by Robert Ellis
“And we’re in a world of shit,” Cabrera whispered.
It hung there in the darkness of the car. Their new reality in all its harshness. Matt glanced at his Honda halfway up the row of cars and grabbed the murder books. Cabrera checked the lot for his SUV, then reached for the door handle.
“You gonna sleep tonight, Denny?”
Cabrera opened the door. “I don’t know yet. Give me a smoke for the drive home.”
CHAPTER 32
Matt couldn’t tell if it was the silver Nissan behind him. All he could see was a pair of headlights through the glare. He’d picked them up as he drove east on Sunset and made a left onto Western. Now they were following him on Los Feliz as he approached the freeway entrance, two cars back, the driver laying low.
Matt circled down the ramp and eased the car onto the Golden State Freeway with his eyes flicking between the speedometer and the rearview mirror. On a good night the average speed of freeway traffic in Southern California was somewhere between seventy-five and eighty-five miles an hour. Anyone doing the speed limit—anyone driving at fifty-five—more than stood out. Matt set the cruise control at a lethargic fifty miles an hour, hung in the right lane, and watched the driver barrel down the entrance ramp, then suddenly let up on the gas.
He got a good look as the car coasted beneath a streetlight. The man in the silver Nissan was back.
Matt tightened his grip on the wheel, mulling it over. The Glendale exit was less than a mile away. Laura’s house was another mile up the hill just north of the freeway. He needed to deal with this guy, and he needed to do it in a hurry. He checked the mirror again. The follower was still back there, rolling at a listless fifty miles an hour.
Matt checked the cruise control, watching the traffic pass by hard and fast and ignoring anyone who hit their horn. He could see the interchange just ahead. When he reached the 134 Freeway, he took the first exit, gliding down the ramp and side street, and making a right at the light onto San Fernando Road.
The silver Nissan was still in his rearview mirror, five cars back and hiding in the right lane. Matt wondered if the man might not be delusional, still not realizing that he had been spotted. He smiled as he lifted his .45 out of its holster and rested it on the console. Powering up the Honda, he swerved through the next layer of traffic in a sudden burst, then slowed down again as he shifted lanes. On the other side of the train tracks to his left was an industrial area. Block after block of warehouses and light manufacturing plants until the roads converged on DreamWorks and Walt Disney Animation Studios to the west. At this hour the entire area would be a ghost town until you reached the studios.
He saw the light ahead and caught it just as it turned yellow, making an easy left onto Flower Street. Once he rolled over the train tracks, the traffic vanished and he was on his own. He checked the mirror again and saw the Nissan make the turn as well, then brake and begin following at a calculated distance.
But no matter what the distance, there was no place to hide here. The man in the silver Nissan had no cover. It was the reason Matt had chosen the exit on San Fernando Road. It was the perfect place to draw the man out and confront him.
He slowed down to an even thirty-five miles an hour. He made a turn at the corner, and then another, watching the Nissan cruise a hundred yards back. Matt pushed forward, leading his follower deeper into the industrial landscape and making turn after turn, until it felt like he was lost in a maze. When he spotted a street that looked particularly dark and desolate a block or two past Glendale Water & Power, he made a quick right, pulled into the shadows halfway down, and skidded to a stop.
Matt ripped open the door, climbed out with his .45, and leaned over the hood.
But the silver Nissan never made the last turn.
He waited five minutes, listening to the power lines hum overhead with his pistol pointed at the end of the road. When it felt like a sure thing, he got into the car and worked his way back to San Fernando Road.
He drove slowly, searching for the silver Nissan. He had that feeling again, the one in the center of his back that told him he was being watched. But as he stopped at each intersection, the streets were empty, his follower apparently gone.
The drive to Laura’s house took less than ten minutes. He kept an eye out for the Nissan and told himself that the feeling still digging into his back was just a case of nerves. Still, as he reached the neighborhood, he drove around the block just to make sure. When he spotted a gray Crown Vic hidden in the shadows across the street, he thought his heart might break out of his chest.
He made another trip around the block, coasting past Laura’s driveway. That morning, the protection detail out of Metro had parked their black Chevy Suburban in front of the garage. But now it was gone. He didn’t see it in the drive or anywhere on the street.
Matt pulled down to the next house and fished out his cell phone. His contact at Metro, Jerry Tanaka, picked up after five long rings. From the background noise, it sounded like the call had been forwarded and Tanaka was in a bar.
“Where’s my protection detail?” he said through clenched teeth. “Where the fuck are they, Tanaka?”
“Take it easy, Jones. They’re at the house. What’s your problem?”
“They’re not at the house. They’re nowhere, man.”
“Hold on for a second,” Tanaka said.
“I don’t have a second.”
“Hold on anyway.”
The phone clicked and he heard an irritating stream of digital noise in the void. He was nervous. The wait was excruciating, but he knew that he couldn’t get out of the car. He couldn’t take the chance that his voice might carry. After three or four minutes—maybe it was five or six—Tanaka came back on.
“They’re on a break,” he said.
“A break? Are you insane?”
“I just got off the phone with them. They said you told them that they could take an hour’s break.”
“Who told them?”
