The Sentry

by Robert Crais

  “What things?”

  “The things Elvis gave you today.”

  “I didn’t see Elvis today.”

  “I just left him, John. He told me about it.”

  Chen hesitated even longer than before.

  “You’re not mad, are you? He told me not to say.”

  “I’m fine. Did you get anything?”

  “I haven’t even had time to piss. I’m sorry, man, I’ll get to it before I leave. Promise.”

  “That’s okay. Just asking.”

  “I know it’s important, her being your girlfriend and all.”

  Pike was sorry he brought it up.

  “She wasn’t my girlfriend.”

  “All women are rotten, bro. Nobody knows that better than me. I can’t even get a bitch to break my heart.”

  Pike closed his phone, then forced himself to think about Mendoza and Gomer, imagining them set up to watch Wilson’s house. It occurred to Pike that Azzara might have had them killed. Maybe he found out they murdered Wilson and Dru, and was angry they did it against his orders. He could have ordered them to the canals for a phony reason, then sent a crew to kill them. Pike was considering this when he remembered the upstairs light and jimmied window. A crew sent by Azzara to murder Mendoza and Gomer would have had no reason to enter the house. The window had been jimmied by someone else, and Pike now suspected this was their killer.

  Pike reset the image of Gomer and Mendoza watching the house. The killer was good. Neither man had fought back or tried to defend himself. He had taken them by surprise, and killed them cleanly and efficiently with overwhelming speed. This suggested a professional, or someone with professional training. If the killer had jimmied the window, then he was probably already in place when they arrived, which meant he had not come for Mendoza and Gomer—he had come for Wilson and Dru.

  Pike felt the pieces begin to fall into place. The words began to feel like a story.

  The killer had come to the house early as evidenced by the time of his entry, did not find what he was looking for, so he had set up to wait. This meant he was somehow connected to Wilson and Dru. Pike had assumed Mendoza and Gomer abducted Wilson and Dru, but maybe their first attempt failed, so they returned for another chance. The killer had probably watched them take their positions, and either knew they were waiting for Wilson or concluded they were by their actions. He might have watched them for hours. Then he killed them, and probably continued waiting for Wilson and Dru.

  Each new thought was a word, and the more Pike tested the words the better he liked the story. The signs were here. He just had to read them correctly and in the right order. There were still holes and questions, but he saw it unfolding and liked the way it felt.

  I am here.

  A new player had entered the scene, but maybe he had been in the game longer than anyone thought.

  Pike turned from the water, and drove the few short blocks to Wilson Smith’s shop.

  28

  Pike parked at the curb in front of Wilson’s store. A café and the coffee shop on the next block were still open, along with the Mobil station and the tattoo shop across the street. Pike waited for a strolling couple to pass, then went to the new glass window with his flashlight and shined the light inside. The heads and entrails were gone, and the interior had been cleaned. The city might have sent a hazmat team, or maybe Betsy Harmon and her son had cleaned it themselves. None of it mattered now, not to Pike or anyone else.

  The light flashed on the wall where the message had been scribed in blood.

  I am here.

  Pike and the police both assumed Mendoza and Gomer had trashed the shop, just as they assumed Mendoza and Gomer had committed the abduction, but the nature of the message had always bothered Pike, and now he realized why. I am here was an announcement, and felt like an awkward message for Gomer or Mendoza to leave, but maybe not so awkward for the man who had killed them if that man had been searching for Wilson and Dru.

  I am here. I. Singular.

  I have arrived.

  Fear me.

  Pike decided the new man had hung the heads, spread the blood, and did so to announce his arrival.

  The story was clear.

  He had not written I am back, so he had not started here, gone away, and returned. I am here implied he had started his search elsewhere but had now arrived, which suggested a passage of time. He had been searching for them, and now had found them and wanted them to know, which also suggested they knew or knew of him. Pike was suspicious of these last conclusions because they went against his instincts. You didn’t warn your target you were coming. Wilson had seen the message, understood, and immediately disappeared. Pike now felt Wilson’s intention to flee had nothing to do with Mendoza and Gomer and everything to do with the new man’s arrival.

  Pike snapped off his light, turned away from the window, and considered the shops across the street as he thought through the contradiction. Wilson had seen the message, panicked, and run. Maybe that was the point—maybe the man warned them because he wanted them to flee, like a hunter flushing game from cover. He had probably been watching Wilson’s shop when Wilson arrived that morning. He probably followed Wilson back to the house, but Mendoza and Gomer interrupted his play.

  Pike returned to his Jeep for Jack Straw’s phone number. Straw answered on the third ring, sounding relaxed and hazy like a DJ on an FM jazz station.

  Pike said, “Did you have people watching Smith’s shop the past few days?”

  “Yeah. On and off. Why?”

  “They might have seen the man who killed Mendoza and Gomer.”

  “Hang on.”

  Pike heard sounds like Straw was cupping his phone. The noises continued for almost a minute before Straw returned to the line.

  “Look across the street.”

  Pike glanced across, and knew they were watching him. Straw immediately spoke again.

  “See the tattoo parlor?”

  “Yes.”

  “See the office above it?”

