. The upstairs master bedroom must have been an addition to the house. A window looked out over the roof of the lower floor and probably had a tiny daytime view of the ocean miles away. I opened the window, removed the screen, leaned out and gently set it on the roof.

  A loud triple knock on the front door echoed up the stairway. “La Jolla Police Department. Open the door.”

  Had I locked the door? Couldn’t remember. Shit.

  I slipped through the window onto the roof and closed it behind me. The roof sloped away from the window toward the next-door neighbor’s house. I could see the cruiser parked on the street, but not the police under the eaves of the front door. The car’s headlights were on but not the rainbow light bar on the roof. Good. Must not have been a “shots fired” radio call. Maybe the cops would just knock and walk. It was almost midnight. Near the end of the shift. I crouched down and waited.

  Another triple knock. This one I heard from outside.

  “La Jolla Police Department. We have a report of a disturbance. Please open the door.” Urgent, but not out of control.

  If the cops barged through the door and found me on the roof, I’d be toast. If they found me with the murder weapon, I’d be burnt toast. If I threw the gun into the backyard or the yard of a neighbor, the cops might hear it thump down. I needed to hide it somewhere. Now. Not many options on a roof.

  A small chimney vent stuck out of the roof about five feet away from me. Probably to the hood system from the stove in the kitchen. The beam of a flashlight strafed over the fence into the backyard below me. They weren’t giving up. I crawled down the slope to the chimney vent on my stomach, took the gun out of my pocket and wiped it down with the dish towel, then wrapped the towel around it. I eased the circular rain cover off the vent and wedged the gun down into the chimney vent. The towel muffled the sound of the gun rubbing against the vent. Quietly, I slid the rain cover back down onto the vent, then used the tail of my shirt to wipe off my prints.

  I crawled up the sloped roof back to the edge of the master bedroom. My phone vibrated in my pants pocket. I put my hand over it to further muffle the faint sound. The beam of the flashlight pulled back over the fence to the front yard. Another three-bang knock on the front door and the cop demanding the door be opened.

  A dog in the far side neighbor’s backyard barked. A barrel-chested woof. More dogs added on. Lights popped on in windows of the neighbors north and south. Then across the street.

  The cops discussed something down below on the front porch. I couldn’t make out the words but it sounded like a disagreement. More windows lit up along the block. I scanned the roof, looking for the best escape. Sweat stung my eyes. The side yard had a concrete patio. A broken ankle and arrest waiting to happen. I hadn’t seen the backyard, but the front had a lawn. A softer landing and then outrace a cop car? Or bullets?

  The cops were still arguing when a man walked across the street through the patrol car’s headlights toward the cops. I caught a flash of gray hair and a polo shirt. He walked with the confidence of a man used to being in control. Used to getting his way. I lost sight of him when he crossed under the eaves above the front porch.

  Cops’ voices, then his. I could make out a few of his words, but not the cops. “Hawaii.” “Next month.” I guessed he told them that the owner was out of town. Good. Maybe no need to break in and investigate. A little more discussion and then the man strode back across the street. His life back in control. The cops appeared from under the eaves and walked back to their squad car. They got in and their radio squawked. One of them said something into it and they drove away.

  A gust of breath erupted from my mouth and my body felt the cool December night for the first time since I’d been on the roof. It chilled the sweat along my forehead and down my neck. The chill felt good, like the first relief after fighting nausea and then vomiting. But more nausea always followed. I had to get off the roof and back to the car. I hoped Sierra hadn’t done what I told her to do and fled the area.

  I checked my phone. The call had been from her. I listened to her voicemail, the volume turned low.

  “Rick! Are you all right? Please call me. I’m still parked around the corner. Please call. I’m scared.”

  I texted her to drive back up Candlelight past the house and circle around at the top of the hill. I’d meet her two houses below 5564 Candlelight. Ten seconds later she texted back, “Ok.”

  A few dogs continued to bark and most of the windows in the neighborhood still burned light. I didn’t have time to wait until everybody w
ent back to bed. If there were eyes in those windows looking at the house, I figured most of them would be targeting the front door. That wouldn’t be my exit. I stood up, hunched over, and Quasimodoed to the front of the house. The wooden fence that I’d peeked through two nights ago stood an inch-and-a-half wide and four feet below the roof.