“Matt Jones from Hollywood Homicide,” Tanaka said.
“Are these the same guys who showed up this morning?”
“No. They’re the second shift.”
“When did I tell them that they could split?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
A beat went by. Matt felt the anger bloom all over his body and burst through his skin.
“Listen, Tanaka. That wasn’t me. You’re blowing it. You’re in a fucking bar thinking that the day’s all over, only it’s just getting started. You’re fucking up. Now bring them back and bring them back fast.”
“I’ll do what I can, Jones.”
“A woman’s life is at stake, Tanaka. Fuck you.”
Matt slipped the phone into his pocket, drew his .45, rocked back the slide, and hustled down the street in silence. As he reached the driveway, he could feel the outrage overwhelming his senses. He started around the house, as slowly as he could manage. He stopped and listened. There was someone in the yard, someone standing at the top of the steps leading down to the backyard and pool. Matt moved around the corner for a better look.
It was Joey Orlando. Cop killer.
All of a sudden Matt was glad that he hadn’t wasted time confronting the man in the silver Nissan. He raised the .45, moving forward in silence. He had been trained to move in silence. He was good at it. He stopped three feet short of Orlando’s back and listened to the detective breathing. He looked him over from head to toe and felt repulsed by his entire presence. Orlando was watching Laura in the window as he stood hidden in the darkness. Even worse, it was a close-up view from the side. She was in the kitchen, rinsing dishes in the sink and looking out the back window at the lighted pool. She was wearing a black T-shirt that rose above her midriff and a pair of jeans that rode well below her hips. Her hair was pulled back, and from the color of her full lips, it looked like she was wearing makeup. She looked good. She looked better than good.
“Enjoying the view, Joey?” he whispered in a hoarse voice.
>
Orlando flinched, then caught himself and froze, thinking it over. “Yeah, Jones,” he said finally. “It’s a pretty good view tonight.”
“Where’s Plank?”
“What’s it to you?”
Matt jabbed the .45 into his back. “Where’s Plank?” he repeated.
Orlando shrugged. “Home, I guess.”
Matt stepped around Orlando with the gun aimed at his chest. He could feel his pulse slowing as the adrenaline backed off. He was all business now as he watched Orlando eye the .45. After a few beats, the big man with the goatee and the salsa stain on his shirt seemed to ignore the drawn weapon and finally met Matt’s gaze.
“You were overseas, Jones. How many people did you kill?”
“What are you doing here, Joey?”
“I drove out to your place thinking you’d be home.” He glanced at Laura, then looked back and flashed a dirty smile. “It’s pretty clear why you’re not.”
Matt ignored the innuendo. “What do you want?” he said.
Orlando shot him a knowing look and lowered his voice. “Too bad what happened to Frankie Lane this afternoon. I heard he drove off a mountain and got himself all burned up. I heard he was a nice guy, but now he’s just a piece of meat. I wanted to make sure I expressed my condolences, Jones.”
A long moment passed with Matt staring at Orlando and Orlando staring back. A warning that didn’t appear to be veiled or spoken in code.
“You got it right, Orlando. Frankie was okay. You ever meet him?”
“No,” Orlando said, smiling through a yawn. “I never fucking did. It’s getting late, Jones. See ya tomorrow at the office. Maybe we’ll go out and grab a cup of coffee. Just the two of us.”
Orlando was a motherfucker.
Matt watched him turn and walk off, keeping an eye on him until he got into the Crown Vic and finally vanished down the street.
He slipped his .45 into the holster, then took a deep breath and exhaled.
He might have been all business, but he could feel the weight of the moment preying on him as well. He checked his watch, wondering how much more time it would take the protection detail to get here. He no longer had any confidence in them. He turned and looked at Laura in the window. Her T-shirt and jeans. The makeup that she was wearing tonight. He lit a cigarette and looked at her again. Then he turned away.
CHAPTER 33
It had taken twenty minutes for the protection detail to return. When they finally arrived, Matt kept himself together but told them exactly what had happened and made sure they understood that they had been played. Although both officers appeared to be professionals, neither one of them understood the potential downside, because Matt couldn’t tell them how lethal Orlando was or what kind of cop he had become. From the expressions on their faces—what gives?—Matt guessed that they thought he was either paranoid or making a big deal about nothing. After all, Orlando was an LAPD detective whom Matt worked with.
By the time he got his overnight bag out of the car and Laura opened the front door, he was exhausted and just wanted to hit the sheets and get some sleep.
“You don’t look so good,” she said. “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?”
“A couple hours ago. I’m just tired.”
“You want something to drink?”
“Maybe a beer that I could take upstairs.”
She seemed disappointed that he didn’t want to stay up for a while and talk, but Matt ignored it. He followed her into the kitchen. As she pulled a Corona out of the fridge, he spotted the glass of white wine on the counter. He watched her take a sip, then noticed the look she gave him as she switched off the lights.
She still wanted to talk.
Matt followed her upstairs and down the hall to the bedroom directly across from the master bedroom. She walked in, set her wineglass on the side table, and started turning down the bed.
“You don’t need to do that, Laura.”
“I know, but I want to. Let me get you some fresh towels.”
