“Will do,” Soko said as she reached for the mike. “Are we headed home?”
“Yes,” Lee told her, and had to hang onto a support as Soko put the wheel over. Unfortunately, home was just a place to sleep until Kane was released. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.
• • •
Desperate times call for desperate measures. That’s what the Bonebreaker told himself as he stopped in front of the old bungalow. It was one of many older homes in the West Adams section of Los Angeles. It was around 10:00 P.M., and a partial blackout was still in place even though it seemed likely that the Aztecs already knew where all of the juicy targets were. But the citizens of Los Angeles weren’t required to cover their windows—and the flickering light of a television set could be seen through the home’s curtains.
The purpose of the visit was to murder retired Criminologist Alan Penn as an interim step to killing Cassandra Lee. And as the Bonebreaker climbed the cracked concrete stairs that led up to Penn’s porch, he was carrying a suitcase with his left hand and holding a long-barreled .22 pistol down along his right leg.
Once on the porch, the Bonebreaker rang the bell and was rewarded with the sound of a distant chime. He could also hear the rumble of what he presumed to be Dr. Penn’s television set. Sixty seconds passed without any response. Was Penn hard of hearing? He was eighty-six years old after all. Rather than press the button again, the Bonebreaker tried the door. It was unlocked! A practice that was practically unheard of in LA and a surprise given the nature of Penn’s profession. But maybe the criminologist had grown a bit forgetful . . . Or maybe it was God’s will. A sign that the Bonebreaker was on the right track. Yes, the Bonebreaker thought to himself as he entered the foyer, wondrous are the ways of the Lord.
The Bonebreaker put the suitcase down prior to entering a shabby living room. All of the furnishings were at least thirty years old, there were too many of them, and there was a lot of clutter. That wasn’t surprising given Penn’s age and the fact that his wife had been in poor health prior to her death a month earlier. All of which had been learned by combing online obituaries searching for a man with the right sort of background.
And there, sitting on a recliner, was Professor Penn. He was dressed in a plaid robe and pajamas. His eyes were closed, and had it not been for the regular rise and fall of his chest, the Bonebreaker would have believed him to be dead.
So it was easy to walk around the chair, turn his back to the flat-screen TV above the fireplace, and raise the pistol. Instead of a head shot, which might splatter brain matter onto the chair, the Bonebreaker elected to shoot Penn in the heart. The theory was that since the .22 caliber bullets weren’t that powerful, there was a reasonable chance they wouldn’t go all the way through.
Thanks to the suppressor attached to the pistol’s barrel, the weapon made very little noise. There were two pops, neither of which could be heard over the sound produced by the TV set. Penn jerked slightly as the bullets struck him but remained as he was. “Go to the Lord and join your wife in heaven,” the Bonebreaker said kindly. “Your work is done.”
But his work was just beginning. The Bonebreaker took a quick tour of the home to make sure that Penn didn’t have any houseguests before returning to the foyer to retrieve the suitcase. He carried it into the living room and opened the lid. All sorts of things were stored inside, one of which was a camera.
There was a series of flashes as the Bonebreaker took pictures of Penn’s face from a variety of angles. By doing so quickly, within minutes of Penn’s death, he hoped to capture the most current likeness possible. Images that could be used to perfect the Penn-like countenance that he was wearing. Based on the articles the Bonebreaker had read, he knew that Dr. and Mrs. Penn had been childless. So assuming that everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t have to fool anyone other than the neighbors and Cassandra Lee. And there was no reason to believe that she knew the man.
Once the photo shoot was over, the Bonebreaker faced the difficult task of dragging the body down a short flight of stairs to the door that opened onto a one-car garage. It was full of junk—but a path led to the front of the house and the garage door. The Bonebreaker had Penn by the ankles, and as he backed away from the door, the old man’s head bounced over the threshold.
