The Sentry

by Robert Crais

  Cole felt a subtle electric tingle that came when he knew he was in the hunt. Many security systems were hooked to a DVR. Some only recorded when the bell was pressed, but others recorded continuously on a rewritable disk. The camera might give him nothing, but it also might give him everything.

  Cole took a last glance back at the Palmer house. The door was closed, and now the two officers were inside. Talking to Jared.

  Cole turned the corner, and then, like Joe Pike, he ran.

  18

  Darkness towered above Joe Pike like an ominous black cloud. He did not know when or where he was, or how he came to be trapped here with this awful thing. He only knew the giant shadow would smother him with a darkness he could not escape. The shadow fell over him with the delicate grace of fog, but held him with the awful weight of concrete, a rising pool of blackness that would fill his mouth and nose and ears. Pike fought desperately to scramble away, but his arms and legs would not move. He strained to break free, grunting, hissing, spit and tears flying as his head whipped side to side. Pike did not know what it was, this shadow. He did not understand how it held him, or why he could not escape. It rose from the dark as always, and one day it would kill him … as he feared it had killed him before.

  19

  Pike woke with damp sheets twisted around his legs. He was alert and awake, but had no memory of his nightmare. Pike never remembered. Sometimes in the first moments of consciousness, he saw dim shapes, one shadow over another, but never more than that. Nothing new, and nothing he wasted time worrying about. Pike had suffered night terrors since he was a boy.

  Pike checked his watch. The luminous hands told him it was 3:17 in the morning. Cole had relieved him ninety minutes ago, and now sat outside Carla Fuentes’s house, waiting for Mendoza. Pike had come home to grab some rest, but his sleep was finished for the night.

  Pike untangled the sheets, then swung his feet from the bed. He saw his cell phone on the nightstand and thought of Dru. He checked the phone, but found no messages or missed calls.

  Pike pulled on a pair of light blue running shorts, yesterday’s sweatshirt, and carried his shoes downstairs before putting them on. He didn’t turn on the lights. He didn’t need to. He saw well enough in the dark.

  Downstairs, he drank half a bottle of water, put on his shoes, then strapped on a nylon fanny pack. He wore the fanny pack to carry his phone, keys, DL, and a .25-caliber Beretta pocket gun.

  Pike deactivated his alarm, set it to re-arm in sixty seconds, then let himself out.

  He stood very still, taking the measure of his surroundings, then stretched and set off on his run. Pike almost always ran the same four or five routes, heading up along Ocean Boulevard through Santa Monica to the canyons, or around Baldwin Hills on La Cienega past the oil pumps. That night, he ran west on Washington Boulevard straight to the sea, then north to the top of the Venice Canals and an arched pedestrian bridge. He stopped at the crest of the bridge to look down the length of the canal.

  A dog barked further inland somewhere in Ghost Town, and Pike heard vehicles on nearby Pacific Boulevard, but here the houses slept. The smell of the sea was strong. The largest canal—Grand Canal—ran to the ocean through Marina del Rey, and fed the five inland canals with life. Small fish swam in the shallow water, and sea plants grew in wavy clumps.

  Pike had chosen this bridge because it gave him a view of Dru’s house. Many of the homes had exterior security lights, which now shimmered on the water, but the distance and coastal mist made picking out her house difficult. He found Lily Palmer’s large white modern first, then Dru’s redwood on the far side. Like many of the other homes, it was dotted by bright exterior floodlights which were probably on an automatic timer. Then he noticed the upstairs bedroom was lit. He watched the light, searching for shadows, but nothing moved.

  Pike trotted off the bridge and along the narrow alleys to Dru’s house. Nothing and no one stirred, and no dogs barked. Pike thought, these people should have dogs.

  Streetlamps and security lights blazed hot in the confined lane, giving the mist a purple-blue glow. Pike stopped outside Dru’s house. A few windows glowed dull ocher in the surrounding houses, but most were dark and all were quiet. No one was awake. Even Jared’s window was dark.