  Upstairs, black windows with a FOR LEASE sign taped to the glass. Of course.

  “Come through the tattoo place, and go out the back. You’ll see a stair. The man at the counter says anything, tell’m you’re with the band.”

  Pike crossed between cars and went through the tattoo shop. A bald man with tattoos on his scalp and cheeks and a large metal ring through his nose was reading a James Ellroy novel behind the counter. He glanced up when Pike entered, but went back to reading when Pike pointed at the ceiling.

  Pike passed walls lined with thousands of tattoo designs, then through a narrow back door and up a flight of metal stairs. Straw was waiting at the top, wearing jeans and a loose V-neck T-shirt that needed a wash. He showed Pike into a tiny two-room office suite without furniture. The only light came from a single lamp burning in the back room. The front room overlooking the street caught a wedge of light through the partially open door, but the windows overlooking the street were covered with black cloth spotted with small rectangular cutouts for viewing the street. The man in the orange shirt was cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall. He stared at Pike with indifference and made no move to offer his hand.

  It was a bare-bones hide, smelling of pizza, cigarettes, and body odor. Suitcases piled with rumpled clothes were in the corners near air mattresses mounded with sleeping bags. Empty soda cans and Starbucks cups spilled from a garbage bag. Straw’s team had come in light, and hadn’t planned on staying as long as they had.

  Straw smiled as he gestured to the room.

  “I’d say pull up a chair, but we don’t have chairs.”

  “Mendoza and Gomer didn’t trash Smith’s shop. The man who killed them did it, and your guys might have seen him.”

  Straw and the orange man stared for a moment, then the orange man tipped forward, interested.

  “What does he look like?”

  His voice was higher than Pike expected, and hoarse at the edges, as if he was getting ov
er a cold.

  “What’s your name?”

  Straw answered for him.

  “This is Kenny. Let’s leave it at first names.”

  Kenny was watching Pike now, his eyes intense.

  “Can you describe the guy?”

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  Kenny smirked as he slumped against the wall, his interest gone.

  “Oh.”

  “He wanted to know when people came and left, when the shop was empty, what kind of alarms there might be. That means he was here.”

  “Yeah? So how do you know what he wants?”

  Pike stared at Kenny, then looked at Straw.

  “Because that’s what I would want. He’s hunting Wilson and Dru. He blooded the shop to flush them, and probably followed Wilson back to his house, but Mendoza and Gomer got in the way. This isn’t about a couple of bangers shaking down a cook. This is bigger.”

  Straw and Kenny glanced at each other again as if they were having a silent conversation, then Straw shrugged at Pike.

  “I don’t get it. Why all that business with the blood and the heads if he wanted to kill them? Why not just kill them?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to see where they’d go.”

  Kenny grinned, bugging his eyes like Pike was an idiot.

  “Maybe he’s crazy. If, you know, he’s real.”

  Straw frowned at Kenny for a moment, thinking.

  “Okay. I’m listening. What do you know?”

  Pike walked them through his reasoning about the message left in Wilson’s shop and the conclusions he drew from the way in which Gomer and Mendoza were murdered. If Straw wondered how Pike knew so much about their bodies, he did not ask.

  “Okay, I’m not saying I buy this, but if you’re right, and we saw the guy, how would we know?”

  Kenny mumbled to himself.

  “Wore a shirt, said KILLER. Don’t you remember?”

  Then Kenny laughed to himself, but Pike was focused on Straw.

  “You would have seen him more than once. After three or four passes, you realized you kept seeing him. A fifth pass, and maybe you wondered who he was and why he was interested in Smith’s shop.”

  Kenny glanced at Straw.

  “I don’t remember anyone like that. You?”

  “Only the people who work in the other shops around here, but I’ll ask the guys. Maybe one of them saw something.”

  Kenny crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

  “Sure. You ask.”

  A long-lens camera and a night vision spotting scope were on ballistic carry bags beneath the windows. A video camera hooked by a cable to a nearby laptop computer was part of the jumble. Pike had seen them when he entered, and now pointed them out.

  “What about your vid?”

  Straw shook his head, and was already moving to show Pike out.

  “We tracked Azzara’s guys. We never turned the thing on unless we saw one of his bangers. That’s all we got.”

  Pike glanced at the little rectangles cut in the fabric, backlit by the lights below. He wondered how many hours they spent seeing the world through the narrow patchwork windows.

  “Check the vid. You never know.”

  Kenny mumbled again, not opening his eyes.

  “That’s right. You never know.”

  Straw told Pike he would call if one of his people had seen something, then showed him out as if Pike had wasted enough of their time. Kenny didn’t open his eyes.

  After Pike left, he drove back to the canals. It was later now, but not yet as late as when Gomer was murdered.

  Pike did not return to the construction site. He parked on Venice Boulevard near Smith’s house, then approached on foot. Smith’s house. Steve Brown’s house. Pike thought of it as Dru’s house, and it was now the only dark house on the short, narrow alley. Jared’s light was on, but Jared was missing. Probably downstairs with his mother. Rocking the big screen.

