In Dark Places

by Michael Prescott

  He touched the bulge of his gun under the windbreaker as he crossed the room, slowly closing in on Robin Cameron.

  "Did Sergeant Brand call in sick today?" Robin asked Wolper.

  "Yeah. But he wasn't at the dogfights."

  She glanced at him, surprised that he'd touched on the subject occupying her thoughts. "How do you know?"

  "We raided them. Well, not us. The Southeast Area troops."

  "How'd that happen?"

  "I made a call to their CO."

  "You?"

  He leaned closer, straining to be heard over the noise. "What you said yesterday got me thinking. You know, how I knew the fights had started up again, and I hadn't stopped them."

  "You did the right thing."

  "They'll just start up again someplace else. Anyway, Brand wasn't nabbed."

  "So if he wasn't at the dogfights, where was he?"

  "Don't know."

  "Wouldn't you like to find out?"

  "I was thinking I might put the question to him later."

  "Let's put the question to him now."

  She took out her cell phone and dialed, maneuvering into a quieter area where she could hear Brand if he answered.

  "You know his number?" Wolper asked.

  "His cell phone number, yes. I called it half a dozen times yesterday."

  "Like I said in the car, it's Gray we should be focused on."

  Rationally she knew he was right. But as she'd told him, there was more to life than logic. Intuition had its place also, and her intuition was insisting that Sergeant Brand should not be ignored.

  Five rings, and no one had picked up. She was about to end the call when she became aware of an echo in the ringing. No, not an echo. A second ring, this one coming from the crowd.

  She peered into the sea of shadows, then saw him. "Look."

  Wolper had his hand on his gun. "Gray?"

  She shook her head. "Brand."

  Brand was getting close, wondering how to get Wolper out of the way, when his phone started to ring in the pocket of his windbreaker.

  He didn't want to answer it, but after five rings he started to worry about the noise. Then he saw that Robin Cameron had a cell phone to her ear, and somehow he knew she was calling him.

  In that moment she raised her head and looked right at him.

  Shit. He'd been made.

  Wolper followed Robin's gaze. "What the hell is he doing here?"

  "That's another thing we need to ask him."

  He nodded. "We will." He took a step forward.

  Brand broke into a run.

  "Stay here. I'm going after him."

  She didn't argue. Chasing a suspect was Wolper's businessand Brand was looking more like a suspect every minute.

  She noticed that her cell phone was still ringing Brand's number. She ended the call, then gazed across the arcade. Brand and Wolper were both lost to sight.

  The phone in her hand rang. Stupidly she thought it might be Brand. She look the call and held the phone close to her head, cupping her other ear against the background din. "Yes?"

  "Why're you lyin' about me?"

  The voice was slurred and distant, but she knew it at once.

  "Justin?" she said.

  Chapter Forty

  Gray had a pretty good buzz goingnothing major, just enough to take the edge off after a long, hard day. That six-pack he'd picked up had hit the spot. After a year in stir, he'd worked up a serious thirst. He'd polished off four of the sixteen-ounce cans. Maybe five. He'd lost track. Shit, there was more where that came from.

  Only trouble with beer was that it didn't stay with you very long. As his daddy used to say, you don't buy beer; you rent it. In compliance with his father's wisdom and his own biological needs, he was now standing at a urinal, reading the pathetic graffiti scratched into the men's-room wall.

  Dumb racist epithets. Queer jokes and queer come-ons. Gangsta slang and other attempts at establishing street cred by obvious wanna-bes. All in all, just a mess of stupid crap written by peewee paintheads and fake-ass homeboys who spent more time wanking off than getting laid, teenage punks still squeezing their zits and wearing their puny hard-ons like badges of honor. This shit was just a goof to them.

  Gray voided an amber stream and wondered how them fairies would like to meet a real man, a bona fucking fide major violator with blood on his hands.

  A famous man. Or infamous, notorious, whatever the fuck the right word was. He was all over the news, and everyone in this city was saying his name.

