The Wanted

by Robert Crais

  Red bubbles. Red tears leaked from red eyes.

  Harvey backed from the car, and came over, brushing his pants. He had the boy’s cell phone.

  “This is effed up. We finally get one, and he can’t talk.”

  “You got his phone.”

  “It’s locked.”

  Stemms frowned at the boy. The phone would give them the girl and the other boy, and everything the boy couldn’t say.

  “What’s the code?”

  Moan.

  “I’m not playing, boy. If you can’t talk, hold up some fingers. First digit. C’mon, make a number.”

  Stemms grabbed Rickey’s hand, but the kid only screamed.

  Harvey said, “His hands don’t work, Stemms. Stop.”

  “So now what?”

  “Whatever. They’ll crack it.”

  Harvey slipped the phone into his pocket, then snapped his fingers. Loud. Rickey looked.

  “You see that? His eyes track.”

  “Yeah. He sees us.”

  “Think he’ll make it?”

  Stemms stood, and they stared at the kid.

  “I dunno. Maybe.”

  Harvey said, “This kid is pissing me off.”

  Harvey and Stemms walked back to their car. Harvey dug out a fingerprint kit, and walked back up the embankment.

  Stemms waited by the Chrysler, watching the street in case someone approached. It was one of those streets that came from nothing and went nowhere. Empty.

  He watched Harvey press the kid’s fingertips onto clear plastic slides. When he saw Harvey box the slides, Stemms headed up the embankment.

  “Got’m?”

  “All ten. We’re golden.”

  Stemms drew his pistol. He shot Alec Rickey in the head. He fired a second shot, and holstered the gun.

  Harvey said, “We should burn him.”

  “Yeah.”

  They walked down the slope to their car. The night was young. They were men, doing work.

  PART II

  CRIMINALS

  9

  ELVIS COLE

  DAWN CAME EARLY after a fitful sleep. I ran in the darkness, following the silent streets from my home to Mulholland, then along the Mulholland snake to the Hollywood Bowl, and back. Dawn came early, but I was home before the sun touched the sky. Sweating out beer was a bitch.

  Breakfast was leftover veal with a side of eggplant. I showered, dressed, and put on a pot of coffee. The coffee was dripping when someone knocked at the door. Four quick, hard raps.

  A man and a woman were making the noise. The woman stood front and center, with the man to the side and behind. They were the couple in the brown sedan who cruised past the Slausons’ house.

  When they knocked again, I opened the door.

  “It’s early. I hope you brought donuts.”

  The woman ignored my crack, and held up a badge.

  “I’m Cassett. He’s Rivera. Remember us?”

  “Should I?”

  Rivera grunted.

  “It’s too early for jokes. You remember.”

  Cassett put away her badge.

  “He remembers. That’s why he’s letting us in.”

  They stepped in past me, and moved apart like street cops clearing a disturbance call. The A-frame’s ceiling peaked like a glass cathedral above us, and bathed us in morning light. Rivera did a slow three-sixty, eyeing the room like I lived in a dump.

  I said, “Do you people know what time it is?”

  “Sure. Are we alone?”

  “My cat’s in the kitchen. Want to meet him?”

  Cassett went to the sliders, and studied the canyon.

  “Nice view.”

  Rivera noticed the stairs to the loft.

  “What’s up the stairs?”

  “Whatever’s up there, it isn’t for sale. I was about to feed my cat, Cassett. His food’s getting cold.”

  Rivera said, “Tough.”

  He circled toward the kitchen, trying to see.

  Cassett said, “Sorry about the hour, Mr. Cole. We’ll try not to keep you.”

  I motioned to the couch.

  “Whatever. You guys want some coffee?”

  “Like I said, we’ll try not to keep you. Why were you at the Slausons?”

  Her eyes were as flat as paper plates, but her manner was conversational.

  “I wanted to see them about the burglary. Is there a problem?”

  Rivera said, “How’s the burglary your business?”

  “I’m looking into it.”

  Cassett turned from the view.

  “Why would you be looking into it?”

  The cat padded out of the kitchen. He stopped when he saw them, folded his ears, and growled.

  I said, “Watch yourself, Rivera. He bites.”

  Rivera squinted at the cat.

  “How come his head’s crooked?”

  “Someone shot him.”

  The cat turned sideways, and arched his back. Rivera sidled away.

  Cassett said, “Let’s get back to the Slausons and why you were there.”

  “I heard the Slausons got ripped, and decided to nose around. Insurance companies pay recovery fees. That’s it.”

  Rivera scowled.

  “Which SIU you with?”

  Insurance companies had Special Investigations Units to verify claims and sniff out insurance fraud. Staff investigators handled most SIU cases, but during periods of high work load or with specialized cases, outside contract investigators were hired. I had worked for most of the big companies.

  I said, “None. I’m working for me. Freelance.”

  “You’re not on with a company?”

  “Freelance.”

  Rivera glanced at Cassett, and cocked his head.

  “He’s kidding, right? We don’t have enough, and now we’ve got some freelance cheesing around for a payoff?”

