by Robert Crais
The next day, Jane changed her hair color, going with the dark red, the red that’s almost black, wondering if it made her look younger, wondering what Jeff would think.
Everything that night, it had felt like cheating.
“Earth to Mom?”
Jane Talley focused on her daughter.
“Sorry.”
“What were you thinking?”
“If your father likes my hair.”
Amanda’s face darkened.
“Like you should care. Please.”
“All right. I was wondering if that mess is going to blow up in his face. Is that better?”
They had stopped at Le Chine, a Vietnamese-Thai place in a mall near the freeway, ordering pho ga, which was a rice noodle soup, and crispy shrimp, which was, well, crispy shrimp. They ate there often, sometimes with Jeff. Jane had toyed with the plain white rice, but that was it. She put down her fork.
“Let me tell you something.”
“Can’t we just go home? I don’t want to be here, anyway. I told him that.”
“Don’t say ‘him.’ He’s your father.”
“Whatever.”
“He’s having a hard time.”
“A year ago it was a hard time, now it’s just boring.”
Jane was so tired of keeping all the balls in the air, of being the supportive nurturing mother, of waiting for Jeff to come to his senses, that she wanted to scream. Some days, she did; she would press her face into the pillow and scream as hard as she could. A flash of anger shook her so deeply that if Mandy rolled her eyes one more time she would snatch up the fork and stab her.
“Let me tell you something. This has been hard on everybody; on you, on me, on him. He’s not like this. It was that goddamned job.”
“Here we go with the job.”
Jane called for the check, so livid that she didn’t trust herself to look at her daughter. As always, the owner, a woman named Po who knew they were Talley’s family, insisted that there was no charge. As always, Jane paid, this time quickly, in cash, not waiting for change.
“Let’s go.”
Jane walked out to the parking lot, still not looking at Amanda, her heels snapping like gunshots on the pavement. She got behind the wheel but did not start the car. Amanda slid in beside her, pulling the door. The night air smelled of sage and dust and garlic from the restaurant.
“Why aren’t we moving?”
“I’m trying not to kill you.”
When Jane figured out what she needed to say, she said it.
“I am scared to death that your father is finally going to give up and call it quits. I could see it in him tonight. Your father, he knows what this is doing to us, he’s not stupid. We talk, Amanda; he says he’s empty, I don’t know how to fill him; he says he’s dead, I don’t know how to bring him to life. You think I don’t try? Here we are, split apart, time passing, him wallowing in his goddamned depression; your father will end it just to spare us. Well, little miss, let me tell you something: I don’t want to be spared. I choose not to be spared. Your father used to be filled with life and strength, and I fell in love with that special man more deeply than you can know. You don’t want to hear about the job, fine, but only a man as good as your father could be hurt the way that job hurt him. If that’s me making excuses for him, fine. If you think I’m a loser by waiting for him, tough. I could have other men; I don’t want them. I don’t even know if he still loves me, but let me tell you something: I love him, I want this marriage, and I goddamned fucking well care whether or not he likes my hair.”
Jane, crying, saw that Amanda was crying, too, great honey drops inflating her eyes. She slumped back in the seat, bouncing her head on the headrest.
“Shit.”
Sharp rapping on the window startled her.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
Jane rolled down the window, just an inch, two. The man seemed embarrassed, leaning forward, one hand on the roof, the other on her door, his expression asking if there was anything he could do.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s not my business. I heard crying.”
“That’s all right. We’re fine. Thank you.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Thank you.”
She was reaching for the key when he jerked open the door, pushing her sideways into Amanda, the smell of donuts suddenly strong in the car.
Later, she would know that his name was Marion Clewes.
14
• • •
Friday, 9:12 P.M.
TALLEY
The sky was strange without red and green helicopter stars. Talley turned off his command radio and rolled down the windows, letting the silky air rush over him, still warm from the earth and smelling of yucca. It wasn’t his show anymore, so he didn’t need the radio. He needed to think.
Stretched out ahead and curving between the mountains, the street was bright with headlights rushing toward him. The past six hours had flicked past, one moment overtaking the next like a chain of car crashes, piling one atop the next with an intensity of experience that Talley hadn’t known in a long time; part fear, part elation. Talley found himself working through the events of the day, and realized after a time that he was enjoying himself. That he would, or could, surprised him. It was as if some dormant part of himself was waking.
The hot night air brought a memory of Jane.
They had come to the desert for their honeymoon. Not when they first married; they didn’t have enough money for that. But later, when his six-month probation was over, they had each taken two vacation days to make a long weekend, thinking they would drive to Las Vegas. The idea, the great plan, was to beat the summer heat by making the drive after sundown, but Vegas was a long way, four hours. They stopped at the halfway point for something to eat, a nothing little town at the edge of the California desert, and went no farther. The honeymoon cottage that night was a twenty-dollar motel off the highway; dinner was a cheap steak at the Sizzler, after which they explored the town. Driving now, Talley remembered the desert heat of that night; Jane had scared him, Talley the tough young SWAT cop, by climbing out the car’s window and sitting on the door as they raced along the back desert roads.
