by Robert Crais
Stiles scribbled a note.
“Now that is a curious question. An accent. Mr. Stone asked this?”
“Yes.”
Carter glanced at Stiles as if he resented her question.
“What else? End of the conversation?”
Scott thought back again.
“He asked how we’re doing, and if we’ve made progress. That was about it. Since I don’t know what we’re doing or if we’ve made progress, I had nothing to tell him.”
Carter caught the dig and started to say something, but Ignacio cut him off.
“Russ? You okay with this?”
“No problem here. Sounds like much ado about nothing.”
Mitchell glanced at Carter, and made a tight smile.
“Oughta wire up this guy and send him back, Carter. No telling what we might learn.”
Ignacio stepped away from the wall to shake Mitchell’s hand.
“Thanks, Russ. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“No harm, no foul. Could’ve been worse.”
The room was silent until Mitchell was gone, and Ignacio turned to Scott.
“What do you suppose he’s thinking, that we’re a bunch of half-assed cowboys? I’m embarrassed. Are you embarrassed, Officer James?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry if—”
“You’re not as embarrassed as you could be, but I see no great harm done to Detective Carter’s investigation, do you, Detective Carter?”
“Not unless Cole gets away with it.”
“Agreed. So, unless Mr. Cole hops the next boat to China, you won’t file a personnel complaint, will you, Brad?”
“No, sir.”
Ignacio turned back to Scott.
“Stay away from Cole. That’s an order. Your involvement with this investigation comes only with Detective Carter’s approval. Are we on the same page?”
“I’d like to be kept informed. I don’t know if they’re making progress, or what they’re doing. With respect, sir, it’s my blue ass on the line.”
Ignacio shot his response to Carter.
“Keep him informed.”
Ignacio turned to leave, but stopped when he reached the door.
“We’ll get him. Every officer in this building, every officer in this city, we’re in it together. We’ll get him.”
After Ignacio left, Carter pulled on his jacket, and spoke to Stiles. He ignored Scott.
“Inform him while he looks at mug shots.”
Carter left without looking back.
Stiles rubbed her forehead, and Scott thought she looked even more tired than Carter.
“Most cases, you got wits, prints on the weapon, you’re done. This one isn’t like that. All that bleach and ammonia, my Lord, there isn’t one print. Those neighbors, not one knows who’s been taking care of that house.”
She pushed a blue binder toward him.
“Mug shots.”
Scott touched the binder but didn’t open it.
“I don’t think I was out of line.”
“You were. I know it’s frustrating, but you should apologize.”
“I’m not frustrated. I’m angry this asshole is trying to kill me. I want to get him.”
“We want him, too. Believe it or not, we want to get him even way more than you. That make sense?”
“No.”
“If he gets you, we have to live with it.”
Scott opened the binder. The first mug shot looked no different than the two hundred he’d already seen.
“You’re wrong about Cole.”
“Been wrong before.”
“We could get him to help.”
“Look through the pictures. When you finish, we have plenty more.”
Scott turned the page. The face staring up at him looked nothing like the man in the sport coat.
29
Elvis Cole
PIKE AND I worked out an exit plan while Jon Stone checked my house and car. He used a dull black wand a little larger than a TV remote to search for infrared heat points, electromagnetic fields, and the frequencies used by audio/video devices and GPS trackers. Officially, Jon’s equipment didn’t exist. It was provided by the National Security Agency for Jon’s government contract work. Like Amy Breslyn, much about Jon Stone was secret.
Jon shrugged when he finished.
“Nada. Guess you aren’t worth the cost of a bug.”
Pike went to the door.
“We’ll get set up. Call when you roll.”
I went back to my deck, and thought about Officer James. The sun was higher, and prickled my skin with a distant heat. I didn’t like surveillance teams watching me, or federal agents entering my home. I didn’t like that the woman I sought was probably connected to a man who was trying to murder a police officer. Keeping faith with my client left me resentful.
The cat leaped onto the deck. He looked surprised to see me and shook himself.
“That dog had you by seventy-five pounds. You have a death wish.”
He plopped onto his side and licked his anus.
I went inside, showered, and found three messages from Meryl Lawrence. Two were left yesterday, and the third while I was with Officer James.
“Are you ducking my calls? I’ll be on your side of town this morning. Call me. I want to know if you’re earning your money.”
One message was enough.
Jennifer Li and the Lerners hadn’t returned my calls. Eddie Ditko hadn’t called, but I’d only spoken to him the night before. Jared promised to get back to me about Ilan and Stacey, but hadn’t. If Ilan or Stacey remembered Charles, I wanted to show them the sketch, so I phoned Everett’s even though it was before business hours. The inevitable voice mail answered. Karma.
Meryl was a pain, but maybe no one returned my calls because I didn’t return hers. Maybe bad karma was piling up like flies on a corpse, and my calls wouldn’t be returned until the causality books were balanced. I dialed Meryl Lawrence, and was surprised when she answered. Magic.