  Sierra drove past up the hill in the Mustang. She’d be back down in less than twenty seconds. I didn’t want to make her wait and have my car sitting on the street two houses down from where the police had answered a call.

  I got down on my belly and shimmied blindly backwards down the roof, my legs dangling in midair. I clutched the bottom on the eaves below me with my left hand and splayed my right against the roof as I inched further down. My ribs cried out, but I didn’t listen. Finally, my shoes caught the top of the fence, and I balanced myself holding onto the roof.

  Sierra drove past and the brake lights flashed as she pulled to a stop below. No time to scale the fence. I jumped down onto the front lawn, hit, and rolled to my feet. I hustled down to the Mustang and whipped open the door. I peeked over the roof of the car as I got in and saw the man in the polo shirt standing in his driveway.

  If he caught a glimpse of the Mustang’s license plate I might have two BOLOs out on it from two different police departments.

  “Drive.”

  Sierra pulled away from the curb and let the clutch out too fast. The car bucked and almost stalled, but she finally smoothed it out.

  “Make a right at the first street and then another right up the hill.”

  “What happened with the police?” Panic. “You didn’t find Trey, did you?”

  “Trey’s not there.” I didn’t tell her that one of his associates was. Facedown. She was scared enough already. “I avoided the police. Everything’s okay.”

  Not even close.

  “Where are we going?”

  I had no idea, but we had to keep moving. Wherever we went, there’d still be a dead body that someone would discover sooner or later. When it was, Trey Fellows would be in even deeper shit, and the chance for a new trial for Randall Eddington would follow him right down the shit hole.

  “Just stay on this road for a while.”

  Sierra’s phone rang before we hit the top of La Jolla Mesa. The ring startled her so much that she jerked the steering wheel and almost hit a parked car.

  “Whoa.”

  She pulled out her phone and almost hit another one.

  “Pull over.”

  She did and let out the clutch and the car lurched to a stop. I’d do the driving for the rest of the night.

  Sierra looked at the phone.

  “The number’s blocked.”

  “Answer it.” I turned off the police scanner to cut the background noise.

  She answered. “Trey! Yes, I’m fine. Where are you?”

  I grabbed the phone from Sierra’s hand and put it on speaker.

  “I’m on my way to LA. I need to hide out up there for a while. I’ll call you when I’ve settled somewhere. You be careful.”

  I mouthed to Sierra to tell Trey that I wanted to talk to him. I figured if he heard my voice or anyone else’s without introduction, he’d hang up.

  “Trey, Rick wants to talk to you.”

  “The PI? No!”

  “He wants to help. He saved me from those biker guys. Please talk to him.”

  “No. I gotta go.”

  No time left for niceties. “Trey, it’s Rick. Listen. Pull over somewhere and we’ll meet you. Let’s be smart about this.”

  “I am being smart. I’m getting the hell outta town. Those… they…they killed Smitty, man!”

  Sierra sucked in a huge gust of air and her eyes went giant. I took the phone off speaker and put it up to my ear.

  “Look. We’ll hide you in a hotel tonight and then get you under protective custody.” Wasn’t sure how I could do that, but I thought Buckley would be able to figure something out. When he did, I’d also find out Trey’s connection to the dead Raptor and the lawyer. “If you run, you’ll look guilty.”

  “Those fuckers want to kill me, man!”

  “That’s why you have to let me protect you. Tell me where to meet you.”

  “Let me talk to my sister.”

  I put the phone back on speaker and handed it to Sierra.

  “I’m here, Trey,” she said.

  “Do whatever Rick tells you to do to stay safe. I’ll call you tomorrow from another phone. I love you.” The line went dead.

  Sierra stared down at the phone. A tear ran down her nose and splashed down onto the screen of her iPhone. More followed. I didn’t give her a hug and I didn’t tell her that everything was going to be all right. I didn’t believe it and I didn’t have the time.

  I had to get Sierra somewhere safe and get rid of my car.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I took Sierra up to the eighth-floor room I’d rented for her at the La Jolla Marriott. I’d chosen the Marriott for a couple reasons: it had way too many rooms for the entire Raptor gang to scope out searching for Sierra, and I could get a price break from the night manager. Plus I didn’t have to use my or Sierra’s ID to get the room. Rachel, the manager, saw to that. No one would know Sierra was staying there.