Talley hadn’t recalled those memories in years, and now felt uneasy with their absence, as if they had been lost within himself. He wondered what else might be lost within himself.
Talley turned onto the condominium grounds. He found Jane’s car parked in the first of the two spaces that were his, and pulled in beside it. He stared up the walk toward his condo, uneasy about the conversation they were about to have. She had finally called him out on their future, and now he had to deal with it. No more running, no more denial, no more excuses; he could keep her, or he could lose her. Tonight it was going to be as simple as that.
As Talley stepped from his car, he noticed that the parking lot was darker than usual; both security lights were out. Talley was locking his car as a woman stepped from the walk that led to his building.
“Chief Talley? Could I have a word with you?”
Talley thought she might be one of his neighbors. Most of the people in the complex knew he was the chief of police, often coming to him with complaints and problems.
“It’s pretty late. Could this keep until tomorrow?”
She was attractive, but not pretty, with a clean, businesslike expression, and hair that cupped her face. He did not recognize her.
“I wish it could, Chief, but we have to discuss this tonight.”
Talley heard a single footstep behind him, the shush of shoe on grit, then an arm hooked his throat from behind, lifting him backward and off his feet. Someone held a gun before his face.
“Do you see it? See the gun? Look at it.”
Talley clawed at the arm that was choking him, but only until he saw the pistol. Then he stopped struggling.
“That’s better. We’re only going to talk, that’s all, but I will kill you if I have to.”
Th
ey lowered him, gave him his feet again. Someone opened his car again as someone else felt beneath his jacket and around his waist.
“Where’s your gun?”
“I don’t carry it.”
“Bullshit. Where is it?”
The hands went to his ankles.
“I don’t carry it. I’m the Chief. I don’t have to.”
They pushed him behind the wheel. Talley saw shapes; he wasn’t sure how many; maybe three, could have been five. Someone in the backseat directly behind him smashed the ceiling light with the gun, then pushed the gun hard to his neck.
“Start the car. Back up. We’re just going to talk to you.”
“Who are you?”
Talley tried to turn, but strong hands shoved his face forward. Two men wearing black knit ski masks and gloves were in the backseat.
“The car. Back up.”
Talley did as he was told, his headlights swinging across the walk. The woman was gone. Red taillights waited at the far end of the parking lot.
“See that car? Follow it. We won’t go far.”
Talley pulled in tight on the car. It was a late-model Ford Mustang, dark green with a hard top and California plates. Talley worked at remembering the tag number, 2KLX561, then glanced in the rearview mirror as a second car tucked in tight behind his.
“Who are you?”
“Drive.”
“Is this about what’s happening?”
“Just drive. Don’t worry about it.”
The Mustang drove carefully, leading him back to the street, then out along Flanders Road to a minimall less than a mile away. All the shops were closed, the parking lot empty. Talley followed the Mustang into the alley behind the shops, where it stopped beside a Dumpster.
“Pull up closer. Closer. Bumper to bumper.”
He bumped the Mustang.
“Turn off the ignition. Give me the key.”
Talley had known a kind of fear when he had worked the tactical teams on SWAT before he was a negotiator; but that was an impersonal fear, a going-into-combat fear leavened by the armor you wore, the weapon you carried, and the support of your teammates. This was different, up close and personal. Men were assassinated like this, their bodies left in Dumpsters.
He turned off the ignition, but didn’t take out the key. The second car came up so close that it was inches from his own, blocking him in. Talley told himself this was a good sign; they didn’t want him to try to run. They wouldn’t worry about it if they simply wanted to shoot him.
“Give me the damned key.”
He held it up; the hand snatched it away.
The passenger door opened. A third man slipped inside, also wearing a mask and gloves. He was wearing a black sport coat over a gray T-shirt and jeans. When his left sleeve hiked up, a gold Rolex flashed. He wasn’t large, about Talley’s size, maybe one-eighty, trim. The skin around his mouth and eyes was tan. He held a cell phone.
“Okay, Chief, I know you’re scared, but trust me, unless you do something stupid, we’re not here to hurt you. So you control that, okay? Do you understand?”
Talley tried to recall the Mustang’s tag number. Was it KLX or KLS?
“Don’t just stare at me, Chief. We’ve got to make some headway here.”
“What do you want?”
The third man gestured to the backseat with the phone, giving Talley another glimpse of the watch. Talley thought of the third man as the Watchman.
“The man behind you is going to reach around and get hold of you. Don’t freak out. That’s for your own good. Okay? He’s just going to hold you.”
The arm looped around his neck again; a hand took his left wrist, twisted it behind his back; another took his right; the second man in the back was helping. Talley could barely breathe.