  “Take it easy, Mike.”

  Rivera’s face was puffy, like he had spent the night drinking.

  “Okay, Mr. Freelance, who told you about the Slausons?”

  “A friend in the business. What’s the big deal?”

  The cat edged closer, and growled again.

  “What’s wrong with you people? You’ve got eighteen high-end burglaries. It’s all the insurance people are talking about.”

  Rivera came closer again, and stopped just short of my nose.

  “Maybe you were up there trying to sell their stuff back. Thieves do that, you know? They rip a house, and hire a stooge to sell the stuff back to the victims.”

  “Step away from me, Rivera.”

  The cat’s growl spiraled louder, and his fur bristled.

  Cassett snapped at her partner.

  “Take it easy, Mike. Stop.”

  Rivera stepped back, but didn’t go easy. He was sucking air like a whale, and close to a stroke.

  “We have too many assholes riding our backs now, Cole. We sure as hell don’t need a cheeser like you making it worse. Keep away from the Slausons.”

  “Bite me, Rivera. Get out of my house before I call the cops.”

  Cassett said, “Mike!”

  She tipped her head toward the door.

  “I’ll be out in a second.”

  Rivera stalked out. I expected the door to slam, but it closed soft as a whisper.

  Cassett looked at my cat.

  “Is your cat always like this?”

  “I could ask the same about Rivera.”

  She smiled, and looked tired.

  “We’ve had a rough few weeks.”

  The cat sniffed once, and returned to the kitchen. His claws snicked the floor when he walked. Snick-snick-snick.

  I said, “Start again, Sergeant. Why are you here?
”

  She went to the glass door and studied the canyon. The mist below was lifting.

  “We get the high-profile stuff, all the glitzy headline cases, but, man, rich people are a pain in the ass.”

  She turned from the view.

  “Half of these vics golf with the mayor. The others have a councilman on speed dial. Two of our vics donate hundreds of thousands of dollars to the Department, and one even more. You know what all these connections and donations mean?”

  “Pressure.”

  She made a little nod.

  “People looking over our shoulders. Insurance reps. Investigators the rich people hire. My boss even has to brief these clowns. You believe this shit? My boss does not like to give briefings.”

  She took a breath, and shrugged.

  “So if Mike was testy, it’s because we’re tired of being nice.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I asked around. People said you’re pretty good, so I thought, never know, maybe this guy has something useful.”

  I felt like a dog.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you?”

  “I didn’t know about the Slausons until yesterday.”

  She gave me her card, and went to the door.

  “If you hear anything, call me.”

  “Sure.”

  Rivera was behind the wheel of their D-ride. He stared straight ahead, and wouldn’t look at me.

  Cassett stepped out, but turned back.

  “Your friend. What’s his name?”

  “Which friend?”

  “Your insurance friend. The one who told you about the Slausons. Maybe I know him.”

  Her eyes were flat like plates again.

  “Les Peyton. Scadlock Mutual.”

  She gave a polite smile.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Cole.”

  Cassett got into the brown sedan, and I closed the door.

  I didn’t like withholding information. I felt small and shifty, and told myself Cassett’s case would close as soon as Tyson surrendered. The rich people would be off her back, Dr. Slauson’s watch would be returned, and everyone would move on with their lives. I told myself the case was almost over, but I was wrong.

  I was pouring a cup of coffee when Devon called.

  “He’s missing. Tyson ran away, and didn’t come home. I need you!”

  I dumped the coffee, and drove to the Valley.

  10

  TYSON: Sorry I didn’t answer you. We drank some beer and this rum drink. I shouldn’t drive. I’ll spend the night at my friend’s. Nite.

  MOM: Where are you? I’ll come get you.

  MOM: I’m calling. Answer.

  MOM: You said you would be right back. Where are you?

  MOM: I’ll keep calling until you answer.

  MOM: I’m worried.

  MOM: I’M WORRIED. WHERE ARE YOU?

  MOM: Who are you with?

  MOM: Who’s with you, Tyson? What are you doing?

  MOM: PLEASE answer.

  MOM: You are in trouble. I know what you’re doing.

  MOM: I cannot believe you won’t answer. ARE YOU ALIVE?

  MOM: I’m calling the police.

  TYSON: Fell asleep. Sorry. I’ll go to school in the morning. Home after. Turning off phone coz u keep waking me. Don’t worry. Luv u. Nite.

  11

  ELVIS COLE

  THE MORNING AFTER Tyson Connor disappeared, Devon’s house didn’t smell like pancakes. Her eyes were sunken gray caves locked in purple shadows, and her halting, jerking movements were angry.

  “School my butt. He didn’t go to school. I called first thing, and he hasn’t shown up. He’s with them.”

  Amber and Alec.

  Devon stalked to the window, turned, and stalked to the hall.

  “I’ll kill him. The police could show up any second, and he disappears. What does he think, he’ll be a fugitive for the rest of his life?”

  “I guess he didn’t like the idea of turning himself in.”

