Hostage

by Robert Crais

  “Jane! Amanda!”

  Their only sign was the keys to Jane’s car, sitting plainly on the dining room table, small and hard, left there as a threat.

  Talley put Jane’s keys in his pocket. He went upstairs to the little desk in his bedroom where he stared at the photographs. Jane and Amanda, much younger then, stared back in a picture taken at Disneyland, Jane sitting at one of those outdoor restaurants in Adventureland, her arms wrapped around Amanda, both of them showing more white teeth than a piano. They had eaten tostadas or tacos, one, with some salsa that was so mild that they’d laughed about it, the three native Angelenos, salsa with all the kick of Campbell’s tomato soup, something that only people from Minnesota or Wisconsin would find spicy. Talley choked a sob in his chest. He took the picture from the frame, put it in his pocket with the keys. He went to his closet for the blue nylon gym bag on the top shelf, and brought the bag to his bed. He took out the pistol that he had carried during his SWAT days, a Colt .45 Model 1911 that had been tuned by the SWAT armorer for accuracy and reliability. It was big, ugly, and supremely dangerous. It held only seven bullets, but SWAT used the .45 as their combat pistol because just one of those big heavy bullets could knock a large man off his feet. A .38 or a 9mm couldn’t promise that, but the .45 could. It was a killer.

  Talley ejected the empty magazine, filled it with seven bullets, then reseated it. He dug through the gym bag for the black ballistic nylon holster. He took off his uniform, then put on blue jeans and tennis shoes. He fitted the holster onto his belt at his side, then covered it with a black sweatshirt. He clipped his badge to his belt.

  The cell phone that the Watchman gave him was sitting on his desk. Talley stared at it. What if it rang? What if the Watchman ordered him into Walter Smith’s house right now and the people inside that house were killed? What if he answered that phone to hear Jane and Amanda screaming as they were murdered?

  Talley sat on the edge of the bed thinking that he was a fool. He should go directly to both the Sheriff’s Detective Bureau and the FBI; even the Watchman knew it. That would be the smart way to play this mess, and that was what he would have done except that he believed that the Watchman was telling the truth about having someone at York Estates, and would kill his family. Talley was scared; it’s easy to say what someone should do when they’re not you; when it’s you, it’s a nightmare. He told himself to be careful. The Watchman was right about something else, too: Panic kills. That same message had hung on the wall at the Special Weapons and Tactics School: Panic kills. The instructors had hammered it into them. It didn’t matter how urgent the situation, you had to think; act quickly but efficiently. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, and nothing wastes your mind faster than getting your ass shot off.

  Think.

  Talley put the Watchman’s phone in his pocket and drove to his office.

  The Bristo Camino Police Department was a two-story space in the mall that used to be a toy store. Talley’s officers jokingly called it “the crib.” This time of night, the mall parking lot was empty; only one radio car was out front, along with the personal cars belonging to his officers. Talley left his car at the curb. The second floor contained a single holding cell, a ready room for briefings, a bathroom, and a locker room. The most serious criminals it had held were two sixteen-year-old car thieves who had driven a stolen Porsche up from Santa Monica only to wrap it around a palm tree; mostly, the cell was used to let drunk drivers sleep off their buzz. Office space for Sarah filled most of the ground floor, with the front desk being designated for the duty officer of the watch, though Sarah, herself not a sworn officer, served that post whenever she wasn’t ensconced in the communications bay. Talley’s office sat in the rear, but his own computer wasn’t tied into the National Law Enforcement Telecommunication System; only one computer in the office could access the NLETS, and that was up front by Sarah.

  Kenner, sitting at the front desk, raised his eyebrows in surprise when Talley entered.

  “Hey, Chief. I thought you went seven.”

  Seven was the code for taking a meal break, but it was also slang for going off duty. Talley let himself through the gate that separated the public space from the desks without making eye contact. He didn’t want conversation.

  “I’ve got more to do.”

  “What’s happening out at the house?”

  “The Sheriffs have it.”

  Sarah waved from the communications bay. She was a retired public school teacher with bright red hair who worked the job because she enjoyed it. Talley nodded at her, but didn’t stop to chat the way he ordinarily would. He went straight to the NLETS computer.

  Sarah called, “I thought you went home?”

  “More to do.”

  “Isn’t that sad about that little boy? What happened with that?”

  “I just stopped by to look up something. I’ve got to get back to the house.”

  He made his manner brusque to discourage her.

  Talley typed in the Mustang’s license number, 2KLX561, and requested a California Department of Motor Vehicles search.

  “Ah, Chief, I’d like to get some time out there. You know, at the house.”

  Kenner had come up behind him, looking hopeful. Talley leaned forward to block the computer’s screen.

  “Call Anders. Tell him I said to rotate you out there at the shift change.”

  Talley turned back to the computer.

  “Ah, Chief? You think I could work the perimeter?”

  Talley blocked the screen again, letting his annoyance show.

  “You want some trigger time? That it, Kenner?”

  Kenner shrugged.

  “Well, yes, sir.”

  “See Anders.”