  Pike took his cell phone from the fanny pack, and thumbed the speed-dial button for Elvis Cole. Cole answered on the second ring, his voice soft, but completely alert.

  “What’s up?”

  Pike spoke in a whisper.

  “You leave a light on in the top bedroom at Dru’s?”

  “A light?”

  “I’m outside the house. The upstairs bedroom is lit.”

  “I was up there. I don’t remember turning on a light, but I don’t remember not turning it on, either. I don’t know.”

  “Mm.”

  “You think someone’s in there now?”

  “Just wondering about the light.”

  “You going inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “The spare key I found, it’s behind the fence next to the gatepost. Not the one next to the house. The other side.”

  “Anything on your end?”

  “Lights out, game over. She’s in a coma.”

  “Okay.”

  “Listen. Call me when you leave there, okay? You don’t call, I’m gonna come over there expecting to save you, then I’ll miss Mendoza.”

  Pike put away the phone. He breathed in the air and the street and the scent of the sea, listening, but heard only ambient noise. He stepped into the shadows near the gate, then lifted himself over and dropped silently into the courtyard. He paused to listen, then felt for the key.

  He used a full minute to ease the key into the lock, another minute to turn the knob, and two full minutes to open the door. The entry was dark, fielding only a dim glow that escaped from above. Pike strained to catch sounds from the house, but heard nothing. Only then did he close the door.

  Pike moved through the house without turning on lights, and avoided the windows. The big windows allowed enough ambient light for him to see that nothing was disturbed. Everything was as he remembered and as Cole described.

  He reached the top bedroom, but did not enter. A nightstand lamp was on. Pike thought back to his fast trip through the house that morning, but didn’t remember the lamp. It was a small lamp. During the day, its light could have been swallowed by the sun, which explained why he and Cole didn’t remember it, but Pike didn’t like not knowing. The lamp was a problem.

  Pike backed away, let himself out, locked the door, and replaced the key by the fence. He stood in the courtyard for another moment, listening, then slipped through the shadows alongside Dru’s house until he reached the edge of the canal.

  He wondered where Dru and Wilson were, and if they were all right. He wanted to believe they were, but he knew this was unlikely. He heard a distant barking again, and wondered if it was a sea lion out past the locks.

  Pike studied the houses across the canal, and the far bridge where he had just been standing. Needle feet crept up his back along with the words in Wilson’s shop.

  I am here.

  Pike stepped backward into the shadows. He slowed his breathing, and silenced his body to listen. He searched the far bank for reflections and movement. The water lapped. Lights bounced on its obsidian surface. Pike wondered if predators swam this far inland. He wondered if they hid beneath the surface.

  20

  Daniel

  Daniel watched him cross the bridge, tall dude out for a run in the middle of the night, dark glasses tight across his eyes, these L.A. people, what’s up with that? Probably used sunblock, too.

  Cleo whispered, “Shh. He’ll hear you thinking.”

  Tobey hissed, “Shh. Hear your brain.”

  Like water snakes in the weeds.

  Daniel said, “Please be quiet. Doesn’t the water feel good?”

  “Cold.”

  “Cold.”

  Their voices echoed to silence.


  Daniel was submerged to his nose in shallow water, hidden beneath a wooden dock on the opposite side of the canal. Daniel, Cleo, and Tobey, watching.

  Tall dude left the bridge, scuffed whisper on the street, passed through a column of blue light, cut hard with muscles and what’s that on his arms? Squint. Focus. See. These big red arrows, glowing like embers in the blue-purple light. Daniel thought they were cool.

  When the man was gone, Daniel pushed along the muddy bottom, moving to deeper water as he pulled his load with him, so slow the water did not ripple, enjoying the kiss of tiny fish on his skin. Heading toward the bridge.

  After a while, he slid beneath the arch, then turned toward the house, keeping the load tucked in close as he floated in the shadows. Daniel had watched the house since midday, and his care had paid off twice. Others had appeared to watch the house, too, and now he knew they had been watching for him. He took this as an excellent sign, and proof that he was close.