  He didn't expect to be caught, though. He'd taken precautions. Okay, maybe he'd been a little more alert before he got those beers in him, and maybe the beers had even been a mistake. But he was pretty sure he'd covered his tracks well enough to keep the boys in blue off his back, at least for now.

  He ought to be feeling fine. Trouble was, those bogus news stories still had him mighty peeved. Every time he thought about the lies and the games and the crap they were putting on the air, he got ticked off all over again.

  "Motherfucker," he said as he finished peeing. He zipped up and left without washing his hands. Personal hygiene had never been his strong suit.

  In the alcove outside the rest rooms, there was a pay phone.

  He stopped, staring at the phone, thinking about the business card he'd swiped from the doc's office weeks ago. A card that listed her cell phone number. A number he remembered, having dialed it just last night.

  He moved to the phone. If not for the beers, he wouldn't do this. He knew he ought to show more sense. But fuck it all, he hated being jerked around, and that sexless bitch of a shrink had been yanking his chain from day one.

  He dropped coins into the slot and dialed.

  "Motherfucker," he said again, with feeling, as the phone rang on the other end of the line.

  The ringing stopped, and over a rush of background noise he heard the doc say, "Yes?"

  "Why're you lyin' about me?"

  "Justin?"

  "I don't got enough on my record, you gotta add stuff I didn't do?" The noise intensified, obliterating her response. "Doc? You there?"

  "I'm here."

  "You at a nightclub or something?"

  "I'm looking for you."

  "Where?"

  "Never mind that."

  "Everybody else thinks I hightailed it for the Mojave, and you're trolling the clubs in Hollywood, I bet. Thinking outside the box. I like that. But I ain't dumb enough to go back to my home turf."

  "It was worth a shot."

  "Sure it was. You're smart, Doc. I like youor I used to, till you started fibbing on me."

  "Justin, where is she?"

  "Your darling daughter? The one all the news reports say I kidnapped? I ain't got her. I never touched her."

  "Justin, slow down"

  "Why? So you can have this call traced?"

  "They can do an instant trace on most calls these days."

  "Okay, now at least you're being honest. Truth is, I don't care about no trace. The boys in blue can't snatch me. I'm too quick for 'em. LA's finest show up, and I'm Swayze, I'm a ghost. Great thing about LA is, you can jump on a freeway anywhere. That's what makes this town the bank robbery capital of the world."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "It's a sucker's game, knocking over banks. They always get you on the security cameras. Besides, the cash is always traceable or rigged with those explosive doohickeys that blow red dye all over the place"

  "Where is my daughter?"

  "Oh, we still jawing about her? Straight up, Doc Robin, I got no idea."

  "You took her; you have her"

  "Wrong and wrong. She's probably out playing tea party with one of her little girlie friends."

  "Do you want me? You can have me for her."

  "That's downright noble. I'm getting all choked up; I really am. Look, if I had to guess, I'd say it's the other guy who's got her. The guy that clocked you."

  "I'm not interested in your lies."
r />   "No lie, Doc Robin. I told you true. You said you believed me."

  "And you had a screwdriver against my throat."

  "So you bullshitted me? Gotta say, I don't care for that. I'm real big on trust issues. Being a shrink, you should know."

  "If you saw this other man, describe him."

  "I told you, I couldn't see much with the lights so low. Fuck, you looked right at his face before he decked your ass. You flashed him with that penlight doodad."

  "It's a good story, Justin."

  "You're the one who's spreading lies, saying I attacked you, grabbed your girl."

  "Stop it, just stop it. I won't let you play with my head. There was no other man. You knocked me out, and you stole my wallet so you could find Meg"

  "I copped the wallet because I wanted cash."

  "You went to my home, you took her"

  "Doc, I'm a free man again. I got higher priorities than snatching the fruit of your womb."

  "Please give amp;" Her voice faded.

  "What's that? I can't hardly hear you."

  "I said, please give her back."