She stepped into the bathroom, pulled a set of towels from the closet, and hung them on the rack beside the shower. She checked the room, then walked out and reached for her wineglass. When she sat down on the bed, Matt took a swig of beer and pulled the chair over.
“Are you okay?” he said.
She nodded but didn’t say anything. Her eyes were on him. Her wheels were turning again.
“How’d your day go?” he asked.
She shrugged, her voice throaty and just above a whisper. “I’d rather hear about yours.”
He didn’t want to tell her about Frankie. He wanted to hold off until later, maybe in the morning after she got a decent night’s sleep. But even more, he didn’t want to tell her about anything for the very same reasons Leo Rodriguez had held back on his wife, Sally. If Laura knew what was really going on, she’d be even less safe than she already was.
He saw her eyes drift down to the pack of Marlboros in his shirt pocket.
“I thought you and Kevin stopped smoking together,” she said.
“We did.”
“So what happened?”
He shrugged and tilted his head.
“You don’t want to tell me, do you?” she said.
“Tell you what?”
“What happened to you today. You don’t want to tell me because you think that I can’t handle it. Something happened. Something horrible. I can tell, Matt. You’re smoking again, and I can see it in your face. In your eyes. It’s like you’ve aged ten years in the last fifteen hours.”
Matt took another pull on the Corona. “It’s been a long couple of days, that’s all. I need some sleep, and you do, too.”
Her eyes were still on him, measuring him. After a moment she got up from the bed.
“Do you think the burglar will come back tonight?” she said.
Matt finally understood, flashing a warm smile at her as he got up from the chair. “I think he already took everything he was looking for. If he does come back, the guys outside will take care of it. They’re the best we’ve got.”
She stepped into his arms and rested her head against his chest. Matt could feel her pressing her body against his. He could feel her body relaxing in his arms. She was still frightened.
“Thanks for staying with me,” she whispered. “You don’t know how much it means.”
“Everything’s gonna be okay, Laura. I promise. You’re safe here.”
“I miss him,” she said. “I don’t think I can make it.”
“We’ll get through this,” he said quietly.
She tightened her hold on him, then gave him a look with those eyes of hers. A moment passed before she let go.
“You’re a good man,” she said.
He watched her pick up her glass and cross the hall. Just before closing the door, she turned and wished him a good night.
Matt started to close his own door but looked down the hall toward the study and had second thoughts. After tonight, after the events of the day, it seemed more than plausible that Orlando had been the one who had broken into the house last night, stolen Hughes’s files on the Faith Novakoff murder case, and walked into Laura’s bedroom while she slept.
More than plausible, but not definitive. There were too many question marks. Too many black holes. He thought about what Cabrera had said, and it didn’t help.
They could be murdered in their sleep tonight.
Matt placed his .45 on the bedside table, switched off the lights, and stepped out of his clothes. As he got into bed, he looked across the hall at the crack of light beneath Laura’s bedroom door and tried to quiet his mind. After several moments he became aware of the sound of rushing water. The two bathrooms must have shared a wall because he could hear Laura in the shower. He thought about her magnetism and the spell she seemed to cast over everyone she met. Her blond hair, her full lips and soft skin, the curves and smooth lines of her body. He could smell the light scent of her perfume on his face. He could still smell
her hair from just moments ago when she rested her head on his chest. He could feel her body pressing against him and relaxing. He could see her in the shower. The warm, soapy water cascading all over her naked—
Matt switched on the lamp and tried to get rid of the images in his head. He remembered the guilt he’d felt when he read her love letters earlier in the day. He tried to concentrate on that feeling and build on it. Tried to remember that Laura was his best friend’s wife. Tried to remember that she’d just lost her husband and was particularly vulnerable right now. Tried to keep in mind that she might even be pregnant. But after fifteen minutes, the shower was still going, the wall was too thin, and all of a sudden Matt was wide awake and reaching for the murder books he’d tossed in his overnight bag . . .
CHAPTER 34
Matt eased open her bedroom door after a second light tap but didn’t find her sleeping. It was six thirty in the morning. When he didn’t see her clothes on the chair, he called her name and listened for her in the house.
Nothing. Just the strange sound of the wind whistling outside.
He walked over to the windows facing the backyard. He could see the wind pushing and pulling at a large oak tree that was being held together by steel wires. When he looked down the steps at the pool, he spotted Laura cutting back a bougainvillea that was creeping up a small tree. She had a windbreaker on and a pair of rubber boots that rose to her knees. A large mug of coffee was set on the stone wall. He looked up at the sky. It seemed too dark for this time of day and too cold, like maybe it might even rain; like maybe it was January instead of October; like maybe the whole world had come undone and was out of order.
Matt turned back to Laura and watched her for a few moments. The feelings he had experienced last night, the wild thoughts and fantasies, were gone. As he tossed it over, he wondered if what had happened last night hadn’t been a result of his extreme need for sleep. As he tossed it over, he wondered if his unbridled thoughts hadn’t been born from the paranoia and outrage he was feeling. Last night had been a crossroads. Matt knew that as a police officer, a homicide detective, he could no longer trust his own.