  Talley stared at Kenner until he returned to the front desk. The DMV search came back, showing that license plate 2KLX561 was currently an unregistered listing. Next, he typed in the name Walter Smith and ran it through the National Crime Information Center, limiting the search to white males in the Southwest within a ten-year time frame. The NCIC search kicked back one hundred twenty-eight hits. That was too many. Talley could have limited the search if he had Smith’s middle name, but he didn’t. He cut the frame to five years, tried again, and this time got thirty-one hits. He skimmed the results. Twenty-one of the thirty-two arrestees were currently incarcerated, and the remaining ten were too young. As far as the law enforcement computer network knew, the Walter Smith who lived in York Estates was just another upstanding American with something in his house that men were willing to kill for.

  Talley deleted the screen, then tried to recall as many details as possible about the three men and the woman who kidnapped him. The woman: short dark hair that cupped her face, five-five, slender, light-colored blouse and skirt; it had been too dark to see any more. The three men had worn nicely tailored sport coats, gloves, and masks; he had noticed no identifying characteristics. He tried to remember background noise from when he spoke with Jane, some telling sound that could identify her location, but there had been none.

  Talley took out the Watchman’s phone, wondering if a print could be lifted. It was a new black Nokia. The phone’s battery indicator showed a full charge. Talley felt a sudden fear that the battery would fail, and he would never hear from Jane and Amanda again. He trembled as the panic grew, then forced those thoughts down. Think. The cell phone was his link to the people who had Jane and Amanda, a link that might lead back to them. If the Watchman had called Jane’s location, that number would be in the memory. Talley’s heart pounded. He pressed redial. No number came up. Talley checked the phone’s stored memory, but no numbers were listed. Think!!! If the people holding Jane had phoned the Watchman, Talley might be able to reverse-dial the number with the star 69 feature. He pressed star 69. Nothing happened. Talley’s heart pounded harder; he wanted to smash the fucking phone. He wanted to throw it against the wall, then stomp it to splinters. Goddamnit, THINK!!! Someone had paid for the phone and was paying for its service. Talley t
urned off the phone, then turned it back on. As the view screen lit, the phone’s number appeared. 555-1367. Talley wanted to jump up and pump his fist. He copied the number, his only lead.

  Then Talley realized he had another lead: Walter Smith. Smith could identify these people, Smith had what they wanted, and Smith might even be able to tell him where they had taken Jane and Amanda. Smith had answers. All Talley had to do was reach him.

  And get him out of that house.

  Talley called Larry Anders when he was five minutes from the development, saying to meet him inside the south entrance, and to wait there alone. The traffic passing the development was less than it had been earlier, but a long line of gawkers still made the going slow once Talley turned off Flanders Road. He burped his siren to make them pull to the side, then waved himself through the blockade.

  Anders was parked on the side of the road. Talley pulled up behind him and flicked his lights. Anders walked back to Talley’s window, looking nervous.

  “What’s up, Chief?”

  “Where’s Metzger?”

  “Up with the Sheriffs in case they need something. Did I do something?”

  “Get in.”

  Talley waited as Anders walked around the front of the car and climbed in. Anders wasn’t the oldest person on his department, but he was the senior officer in years served, and Talley respected him. He thought again that the man in the ski mask had someone here, and wondered if that person was Larry Anders. Talley recalled a photograph that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times, one taken at the day-care center that showed Spencer Morgan, the man who had held the children hostage, holding a gun to Talley’s head. Talley thought of the trust it had taken for him to stand there while his friend Neal Craimont lined up the crosshairs.

  Anders squirmed.

  “Jesus, Chief, why are you staring at me like that?”

  “I have something for you to do. You’re not to tell anyone else what you’re doing, not Metzger, not the other guys, not the Sheriffs, no one; just tell them that I want you to run down some background info, but don’t tell them what. You understand me, Larry?”

  Anders replied slowly.

  “I guess so.”

  “I can’t have you guessing. Either you can keep your mouth shut or you can’t. This is important.”

  “This isn’t something illegal, is it, Chief? I really like being a cop. I couldn’t do something illegal.”

  “It’s police work, the real thing. I want you to find out as much as you can about Walter Smith.”

  “The guy in the house?”

  “I believe he’s involved in illegal activity or associates with people who are. I need to find out what that is. Talk to the neighbors, but don’t be obvious about it. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing or what you suspect. Try to find out whatever you can about him, where he’s from, stuff like that; his business, his clients, anything that will give us a handle on him. It will help if you can learn his middle name. When you’ve finished here, go back to the office and run him through the FBI and the NLETS database. I went back five years, but you go back twenty.”

  Anders cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable with all this.

  “What’s the problem with telling our guys? I mean, why not?”

  “Because that’s the way I want it, Larry. I have a good reason, I just can’t tell you right now, but I’m trusting that you’ll keep your word.”

  “I will, Chief. Yes, sir, I will.”

  Talley gave him the Nokia’s cell phone number.

  “Before you do any of that, I want you to trace this cell phone number. You can do this by phone from here. Find out who it’s billed to. If you need a court order, call the Palmdale District Court. They have a judge on page for night work. Sarah has the number.”