  Pike used the hidden key to unlock the gate, then went past the house to the fence at the edge of the canal. The smell of the water was strong. He quickly picked out the construction site where Gomer had been murdered. He was not trying to hide. He wanted to be seen.

  Pike wondered if the killer used night vision gear. Pike had the equipment, but had decided not to use it. If the killer was here, Pike wanted him to feel like he had the upper hand. Pike noted the cuts and shadows along the banks and between the houses where a spotter could hide, and hoped the man was watching. His presence would mean he had not yet found Dru and Wilson, and they would still be alive. If the killer was watching, he might grow curious why Pike was in their yard, and decide to take a closer look. The killer might decide to kill him, which would be even better. The killer would need to move in close to use his knife, and Pike was fine with close. Pike wanted to learn what he knew.

  Light danced on the water. Traffic noise from the surrounding streets was loud, as was the music and voices that bounced along the canals, but all of these living sounds would fade as the night grew deeper.

  Pike waited alone in the dark, wondering where Dru and Wilson were, and how the man with the knife knew them, and whether or not they were living or dead. He wondered where they had come from, why they were here, and why he decided to put air in his tires on that particular morning at that particular gas station at that particular time.

  None of it mattered, there in the darkness. He had told her he would take care of it. Told her they wouldn’t bother her again.

  Pike whispered.

  “I am here.”

  Whoever and whatever she was did not matter. If she needed him, he would be there.

  Pike whispered again.

  Part Four

  THE PRINCE OF SOLITUDE

  29

  Pike changed locations several times during the night, drifting from Dru’s house to positions where he had a view of likely areas where someone watching the house might hide. Pike found no one, and as the eastern sky lightened, he grew convinced the killer no longer watched Dru’s house. This meant the killer had what he wanted or had tracked Wilson and Dru to another location. Either was bad, and left Pike hungry for a new trail.

  At twenty minutes after nine that morning, Pike was crossing the Dell Avenue Bridge when Elvis Cole called.

  “Laine came through. He messengered over a disk.”

  Charles Laine. Dru’s neighbor with the surveillance system.

  “Show anything?”

  “It just arrived, but I need you here to look at it. I’ve never seen these people. I don’t know what they look like.”

  Pike studied Dru’s house across the water with a lack of enthusiasm. Cole was right, but Mendoza and Gomer were dead, so even if they lucked into a glimpse of the abduction, leaving to view a recording of questionable value now felt like a waste of time. Then another possibility occurred to him that left him more interested.

  “How many hours of camera time do we have?”

  “Seven days from whenever he burned the disk, which was sometime last night. Why?”

  Pike told Cole about his conversation with Straw and explained his belief in the killer’s professionalism. He had probably reconnoitered Dru’s house as well as the takeout shop, and was likely the person who jimmied the kitchen window. This meant it was possible the killer had moved past the camera.

  “Okay, get here, and let’s see if this stuff is even usable. Laine told me we’ll be able to see a little of the street, but we won’t know what that means until we see it. We might see nothing but shadows.”

  The trip through the city took forty minutes, but shortly Pike pulled up outside Cole’s A-frame and let himself into the kitchen.

  Pike poured himself a cup of black coffee, grabbed a raisin bagel from Cole’s stock, and followed his friend to a desk in the living room. They pulled over chairs from the dining table with Cole sitting in front of his Mac. Cole slipped in the disk, and the drive spun up with a soft whine. Neither of them spoke while they waited, as if their expectation
wrapped each man in silence.

  A few moments later, a disk player appeared showing four screen-capture images. They were from each of the four cameras monitoring Laine’s home, one on either side of his house, one in the rear, and the front entry camera. Pike saw Cole relax when the images appeared.

  “Here we go. The cameras record concurrently on different tracks. Laine said we can watch each track separately, and move back and forth like watching a DVD.”

  Cole clicked on the entry image, which expanded to fill the screen. The picture was a ghostly wash of grays and blacks with a time code at the bottom showing the image had been recorded at PM 11:13:42 the night before. Cole glanced over.

  “Not bad. We can see a little of the street here in the background, and the clarity is pretty good.”

  It didn’t look so good to Pike. The camera was parallel to the street to focus on visitors who were in a small alcove at Laine’s front door. This left its field of view limited. The right third of the screen was the steel door. The center third was the alcove wall directly opposite the camera where a visitor would stand when they pressed the bell. The left third of the screen showed a narrow wedge of street in the camera’s peripheral background. If they were going to see anything useful, it would be in this narrow wedge.

  Pike said, “Murky. It’s hard to see anything past the wall.”

  “Think positive. This was shot at about eleven-fifteen last night with infrared light. The background will brighten up during the day.”

  Cole crossed his arms and glanced over again.

  “You want to look for the killer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, think about it. Seven days means we have one hundred sixty-eight hours here. Fast-forward runs about eight times the real-time speed, so it will take us twenty-four hours to watch what’s here if we go back to the beginning. You really want to spend that much time looking for a guy we won’t recognize?”

  Pike thought he could narrow the time.

  “We can start smaller. The day they went missing, I checked their house around ten and you were there about one. Whoever jimmied the window did it during those three hours. Three hours isn’t so bad.”