“What is this?”
“Listen.”
The Watchman put the phone to Talley’s ear.
“Say hello.”
Talley couldn’t imagine what they wanted or who they were. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton batting. The phone was cold against his ear.
“Who is this?”
Jane’s voice, shaky and frightened.
“Jeff? Is that you?”
Talley tried to buck away from the arm crossing his throat; he strained to pull his arms free, but couldn’t. Seconds passed before Talley realized the Watchman was talking to him.
“Take it easy, Chief; I know, I know. But just listen, okay? She’s all right. Your kid, she’s all right, too. Now just relax, breathe deep, listen. You ready to listen? Remember: Right now, from this point on, you’re in control. You. You control what happens to them. You want to hear her again? You want to talk to her, see that she’s okay?”
Talley nodded against the pressure of the arm, finally managed to croak.
“You sonofabitch.”
“Bad start, Chief, but I understand. I’m married myself. Me, I wish somebody would take my old lady, but that’s just me. Anyway, here.”
The Watchman held the phone to Talley’s ear again.
“Jane?”
“What’s going on, Jeff? Who are these people?”
“I don’t know. Are you all right? Is Mandy?”
“Jeff, I’m scared.”
Jane was crying.
The Watchman took back the phone.
“That’s enough.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Can we let you go? You past your shock and all that, we can turn you loose and you won’t do something stupid?”
“You can let go.”
The Watchman glanced at the backseat, and Talley was released. The Watchman leaned toward Talley, going eye to eye and doing it with purpose.
“Walter Smith has two computer disks in his house that belong to us. Don’t worry about why we want those disks. More important, don’t care. But we want them, and you’re going to see that we get them.”
Talley didn’t know what the Watchman was talking about; he shook his head.
“What does that mean? What?”
“You’re going to control the scene.”
“The Sheriffs control the scene.”
“Not anymore. It’s your scene. You’ll take it back or whatever it is you have to do, because no one—let me repeat that—no one is going into that house until my people go in that house.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t control that.”
The Watchman raised his finger, as if he was offering a lesson.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. You have a coordinated mixed scene now with your people—the Bristo Police Department—and the Sheriffs. In a couple of hours, a group of my people are going to arrive at York Estates. You will tell everyone involved that they are an FBI tactical team. They’ll look the part, and they know how to act the part. You see where I’m going with this?”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I can’t control any of this. I can’t control what happens in that house.”
“You better get up to speed fast, then. Your wife and kid are counting on you.”
Talley didn’t know what to say. He worked his fingers under his thighs, trying to think.
“What do you want me to do?”
“You get my people set up, then you stand by and wait to hear from me.”
The Watchman handed Talley the cell phone.
“When this phone rings, you answer. It’ll be me. I’ll tell you what to do.”
Talley stared at the phone.
“When it comes time to go in the house, my people will be the first in. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will be removed from that house except by my people. Do you get that?”
“I can’t control what those kids do. They could be giving up right now. They could start shooting. The Sheriffs might be going inside right now.”
The Watchman slapped him, a hard straight push hitting him square in the forehead with his open palm. Talley’s head rocked back.
“Don’t panic, Talley.
You should know. SWAT guys know. Panic kills.” Talley gripped the phone with both hands.
“Okay. All right.”
“You’re going to be thinking, What can I do? Here you are, a policeman, you’re going to think about calling the FBI or bringing the Sheriffs in, about getting me before something happens to your wife and child, but, Chief, think about this: I have people right there in York Estates, right under your nose, reporting everything that happens. If you bring anyone in, if you do anything other than what I am telling you to do, you’ll get your wife and kid back in the mail. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes.”
“When I have what I want, your wife and daughter will be released. We’re cool with that. They don’t know who has them just like you don’t know who we are. Ignorance is bliss.”
“What is it you want? Disks? Like computer disks? Where are they, where in the house?”
“Two disks, bigger than normal disks. They’re called Zip disks, labeled Disk One and Disk Two. We won’t know where they are until we find them, but Smith will know.”
The Watchman opened the door, paused before leaving, his glance flicking to the phone.
“Answer when it rings, Chief.”
The keys were dropped into Talley’s lap. Doors opened, closed, and Talley was alone there in the alley behind the minimall in the middle of nowhere. The Mustang pulled away. The second car roared away, backward. Talley sat behind the wheel, breathing, unable to move, feeling apart from his own body as if this had just happened to someone else.
He clawed for the keys, started his car, and spun the wheel hard, flooring it, fishtailing gravel. He hit his lights and siren, rolling code three, blasting straight back to his condo, never bothered to pull into a spot, just left the car like that in the parking lot, lights popping, and ran inside, almost as if they might be sitting there, all of this some hallucination.
The condo was empty, the silence of it outrageously loud. He called for them anyway, not knowing what else to do.