Once the corpse was positioned just inside the garage door, it was time to locate Penn’s car keys. The Bonebreaker found them in the pocket of a jacket that was hanging on a hook in the upstairs hall. The Bonebreaker felt confident that he would look like Penn from a distance as he got into the car and drove away. It was the perfect opportunity to pick up some food at a nearby grocery store—and the brown sack would explain his errand should any of Penn’s neighbors see him return to the house. Would they take note of the fact that he backed in? No, if they noticed anything, it was likely to be the fact that Dr. Penn was out and about late at night. And that was a risk that the Bonebreaker would have to take.
After carrying the groceries into the house, the Bonebreaker returned to the garage, where he was careful to leave the light off as he opened the door to the deeply shadowed driveway. Then it was a simple matter to open the car’s trunk and heave the body inside. There was a soft thump as he closed the lid.
With that accomplished, the Bonebreaker reentered the garage and made his way upstairs. It would definitely look suspicious if a snoopy neighbor saw Penn head out a second time, and even later at night, but there was no need. Not yet. So the Bonebreaker had time to kill.
The kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes, so he washed them before heating up a can of chicken noodle soup on the range. Then, having placed a bowl, spoon, and some melba toast on a tray, he carried it into the living room, where the TV was still going full blast. Once the recliner was in the “up” position, it made a good place to sit and have dinner while watching a program about fishing. He’d never been fishing but thought he would enjoy the sport if given the opportunity.
Time passed and it was well past two in the morning when the Bonebreaker left the house, locked the door behind him, and got in the car. A quick check confirmed that the gas tank was half-full. The Bonebreaker figured that the biggest threat was one of the random roadblocks intended to intercept Aztec saboteurs. But with his disguise in place, and Dr. Penn’s wallet in his pocket, the Bonebreaker was confident that he could con the average traffic cop.
The car had a nav system, which the Bonebreaker used to get onto Interstate 10 to Interstate 5 bound for Fullerton. The city was much darker than usual because of the partial blackout, but that didn’t prevent the enemy from launching missiles into the area, and the Bonebreaker saw the flash of an explosion in the distance as he drove along. That was followed by what sounded like thunder. The whole business of disposing of bodies was an important topic—and one that the Bonebreaker felt Dr. Penn would find interesting even if the corpse was his.
In most cases, the Bonebreaker wanted his victims to be found as part of the war he was waging on certain members of the LAPD. There had been other murders, of course . . . The mailman in Compton came to mind. But those killings were incidental, and up until now, the corpses had been left wherever they happened to fall.
But Penn was different in that the Bonebreaker planned to become the criminologist for an extended period of time. And in order to do that, it would be necessary to get rid of the body in such a way that nobody would find it, or failing that, be able to identify it.
So to make sure that would happen, the Bonebreaker had dedicated a great deal of time to figuring out how to make the body disappear. The plan was to put Dr. Penn’s corpse on a freight train headed east into the red zone. If things went the way he hoped they would, the body would remain undiscovered. However, even if someone in the RZ found the body, the Bonebreaker felt sure that the lack of coordination between law enforcement in the Republic of Texas and Pacifica meant that weeks if not months would pass before the dead man
was identified.
But how to get the body onto an eastbound train? And not just any train, but a train that included open ore cars, into which the body could be dumped. Figuring that out required the Bonebreaker to research schedules, routes, and deserted drop points. A time-consuming process.
But as the Bonebreaker arrived in Fullerton and followed a mostly deserted street into the city’s industrial area, he felt that the effort had been worthwhile. Timing was everything now . . . Timing and luck. Because in spite of his careful preparations, the train could be late, a cop car could be sitting on the overpass for some reason, or any of a dozen other things could go wrong.
So the Bonebreaker’s heart had started to pound, and his palms were sweaty as he took the necessary turn and drove out onto the overpass, where he stopped and switched on the emergency flashers. They would help to explain his presence and prevent the possibility of an accident. A quick check of his watch confirmed that he was on time.
The next step was to raise the car’s hood. Then, should someone stop to help him, the Bonebreaker would claim to have fixed the problem and prove it by starting the engine. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen.