  Anders looked at the slip of paper.

  “The judge, he’ll want to know why, won’t he?”

  “Tell him we believe this number will provide life-or-death information about one of the men in the house.”

  Anders nodded dully, knowing it was a lie.

  “All right.”

  Talley thought, trying to remember if there was something else, something that might give him a line to find out who he was dealing with.

  “When you get back to the office, run a DMV stolen-vehicle search for a green Mustang, this year’s model. It would be a recent theft, maybe even today.”

  Anders took out his pad to make notes.

  “Ah, you got a tag?”

  “It’s running a dead plate. If you get a hit, note where it was stolen. Who was checking into the building permits?”

  “Ah, that was Cooper.”

  “I want you to stay on that.”

  “It’s midnight.”

  “If you have to get the city supervisors out of bed, do it. Tell them the Sheriffs are desperate for the house plans, it’s life or death, whatever you have to say, but find out who built that house.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re going to have to work all night, Larry. It’s important.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Update me with everything you find out, whatever time it is. Don’t use the radio. Call my cell. You got the number?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get to it.”

  Talley watched Anders drive away. He told himself that Anders could be trusted; he had just placed the lives of his family in Larry Anders’s hands.

  Talley parked outside Mrs. Peña’s house and went to the Sheriff’s command van. The back gate was open, glowing crimson from the soft red lights within. Martin, Hicks, and the I.O. supervisor were clumped around the coffee machine.

  Talley rapped on the side of the van as he climbed inside. When Martin glanced over, she smiled with a warmth that surprised him.

  “I thought you left.”

  “I’m taking back command of the scene.”

  It took a moment for his statement to register, then Martin’s brow furrowed. The warmth was gone.

  “I don’t understand. You requested our help. You couldn’t wait to hand off to me.”

  Talley had readied the lie.

  “I know I did, Captain, but it’s a liability issue. The city supervisors want a representative of Bristo to be in charge. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be. As of now, I’m resuming command of the scene.”

  Hicks put his fists on his hips.

  “What kind of half-assed hicktown crap is this?”

  Talley pointedly looked at Hicks.

  “No tactical action is to be taken without my approval. Is that clear?”

  Martin stalked across the van, stopping only inches away. She was almost as tall as Talley.

  “Outside. I want to talk about this.”

  Talley didn’t move. He knew that the Sheriffs regularly worked under local restraints when they functioned in advisory and support roles; Martin would still be in direct control of her people, though Talley would command the operation. Martin would go along.

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Captain. I’m not going to tell you how to do your job; I need you, and I appreciate your being here. But I have to sign off on any action we take, and right now I’m saying that there will be no tactical action.”

  Martin started to say something, then stopped. She seemed to search his eyes. Talley met her gaze and did not look away, though he felt embarrassed and frightened. He wondered if she could see that he was lying.

  “What if those assholes lose it in there, Chief? You want me to track you down and waste time asking your permission to save those kids?”

  Talley could barely answer.

  “It won’t come to that.”

  “You don’t know that. That house could go to hell in a second.”

  Talley stepped back. He wanted to get out of the van.

  “I want to talk to Maddox. Is he still at the house?”

  Martin continued to search his eyes, and now she lowered her voice.

  “What’s wrong, Chief? You lo
ok like something’s bothering you.”

  Talley looked away.

  “It has to be this way, that’s all. I have this city council.”

  Martin considered him again, then lowered her voice still more as if she didn’t want Hicks and the Intelligence Officer to hear.

  “Maddox told me a little about you. You were pretty hot stuff down there in Los Angeles.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Martin shrugged, then smiled, though not so warmly as before.

  “Not so long.”

  “I want to see Maddox.”

  “He’s in the cul-de-sac. I’ll tell him you’re on the way.”

  “Thanks, Martin. For not making this worse.” She stared at him, but turned away without answering. Talley found Maddox and Ellison waiting at their car in the mouth of the cul-de-sac. Ellison looked curious.

  “Can’t get too much of a good thing, huh, Chief?”

  “Guess not. Has he made any more demands?” Maddox shook his head.

  “Nothing. We’ve been phoning every fifteen or twenty minutes to keep him awake, but other than that, there’s nothing.”

  “All right. I want to move up by the house.”

  Maddox opened his driver’s-side door.

  “You taking back the phone?”

  “That’s it. Let’s go.”

  Talley checked the Watchman’s cell phone, making sure it was on. They eased the car into the cul-de-sac and returned to the house.

  JENNIFER

  Jennifer nodded in and out of a light drowse, never quite sleeping, listening to the helicopters and the squawk of police voices that she could not understand. She thought they might be dreams. Jennifer couldn’t get comfortable with her wrists taped, lying in her bed, on top of the covers, the room so hot it left her sweaty and gross. Every time she felt herself falling asleep, the phone rang, distant from downstairs, and left her head filled with thoughts she could not stop: her father; her brother, thinking that he might be creeping through the walls to do something stupid.

  Jennifer jerked upright when the door opened. She saw Mars framed in dim light. Her skin crawled, being on the bed with him there, him and his toad eyes. She scrambled to her feet.