  Her sunken eyes flashed like roadside flares.

  “You should have heard him. Aghast. Incredulous. The police had him confused with someone else. Jesus, really?”

  She stalked to the window, and the flares dimmed.

  “Once we got past his outrage, he calmed down. I told him about the lawyer. I laid everything out. Dr. Rossi helped. Tyson relaxed, and asked questions, and stopped denying it. He even thanked me.”

  “He agreed to surrender.”

  “Yes. We kept talking after Dr. Rossi left. We really talked. We haven’t talked like this since the summer. He seemed fine. I wouldn’t have let him leave if I thought he would do this.”

  At nine thirty-two that night, after three hours of talking, Tyson asked if he could go to the minimart for a frozen yogurt, and bring one home for her. Devon hesitated, but he seemed fine, and the minimart was only four blocks away. She told him she’d like a nonfat chocolate with peanut sprinkles.

  Tyson said, “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Tyson did not return, and did not respond to her texts or calls, so she went to the minimart. The owner, Mr. Shabazz, reported that Tyson had not been to his store that evening.

  I said, “Tyson called them. They panicked, and got together to figure out what to do. They don’t have many options.”

  She studied me for a moment, and went to the aquarium.

  “We used to have more fish. He would sit here on the couch, and watch them the way other kids watch TV. He was a little guy, five or six.”

  I wanted to begin searching for him, but she wanted to tell me about the fish. It seemed important.

  “One day, and I have no idea where this came from, he wanted to know their scientific names. He couldn’t read, so I looked them up and read the names for him. Poecilia reticulata, Pterophyllum altum, Paracheirodon innesi. Big words, but I only had to read them once. He remembered. He knew the binomial name of every fish in this tank.”

  She stared at the remaining fish as if they were fading memories, then faced me.

  “I don’t have many options, either. Just you.”

  “Miracles are my business.”

  “I hope you’re running a special.”

  “Alec and Amber. When you and Tyson were talking, did he tell you about them?”

  “I didn’t ask. He was so upset, I didn’t want to make it worse. We talked about him.”

  “What about Rossi?”

  “Tyson never mentioned them to Rossi. He had no idea what Tyson was doing.”

  “Would Tyson call him for help?”

  “It’s possible. I let him know Tyson left. If Tyson reaches out, he’ll call. I also called the attorney. She thinks we should move forward, and approach the D.A.’s office. I agree.”

  I didn’t like it.

  “Moving forward is risky. You can’t promise something you can’t deliver, and we can’t deliver Tyson.”

  “Leslie knows and she’ll tell them. Her client is a parent who believes her minor child has committed a string of burglaries. This child has not yet agreed to cooperate, but the parent believes he will, and believes she can arrange a voluntary surrender. This establishes our intent and good faith, and buys us two or three days before we have to produce him.”

  “Two or three days isn’t a lot of time.”

  “Miracles are your business. Right?”

  Smart people irked me.

  I tried to imagine paths that could lead to Tyson. People who lived in their rooms playing video games didn’t leave wide trails, but he probably called Alec or Amber or both when he left the house.

  “Are you and Tyson on the same phone plan, or does he have a separate account?”

  “A family plan. It’s my account. Why?”

  “Get
his billing records for the past two months. We need the incoming and outgoing numbers. You can get his call log online through your account.”

  She nodded vaguely and frowned.

  “The charges for this billing period might not be available. They don’t post until the end of the month.”

  “If they’re not online, call your provider. Talk to a human. Get the most recent information you can.”

  “Okay.”

  “How does he buy gas?”

  “He has a gas card. Should I cancel it?”

  “No. The charge log can tell us where he buys gas. If this thing strings out, we might need to know.”

  I thought harder, and remembered the pictures I’d seen on their fridge. Tyson at Disneyland. Tyson with friends. Life before Alec and Amber.

  “Does Tyson have friends here in the neighborhood, or from his old schools?”

  “Not really. Making friends was difficult.”

  “C’mon, Devon. He’s with other kids in pictures on your refrigerator. Give me something.”

  She pursed her lips as she thought.

  “Donnie and Bret, but they were in elementary school. There was Kevin, but they weren’t really close. Kevin liked zombies.”

  “What about gaming friends?”

  A flash of surprise brightened her eyes.

  “There was Carl. Carl built his own games. Tyson and Carl would play all night, and have terrible fights.”

  “Carl sounds good. I’ll start with Carl.”

  “Carl can be odd. They haven’t played together in almost a year.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  She led me into the kitchen, and went to a phone on the counter. She flipped through a tattered day book, and came up with a number.

  “I’ll call his mother. Carl probably still lives at home, but he could be anywhere.”

  “How old is this kid?”

  “A year younger than Tyson.”

  “And he could be anywhere?”

  “Carl’s smart. I mean really bright, but hyper and loud. And odd. He quit school.”

  Devon was punching the number into her landline when her cell buzzed with an incoming text. Her face seemed to collapse as she read the message.

  I moved closer, and touched her arm.