With that accomplished, it was time to carry out the most difficult part of the plan. And that was to open the trunk and remove the body. There had been no traffic thus far—and the Bonebreaker was running on time. But what about the train? The Bonebreaker felt a sudden surge of adrenaline as he heard the mournful sound of the locomotive’s horn—and saw two vertically stacked headlights appear in the distance. So far so good.
After a final look around, the Bonebreaker stooped to lift the body. The easiest way to accomplish that was to cradle it with one arm under Penn’s thighs and the other supporting the dead man’s back. Then it was time to carry the criminologist over to the concrete railing. It seemed natural to swing Penn’s feet out over the edge and seat him facing the oncoming train.
So far so good . . . But pushing the body off at the right moment would be critical. Because if the Bonebreaker missed, and the corpse wound up on the tracks, he’d have to abort the plan and return to the ossuary.
Then the critical moment was upon him as the locomotive roared at him and disappeared. Box cars flashed by below forcing the Bonebreaker to wait for the ore cars. They were supposed to be there. Had to be there—or he was screwed. The light level was low due to the blackout, which was why the Bonebreaker failed to realize that the target cars were there until the first one rattled under him.
That was when the Bonebreaker realized how stupid he’d been and how difficult the task actually was. He had to try though and knew timing was the key. So he waited for the moment when an empty car was just starting to disappear under his feet and gave Dr. Penn a hearty push.
The body tilted forward as it fell, hit the leading edge of the next car, and performed a somersault in the air. The Bonebreaker watched in horror as the corpse seemed to defy gravity. Then the moment ended as the body disappeared into the ore car’s open maw. Or had it? As the car disappeared under him the Bonebreaker strained his eyes in a futile effort to see if a body lay on either side of the tracks. But that was impossible with the train in the way.
All the Bonebreaker could do was wait for five agonizing minutes as the rest of the train rattled east. Then, by aiming a powerful flashlight at the tracks, the Bonebreaker was able to confirm that the corpse wasn’t there. A truck passed him at that point but didn’t slow down.
The Bonebreaker felt a sense of satisfaction. The train would arrive in the RZ in what? Twelve hours or so? Maybe, if he was lucky, the muties would dump a load of ore on top of the body. But it didn’t really matter. He was going to get the time that he needed . . . And Cassandra Lee was going to die.
SEVEN
CASSANDRA LEE’S DAY was off to a bad start. For the first time in weeks, she had overslept. As a result, she arrived at Maria’s late, was forced to eat her breakfast burrito at work, and missed roll call. The shit show continued with a snarky e-mail from Assistant Chief Wolfe, who offered to buy her a new alarm clock.
So there she was, sitting at her desk and shoveling a bite of lukewarm burrito into her mouth, when Jenkins materialized next to her. “There you are,” he said. “Do you ever check voice mail? You were due in my office ten minutes ago. Come with me, and yes, you can bring that disgusting mess with you.”
Lee trailed along behind Jenkins as he led her to his office, waved her inside, and paused to close the door. “Uh-oh,” Lee said as she watched him circle the desk. “Have I been suspended again?”
“You sound like someone with a guilty conscience,” Jenkins observed. “So stop doing whatever it is that I wouldn’t approve of. And no, you haven’t been suspended. You have a new case, though . . . A very important case that Chief Corso selected you to work on.”
“Like what? Did his dog run away or something?”
Jenkins shook his head sorrowfully. “You need an attitude adjustment, Lee . . . But that would take years. Remember the thumb drive? The one you gave me?”
Lee put the styrofoam container aside. “You must be kidding . . . Corso’s going after Getty?”
“Of course he’s going after Getty,” Jenkins replied matter-of-factly. “It’s the right thing to do. He took the thumb drive to the DA, who wants to file charges.”
“He’s going to convene a grand jury?”
“Nope. First the DA wants to churn things up. Maybe one of the principals will roll over. That would make the DA’s job easier. And that’s where you come in. Go out there, shake the trees, and wait for someone to fall out.”