She spoke in a fast rush.
“Can’t talk. Meet me in forty minutes. Say where.”
Forty minutes. Not half an hour or an hour. Forty. Like we were Ukrainian spies.
We agreed on a parking lot at Sunset and La Cienega. Forty minutes gave me plenty of time, so I tested my karmic balance with Jennifer Li. A woman answered, making me two for two.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to reach Jennifer Li. This was her number in high school.”
“This is Jennie’s mother. Who is this, please?”
“I’m a friend of Jacob Breslyn’s. Jacob and Jennie went to school together.”
Her voice took a sad note.
“Oh, that was so awful, what happened. Are you the gentleman who called yesterday?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry to call again, but I’m only in town a few days, and got to thinking about Jacob.”
“Jennie doesn’t live here, you know. She married Dave Tillman. She’s a physician.”
“A doctor. You must be proud.”
“A pediatric surgeon. She does surgery on little babies.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to talk to her.”
She hesitated, and her voice grew awkward.
“I gave her your message. She’s so busy, you know. Residents work these terrible hours. She’s always exhausted.”
It was obvious she didn’t want to give Jennie’s number, so I didn’t press her.
“I understand, Ms. Li. No problem. I’ll catch her next time. Did Jennie and Dave stay in L.A.?”
Ms. Li’s voice relaxed, now that I wasn’t pressing.
“Yes, thank goodness. We were so lucky she found a position.”
“You’ve been kind, Ms. Li. Sorry I bothered you.”
Three for three.
I tucked the sketch in my pocket, and called Joe as I went to my car.
“Leaving.”
“Ready.”
They were set up at pre-arranged locations along a convoluted route down through the canyon, with Pike down low and Jon above, where he could keep an eye on the surveillance teams. When a tail car moved to follow me, Jon would alert Pike, who would position himself between us, and block their route.
I was three minutes from my house when Jon came on the line.
“They’re not moving.”
Two minutes later, I was farther down in the canyon when he came on the line again.
“Still no movement.”
Pike said, “Check the area.”
“These guys haven’t moved, and I don’t see anyone moving to track you.”
I said, “Nobody’s following me?”
“Makes you feel less special, doesn’t it?”
We kept watch as I worked down the canyon and into the flats near Hollywood Boulevard.
“Still nothing?”
Pike said, “Nothing.”
“They’re still on my house?”
Jon said, “A-firm.”
“Maybe they’re dummy units. Is anyone in the cars?”
“Might be dummies, but I see real, live people.”
Strange.
Pike said, “You’re clear. What do you want to do?”
I cut them free, and turned toward Meryl Lawrence. She arrived first, and was already parked.
The two-story strip mall was home to a vegan cheese shop, a comic book store, and a mom-and-pop donut shop. I parked on the street a block away, walked back, and got into her car. Meryl was sipping a coffee, but it hadn’t helped her mood.
“You’re late.”
“I was working.”
“Next time, work on picking a better parking lot. This crappy lot sucks.”
“No more crappy lots. Check.”
She wore a black pants suit with a string of white pearls, but her jacket was rumpled and smudges hollowed her eyes. The strain was starting to show, and it was about to get worse.
I said, “I have a lot to tell you, but you should know the police came to see me again yesterday. An agent from Homeland Security was with them.”
She closed her eyes.
“Shit. Shitshitshitshit.”
She opened her door and poured out the coffee.
“I can’t sleep. I can’t keep anything down.”
“Maybe it’s time to tell your boss. You don’t have to tell him you tried an end-around with me. I won’t give you up.”
She stared into the cup as if she didn’t remember why it was empty.
“If you have something to report, please just tell me.”
I showed her the sketch art, but I did not tell her about Scott James or that the man in the sketch had tried to kill him. Meryl Lawrence was a pain, but my guilts were mine to bear.
“Do you know this man?”
“No. Who is he?”
“This is the man I chased from Thomas Lerner’s house. The police believe the munitions were his.”
She shrugged as if she didn’t see the importance.
“Okay. So?”
“Did Amy express a consuming interest about the people behind the bombing that killed her son?”
“Consuming how?”
“Obsessive. Rage, anger, venting about why they hadn’t been caught.”
“Not at all. She never talked about it. Or them.”
“Did you know she bought a gun?”
Meryl Lawrence stared as if I were testing her.
“I don’t know anything about a gun.”
I showed her the receipt, and repeated what I’d heard at the X-Spot. Meryl stopped me with an aggressive wave at the sketch.
“What does this man have to do with Amy?”
“She wanted to contact al-Qaeda, or people who deal with al-Qaeda. You believe Charles convinced her to embezzle almost half a million dollars. This man had stolen military munitions in Thomas Lerner’s house, and that stuff ain’t cheap. You see how it fits? Maybe this is Charles.”
She eyed the sketch doubtfully.
“You think this is Charles?”
“I’ll know if he’s Charles by the end of the day.”