  I knew Rachel back from my days managing Muldoon’s when she’d come in to listen to jazz. About a year ago, I’d done her a solid off the books and pro bono. She’d been dating a frequent out-of-town guest to the hotel, an act that could get her fired. Rachel had really fallen for the guy, but something in the back of her mind told her that something about him was off. She’d been right. I did a background check and a little digging, and found out that not only did he have a wife back home in San Jose, but he had girlfriends in every city where he traveled to for business.

  Thus Rachel had gone from breaking a big rule for love to breaking a couple little ones for me.

  I unlocked the door to room 812 and lugged Sierra’s overpacked suitcase to the lone bed. She’d packed for a life on the run. I hoped it would only be for a couple days.

  “I’ll call you in the morning.” I handed Sierra the key card. “You’ll be safe here. If Trey calls again, please try to get him to call me. Failing that, try to get him to tell you where he is. Okay?”

  Fear crept back into Sierra’s eyes. She took my hand in both of hers. “Please stay with me tonight. You say it’s safe, but what if someone followed us. I can’t stay here alone. Please.”

  Her eyes pleaded more than her words. I didn’t know much about Sierra, but what I did know didn’t mesh with a life on the run. Thirty-three years old and, like so many people nowadays, working hard just to make ends meet. She had two jobs, an apartment, and a car. Now she was in a jackpot because she’d tried to keep her drug-dealing brother from getting killed.

  Sierra didn’t deserve any of it. But she might hold the key to solving that other puzzle I was still convinced Trey Fellows was working on. Her ex-boyfriend. Brad Larson. Or whatever his real name was. If I stayed tonight, maybe I’d learn the truth.

  “Where am I supposed to sleep?” I looked at the lone king-size bed in the room. There was a desk chair and an upholstered chair. I guessed I could pull them together and sleep sitting up.

  She looked around the room, apparently realizing for the first time that it only had one bed. “We can share the bed. It’s big.”

  It wasn’t an invitation to something else. It was a desperate plea to keep me there tonight.

  “Okay. But I have to get rid of my car first. If the Raptors are still out there searching hotels, which I don’t think they are, I don’t want my car to be seen in the hotel parking lot.” Plus I didn’t want the police to see it if they were after me too.

  “Okay.” Eyes still big. “But you’re coming back?”

  “Yeah. I’m coming back. First I have to park the car somewhere else and borrow a friend’s car.” I hoped I could still impose on that friend. Probably for the last time.

  Kim met me at an underg
round parking structure on Herschel Avenue in La Jolla. She hadn’t been overjoyed when I asked for yet another favor. Maybe I’d finally used up her deep well of goodwill. I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t proud of myself for calling her when I was in yet another jam. It was too late to get a rental, so I didn’t have a choice.

  Like always, she was the answer to my needs. She’d held onto her Toyota RAV4 when she leased the BMW. The Toyota came in handy when she had an open house that needed extra signage and extra goodies.

  Kim drove me to her house to drop herself off. The drive was only a couple minutes. Neither of us spoke. She’d always asked me about the case I was working on when she’d helped me in the past.

  Tonight was different.

  She pulled to a stop in front of her house and we both got out of the car. I walked her up to her front door. She folded her arms and held her elbows in her hands like she was cold. But her coat looked warm enough. She wouldn’t look at me, but I sensed she wanted to say something. Something I knew was coming but didn’t want to hear.

  “Rick, you know I always want to help you when I can and that I’d do anything for you.” She stared at my chest.

  “I ask for too much.”

  “No. It’s just that Jeff doesn’t understand our relationship.” She unwound her arms and looked at me through beautiful, but sad, emerald eyes. “I won’t be able to do things like this when I’m living with him.”

  At least Jeff and I had one thing in common. Neither one of us understood Kim’s and my relationship.

  “Do you love him?”

  She blinked like the question startled her. It startled me, as did the feelings welling up inside of me. I’d kept them hidden from both of us for so long. To acknowledge them would have been cheating on Colleen. A woman dead for ten years who I loved better in death than I had in life.