  “Can you feel it, boys? We are so close I can feel it.”

  “So close we can touch it, touch it.”

  “So close we can taste it, taste it.”

  Their feathery breath caressed his ears.

  Daniel bobbed in the darkness, waiting without any real sense of passing time when a flick of black moved at the end of their fence, catching his attention. Another flick, and the black became a shadow at the edge of the water. A glint of light flashed at the top of the shadow, flashed once more, and then the glint and the shadow were gone. Daniel thought about this and decided the glint was light from a house across the canal flashing off the tall dude’s glasses. Had to be. The tall dude had gone to their house.

  Daniel waited for the shadow to reappear, wondering who the man was and why he was here. This made Daniel smile because the truth was always the same. He was here for the same reason as everyone else. This would be worth a call to his friends, which Daniel would make in the morning.

  Daniel waited another twenty minutes, just to be sure, but the shadow and its glint did not return. Like all good hunters, Daniel was patient, but after a while he determined it was safe to move on.

  Daniel whispered, soft as a kiss.

  “Be seeing you.”

  Daniel had been holding the body for well over an hour, but now he released it. The body rolled over once, a hand rising to wave good-bye, then slid beneath the cold black surface.

  Daniel waited, and watched, and wondered who would come next.

  Part Three

  THE LORD OF WAR AND THUNDER

  21

  At four minutes after seven the next morning, Pike received the call that changed everything. One minute earlier, at seven-oh-three, he was watching Carla Fuentes’s house from a camellia bush in her backyard, the milky sky overhead promising a hazy day even between the leaves.

  Pike had relieved Cole at four that morning, parking a block and a half from Carla’s house in a deep pool of shadow beneath a sycamore tree. He slouched low behind the wheel, safe enough while the neighborhood slept, but he knew people would stir with the dawn. A man sitting in a parked vehicle would quickly draw attention, so Pike found a new position behind the camellia bush well before the eastern sky lightened. He could not see the front of the house, but had a good view of the back door, most of the drive, and the interior of the kitchen through the windows.

  A light in the master bedroom came on at ten minutes after six. A few minutes later, the kitchen light followed, and Carla Fuentes entered the kitchen. She was alone, and wore a white T-shirt. She spent several minutes at the counter doing something Pike could not see, then returned to the bedroom. Pike guessed she had put on a pot of coffee. This was confirmed a few minutes later when she returned to the kitchen, poured a cup, and took it into the living room. Pike thought she was probably watching TV.

  He saw her twice more before seven-oh-three. During this time, the sun rose, finches chirped through the bushes, and a mockingbird took a noisy position on the garage. Pike planned what he would do if Carla left the house or Mendoza appeared, but by seven-oh-three she had made no move to leave and Mendoza had not arrived.

  At four minutes after seven, Pike received the call.

  His phone made a soft buzz when it vibrated. It was on his thigh, where he had placed it so he could reach it with minimal movement, wrapped in a soft cloth to muffle the sound. He was surprised when the Caller ID showed CTY LOS ANG. This meant the call originated from a phone issued by the city. Pike debated whether or not to answer, but decided to pick up the call.

  “Pike.”

  “You answer fast for this time of the morning.”

  It was Button, sounding quiet and knowing.

  “Did you check out Mendoza?”

  “Yeah. I think there’s something to what you said. Did you find him?”

  “No.”

  “I can help you with that. Got something here I want you to see. Come take a look.”

  Button’s voice was so flat Pike knew this wasn’t a friendly request, and something in the nature of his word choice and the early time of the call cut Pike like a desert wind.

  “Is it Wilson and Dru?”

  “You want a ride, I’ll send a car.”

  “Did you find them?”

  “I’m at Washington Boulevard where it crosses the canal. Can’t miss me.”

  “Tell me if it’s them, Button.”