  "Can't give what I don't have. Hey, that ain't no club I'm hearing. Those are arcade noises."

  "You used to hang out in video arcades. I took a chance you might be at one now."

  "Did you, now? Smart thinking, Doc." He eased away from the pay phone, stretching the cord taut. "Tell you what. You and me, we put our heads togetherwe can solve this thing."

  "What are you talking about?"

  He peered out of the alcove, then smiled as he spotted what he was looking for. "You gotta have some idea who your enemies are. One of ' em is Mr. Cool. Hell, I bet you got somebody in mind already. Ex-boyfriend? Another patient?"

  She hesitated. "I'm not going to talk about this."

  He'd heard her pause after he said the word patient. "Sure, makes sense," he said. "You work with psychos all day long. Only a matter of time till one of 'em goes postal on you. Come on now, give it up. You got one patient in particular who'd be willing to engage in serious violence? Snuff a Deputy Dawg, decommission our favorite shrink?"

  "There's someone who might have a motive amp;"

  "Motive's one thing. He got the cojones to do it?"

  "He's killed before."

  "Now we're getting somewhere. See, you and me make a great team. But I need details. It's the only way I can help you."

  "Why would you want to help me?"

  "That's a good question, Doc. No good reason, I guess."

  "You're playing with me. More mind games."

  "Scout's honor, I'm not."

  "I still think you're the one I'm after."

  "No, you don't. You're starting to figure out that things are more complicated. I'm not the bad guy here, not this time. Think about it. If I'd wanted your scalp, I could've gone brutal on you right in your office." He smiled. "Or for that matter, I could ice you right where you're standingnext to the Quake video game."

  Gray chuckled as, yards across the main floor of the arcade, Robin Cameron's head jerked up in sudden fear.

  "Yeah, Doc, that's right." He raised his voice in a singsong falsetto. "I amp; can amp; see amp; you."

  Chapter Forty-one

  Wolper caught up with Brand a few yards outside the arcade. He grabbed the sergeant by the shoulder and spun him around.

  "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Wolper shouted. "Why'd you cut and run when we saw you?"

  "Guess I wasn't in the mood for company."

  Wolper flung Brand backward onto the hood of somebody's Chevy. Brand put up an instinctive effort at resistance. Wolper slammed him down harder, denting the hood.

  On the sidewalk a few people stopped to stare. Wolper threw open his jacket, revealing his 9mm. "Police business," he snapped.

  That scattered the onlookers. Nobody wanted to get mixed up in any police action.

  When he was satisfied that his audience was gone, Wolper opened the folds of Brand's windbreaker and withdrew the man's gun from its armpit holster.

  "This your off-duty piece?" he asked.

  "You know it is."

  Wolper glanced at the gun in the ambient glow of street lamps and neon signs. Standard Berettathe registration number had not been filed off or erased with acid. The piece was street legal and traceable.

  "Stand up," he ordered.

  "Come on, Roy, what the fuck is this?"

  "Just stand up, God damn it."

  Brand dismounted the hood of the Chevy with whatever dignity he could summon. Wolper turned him around to face the side of the car.

  "Spread 'em."

  "You're patting me down, for Christ's sake?"

  Without answering, Wolper shoved Brand up against the car and proceeded to do a body search.

  There was no other weapon. Brand would have had to strap it to his leg in an ankle holster or tuck it into his belt, or conceal it in one of the windbreaker's pockets, possibly a secret pocket sewn into the lining. Nothing was there.

  "You're clean," Wolper said finally, giving the Beretta back to Brand.

  "I'm a good little boy," Brand mumbled as he reholstered the gun.

  Wolper looked him over with a wary, skeptical eye. "I don't know about that, Al. I really don't. Now I'll tell you what. You and myself are going to have a talk, and when we're done, we're going inside so you can explain yourself to Robin Cameron."

  "I've got nothing to say to her," Brand muttered with the stubborn, sullen frown of a disgruntled child.