I told her I had a line on the florist who sold Charles the flowers, and Jennifer Li gave us a good shot at finding Lerner. Her eyes brightened when I told her about the florist, but she was less enthusiastic about Jennifer.
“Don’t waste time with Lerner, but the florist could pan out. Maybe they have a security camera.”
“Lerner isn’t a waste of time. Lerner ties Amy to the house where the explosives were found. Amy might have asked Lerner for help, and Lerner knew the house could be used for a drop. These things don’t come together unless Lerner is part of it.”
She squinted doubtfully, and shook her head.
“You’re confusing yourself. And even if you’re right, the police will be all over Lerner. If they find out you’re searching for Lerner, too, I’m screwed. Stay with the florist. They might have a video.”
“I asked. They don’t.”
The burner vibrated in my pocket. I checked the caller and saw it was EVERETT’S.
“It’s them. I have to go.”
“Ask if he used a credit card.”
“I asked. He paid cash.”
I opened the door to leave, but she caught my sleeve.
“The florist might have seen his car. Ask. We might get a make and model. See if the businesses next door have cameras. We could luck into a walk-by.”
The instructions rattled out as if she were giving orders. I opened the door wider.
“I have to talk to the man, Meryl.”
“Good. Go. This is much more productive than chasing the kid. We might be finally getting somewhere.”
I pulled my shirt free, and got out. She leaned across the seat.
“Don’t duck me like before. Call.”
I shoved the door closed, and escaped to my car.
30
“GOOD MORNING, ELLLLVIS! Saying those words is a fantasy in SO many ways! Ilan recalls the so-called gentleman in question. We’re here . . . for anything your heart desires.”
Jared did an excellent Big Bopper.
I touched the callback icon, and tried to sound calm.
“Hey, Jared, thanks for getting back to me.”
“Why hello, Mr. Man! I’m moving to Everett’s office so we can put you on speaker. Everett, of course, is elsewhere, doing God alone knows what.”
Jared put me on hold but picked up again two minutes later.
“We’re he-re! Elvis, Ilan. Ilan, this is my dear friend, Elvis. Don’t you love his name? Say it. Doesn’t Elll-viss feel simply wonderful in your mouth?”
A second voice spoke, young and uncertain.
“This is Ilan. Can you hear me?”
Their voices had the hollow, faraway quality that came with being on speaker.
“I hear you fine, Ilan. Did Jared explain who this is about?”
“The Pink Finesse gardens.”
“A dozen Pink Finesse garden roses were delivered to a woman named Amy Breslyn. You wrote the order. This was ten or eleven days ago.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The man paid cash, and signed the card Charles. Do you remember him?”
“Uh-huh.”
Jared sighed dramatically.
“Please do not mumble. Use your adult voice.”
Ilan spoke louder, and sounded annoyed.
“Yes, I remember him. I didn’t remember his name, but Jared reminded me.”
“Okay, great. Do you recall his last name?”
“He paid cash. W
hy would I know his last name?”
Ilan sounded even more annoyed, and Jared didn’t like it. His voice was quick and sharp.
“Don’t be short. The poor man asked a simple question.”
Ilan didn’t respond. He was sulking.
I said, “Don’t sweat it, Ilan. No reason you should know. I just thought he might have mentioned it.”
“He didn’t.”
Now he sounded pouty.
“Did he mention why he was buying the flowers, or say anything about the woman he was sending them to?”
Ilan said something, but his voice was so low I didn’t understand him. Then I realized he was talking to Jared. Jared answered in his normal tone.
“Vaguery is no friend to a delicate heart. Tell him, not me. Healing comes with clarity.”
Ilan cleared his throat.
“He told me he wanted to impress the lady.”
Jared’s voice was gentle.
“When a gentleman says he wants to impress a lady, he isn’t talking about his mother. Would you like a moment?”
I unfolded the sketch art. I wanted Ilan to describe Charles before he saw the sketch. Memories could be distorted by after-the-fact influences.
“I’d like to keep going. Ilan? Can you tell me what the man looked like?”
“I wouldn’t know what to say.”
Jared’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Did he have three arms? A goiter? Don’t be a twit!”
Now Ilan’s voice rose and he sounded scared.
“Why are you getting up?”
“Look at me! I am five feet nine inches of blue steel love. Was he bigger than me? Smaller? A burly Adonis, or a spindly pear? Speak!”
Damn. Jared was good.
Ilan made a humming sound, as if he were trying to picture the man.
“Taller. He wasn’t skinny, but he wasn’t overweight, either. He was fit, and he was totally suburban.”
I said, “Suburban means what?”
Jared jumped in.
“Boring. A straight, white, conservative, middle-aged male.”
Ilan was suddenly into it.
“Yes! He looked like my dad. The combed brown hair going to gray, the tennis tan, the whole impatient businessman thing. OhmyGod, his collar was open. That is totally my dad. End of the day, the tie comes off, the Johnnie Walker goes down.”