  Button hung up without answering, and now the desert wind blew through Pike’s chest like a cold rail. Pike worked his way out of the bush, slipped over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, then ran for his Jeep. He was less than ten minutes from Button’s location, and filled Cole in as he drove.

  Cole said, “You want me back on Mendoza?”

  “Not now. If this is Wilson or Dru, the police will be all over their house as soon as they clear the scene. If there’s more to find on their street, we have to find it now.”

  “I’m on it, Joe, but listen—”

  Cole’s voice softened.

  “Hold a good thought, okay?”

  Pike broke the call in silence. Moments later he was bogged down in traffic three blocks from the canal, and knew he was heading for a major crime scene. Westbound traffic was rerouted through the marina by a uniformed officer who forced everyone to turn.

  When Pike identified himself, the officer directed him into a parking lot behind a Thai restaurant. Several radio cars were along both sides of the canal, and two more blocked the Washington Boulevard Bridge. A Medical Examiner’s van was on the far side of the canal. Even as Pike pulled into the parking lot, he saw that the water level was down. The Venice Canals did not flow freely into the sea. Once or twice a week, locks built into the bridge were opened, allowing the canals to drain with the falling tide, and refill with clean water as the tide rose. Now, the tide was out and the water was down, revealing a low wall of gray concrete stones that firmed the banks and the shallow slope of the bottom.

  Pike spotted Futardo as he parked. She was with a small group of detectives and uniforms at the edge of the canal who stared at something in the water. Button was on the other side of the bridge with Straw. The man with the orange shirt was with them, only now he wore blue. He saw Pike first, then Button and Straw turned. Button came across the bridge to Futardo and motioned Pike to join them.

  Pike felt his heart rate increase as he got closer. Two men in waders stepped into the water while two other men in knee boots spread a blue plastic sheet on the muddy bottom. All four wore long rubber gloves that reached to their shoulders. A stretcher waited solemnly nearby.

  Button’s face was blank as Pike approached, but a deep line cut Futardo’s brow. Pike wondered what she was thinking. Button’s jacket was already off in anticipation of the coming heat, and his hands were in his pockets. He didn’t take them out to shake. Instead, he nodded toward the canal.

  “There you go.”

  Pike looked, and in that moment he realized all his assumptions were wrong.

  22

 
; Reuben Mendoza’s body was on its side in the shallow trough of water that remained in the canal. The arm with the cast reached toward the bank as if he had been trying to pull himself out when he died, but Pike knew this had not been the case. Mendoza’s neck was cut so deeply the white core of bone was revealed, and the blue-gray pallor of his flesh indicated he had bled out long before he drifted to the bank. He wore baggy khaki shorts, a long-sleeved plaid shirt so big it cloaked him like a shawl, and Keds—the same clothes Jared described. Carla Fuentes would be able to keep her house.

  Button clucked his tongue.

  “Looks to me like your boy Mendoza here didn’t abduct anyone.”

  Futardo moved closer, watching him the way cops watch a suspect.

  “Do you recognize this man?”

  Pike nodded.

  “When is the last time you saw him?”

  Pike glanced at Futardo, and saw Button smile.

  “Detective Futardo here wants to work homicide. She thinks you’re a person of interest.”

  Futardo flushed dark and her thin lips grew tighter as Button went on, lecturing her.

  “This isn’t Pike’s style. Pike here, he’d shoot the guy point-blank or beat him to death, but he wouldn’t do this. Hey, Eddie—”

  A man in waders looked over.

  “Roll him and open the shirt, please. We want to see the wound.”

  Most of the body was still in the water. They rolled it to face Button, then pulled back the plaid shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned as Jared described, but the T-shirt beneath was ripped from the upper left chest down through the center of the shirt to his pants. Washed clean of blood by being in the canal, picket-fence ribs protruded through the chest and internal organs bulged like blue balloons from the abdomen.

  “Gutted him. Cut his neck to kill him, then gutted him thinking the body would stay down.”