  "You'll have plenty to say to her and to me. As far as you're concerned, the doctor is in." Wolper leaned close, watching Brand's eyes and trying to catch any scent of alcohol on his breath. "Whatever you're up to, Al, I don't like it. We're already dealing with one pain-in-the-ass SOB who likes to play games. We don't need another one. You get what I'm saying?"

  Brand faced Wolper's gaze for a long moment without blinking. "No games," he said in a beaten voice. "I get it."

  "I hope you do," Wolper told him. "For your sake, I hope you do."

  Chapter Forty-two

  "You told me," Robin said slowly, "you weren't dumb enough to come back to Hollywood."

  Gray's voice crackled over the line. "Guess I'm dumber than I thought. Didn't come in here to play no games, though. Had to take the lizard for a walk."

  "Lizard?"

  "Use the head, is what I'm saying. Caught them arcade noises on the phone and tumbled to where you were. Eye-balled you straight off. What are the odds we'd both show up at the same place? It's fuckin' kismet. We're meant to be a team."

  She looked around her, trying to spot him. He could be anywhere in the shifting, shadowy crowd. Could be sneaking up to kill her from behind amp;

  "Doc, you're way too antsy. If I was in for some silence 'n' violence, wouldn't I have executed the game plan by now?"

  She took a breath. "You have to turn yourself in."

  "Not gonna happen."

  "I'm here with a police officer."

  "You're alone. I'm looking right at you."

  "He left for a second, but he'll be back. He could return at any time"

  "Chill, Doc. Not that I don't enjoy hearing you pant into the telephone, but you're getting your dainties in a twist for no good reason. I got no hard-on for doing you harm. That's what I been trying to tell you. Hell, I'm on your side."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "I don't like being framed. And that's what went down today. Some asshole set me up. Hey, I'm willing to do the time for the crime, but it's gotta be my crime, not some other Joe's. I feel proprietary about my reputation."

  There was a pause. "Justin, I want you to tell me again that you don't have my daughter."

  "Doc, I sung that song already."

  "I want to hear it again. No jokes, no wisecracks."

  Slowly he said, "I ain't got her."

  "You swear?"

  "On a stack of Bibles and my mama's life."

  "Your mother is dead."

  "Figure of speech."


  A moment passed as she considered everything she knew or thought she knew about Justin Gray.

  "Okay," she said.

  "You believe me?"

  "Maybe."

  "Well, it's a start. If you'd said yes, I'd've known you was lying. So what you gonna do now, Doc?"

  "Find Meg."

  "Sounds like a plan. Good luck with that."

  "You said we could put our heads together. Maybe we can."

  "You're bullshitting me again."

  "If you were serious about what you said, prove it."

  "How?"

  "Let me see you."

  "So you can throw a net on me. Put a spotlight on old Justin for your cop friend that's with you."

  "If you want me to trust you, then you have to trust me."

  A beat of silence passed, and she thought she'd lost him.

  "Deal," he said. "Turn around. You wanna see me, you're looking the wrong way."

  She turned, peering toward the rear of the arcade.

  "See the sign for the toilets? Pan down, zoom in."

  She spotted him on a pay phone near the rest rooms. He'd changed out of the clothes he'd stolen. He was looking directly at her.

  "Ta-da," said the voice on the phone.

  "Let me talk to you, Justin."

  "What do you think we're doing?"

  "Face-to-face. Up close. Let me get near you."

  "More of this trust business?"

  "Yes."

  He crooked the phone under his chin and spread his arms in a gesture of resignation. "What the hey. Come on over."

  Holding the cell phone to her ear, she moved out of the alcove and into the press of the crowd. He was repeatedly eclipsed by shifting faces and bodies, and each time she thought he'd vanished for good, but always he reemerged, still standing by the phone, watching her with a wary, quizzical look.

  Why was she doing this? Why risk getting closer to him? She knew the answer. It was the same thing she'd told him last nightI don't do therapy over the phone.

  To treat someone, she had to see him, watch his expression, his body language. She had to be close to his personal space.