“That’s a suicide mission,” Lee objected. “The first person I talk to will notify the mayor, she’ll go ape shit, and order Corso to fire me. Then somebody will leak information to the press, and they’ll be on me like white on rice.”
The chair squeaked as Jenkins leaned back in it. There was a big, shit-eating smile on his face. “So? What’s your point?”
All sorts of things blipped through Lee’s mind. Then she had it. Corso wanted to run for mayor! Everybody knew that. And here, like manna from heaven, was the perfect opportunity to neutralize Getty and do the right thing! As for Jenkins, maybe he’d have a shot at the top cop job. “So I’m going to be used as a tool.”
“All of us are tools to one extent or another,” Jenkins replied philosophically. “But you should feel good about this. This sucker is going to take a lot of skill, not to mention chutzpah, and you were handpicked for the job.”
Lee stared at him. “I need to wrap the face case . . . And the Bonebreaker’s still on the loose.”
“Raid the island,” Jenkins said. “And then you can put Yanty and Prospo back on the Bonebreaker full-time. Are you satisfied?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Lee said. “Then I’m satisfied.” The meeting was over.
After leaving Jenkins’s office, Lee threw the rest of her breakfast into a trash can and went to see Yanty. He was on the phone when Lee arrived, so she sat down. “Okay,” Yanty said, “I appreciate your cooperation, and I’ll see you at 0400.”
Then, as he put the receiver down, Yanty said, “Asshole.”
Lee laughed. “Who was that?”
“Lieutenant Iffy in Long Beach. He wanted to launch the raid at 0500, so the press wouldn’t have to get up earlier.”
Lee frowned. “The press?”
“Yeah,” Yanty replied. “The LBPD plans to take major credit for the bust. Fortunately, they’re willing to let us come along as observers.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, ma’am, I’m not.”
Lee sighed. “Okay . . . The main thing is nail the perps. I heard you say four in the morning. Are we talking about tomorrow morning?”
“Yes we are,” Yanty said with a smirk. “Try to be on time.”
�
��You’re a dick, Dick.”
Yanty grinned happily. “Deal with it.”
• • •
Marvin Codicil had a secret. Something he couldn’t tell anyone, not if he wanted to live in Pacifica, and that was the fact that he was a mutant. But a lucky mutant if such a thing existed—since his mutation was hidden inside his body.
Fortunately for Codicil, the doctor who discovered the anomaly was a very nice man. “You aren’t a carrier,” the doctor assured him. “But you are a mutant. A third kidney is growing between the other two. That shouldn’t cause you any distress, and odds are that you’ll die of something else. But the mutation could be a harbinger of things to come. So examine yourself on a frequent basis and seek help if you see unusual changes. In the meantime, I recommend that you keep this condition to yourself.”
And Codicil had kept the condition to himself. But it was a constant source of concern. So he had taken to scrutinizing his body with a battery of highly specialized mirrors, scanning for any sign of an incipient horn, the beginnings of a tail, or a sudden manifestation of scales. There hadn’t been any, thank God, but Codicil awoke each morning frightened of what he might discover.
After completing his daily inspection, Codicil got dressed, ate a light breakfast, and went to work. Not to his office—that would come later. No, Codicil had an appointment to meet with Ebert Keyes at that individual’s place of business. Or was it his residence?
That wasn’t entirely necessary, of course, since whatever information Keyes had could be conveyed electronically. But Codicil was curious. What sort of person would he be dealing with? And were Cassandra Lee’s expectations of the man realistic? Codicil hoped so because, in spite of his best efforts to free Kane, the psychologist was still behind bars.
So Codicil drove to Chinatown, left his car in a lot, and completed the journey on foot. The area was anything but prosperous. And when Codicil arrived, it was to find that the entrance to Keyes’s apartment was located between the Sue Yong nail salon, and an empty store with a FOR RENT sign in the window.
Graveyard Page 12