“That SUV is over five years old,” Lynch said. “Too old to be in the fleet of the major rental car companies. Where could he have gotten it?”
Paulsen shrugged. “Those are popular rentals around here. Easy to throw skis and snowboards in the back.” He thought for a moment. “It could be one of Fennel’s cars.”
“Fennel?” Kendra repeated.
“Yeah, Wally Fennel. He runs a small used-car lot near the hospital, but I think he makes most of his money renting the cars while he tries to sell them. Some of those wrecks have a tough time making it back up the mountain. If anyone’s renting five-year-old cars around here, it’s probably that guy.”
Kendra nodded. “Okay. Good. We’ll find out where he lives and see if he—”
“Oh, you won’t find him at home. Not for another few hours.”
Kendra checked her watch. “It’s almost ten. Is his lot still open?”
“Uh, no. He spends most nights at Murray’s Saloon on Cottage Lane. He sings karaoke there until he gets too drunk. Then he just drinks.”
Lynch smiled. “In that case, we’d better get over there before he goes facedown on the bar.”
“You’re probably still okay.” Paulsen stopped the recording and the current security camera feeds resumed on the monitors. “But you still may have to listen to his really terrifying rendition of ‘My Sharona.’”
CHAPTER
4
ONE TEN-MINUTE CAB RIDE LATER, they walked through the front door of Murray’s Saloon and Eatery, a bustling bar/restaurant decorated with an uneasy mixture of wood and neon. A pool table was in heavy use by the door, and a small stand served as the karaoke stage, where three drunk young women belted out a song that might have been “Love Shack.” A long bar lined the left side of the room, which seemed to be populated by a combination of young snowboarders and older locals.
“I’ll talk to the bartender,” Lynch said.
Before he could get the bartender’s attention, the women finished their song and the DJ introduced the next karaoke singer. “Okay, everybody. Give it up for Wally F.”
Kendra and Lynch turned toward the stage, where a bearded man with long, kinky brown hair picked up a wireless microphone. No one applauded.
“Think we’re about to hear ‘My Sharona?’” Lynch murmured.
She listened to the first few bars of music. “No. God help us, I think we’re about to hear ‘Copacabana.’”
He flinched. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
She wasn’t joking. Wally performed the song with gusto, making up with enthusiasm whatever he lacked in actual talent. He danced during the extended musical bridge, oblivious to the fact that no one appeared to be watching him.
No one except Kendra and Lynch, that is. They stood next to the bar with stunned expressions. Lynch shook his head. “The guy has cojones, I’ll give him that.”
“I hope this is worth it.”
After the song ended, they walked over to him. “Good job,” Kendra lied.
Wally looked them up and down, perhaps registering that they didn’t look like the bar’s usual clientele. “Thanks. It’s a little cheesy, but what the hell?”
“What the hell,” Lynch agreed. He raised his phone and showed Wally the picture he’d taken of the security video. “Is this SUV one of yours?”
Wally suddenly appeared a bit guarded. “Who’s asking?”
“I am,” she said. “My name is Kendra Michaels. One of the men in this picture is a good friend of mine, and he’s missing.”
“Shit. What about the car?” he asked immediately.
Kendra rolled her eyes. “Your concern is touching.”
“Sorry, but I—”
“But you’re worried about your car,” Lynch interrupted. “It’s sitting in a police garage in LA.”
“A police garage? Why?”
“We’ll get to that,” Lynch said. “But you can confirm that this is your car?”
Wally nervously looked from Lynch to Kendra. “Yeah. It’s mine. I loaned it to him.”
“You mean you rented it to him,” Kendra said.
“Well…”
“Come on,” Lynch said. “We’re not trying to jam you up for the kind of business license you do or do not have. We know about your side business. Just tell us what we need to know, and we’ll be on our way.”
Wally hesitated once again. “Okay. Let’s step outside. It’s kind of noisy in here.”
They followed him out the door, making a detour past a large barrel of peanuts so Wally could grab a handful. They exited the bar and stood near the parking lot, out of earshot of a few bar patrons smoking on the sidewalk.
Lynch showed him the photo again. “Do you recognize either of these guys?”
“The shorter one with all the hair. He’s the one who rented the car from me.”
“What was his name?” Kendra asked.
Wally cracked open a few peanuts and popped them into his mouth. “Mmm. Don’t remember.”
“Maybe we have to take a ride to your office,” Lynch said.
Wally shrugged. “Maybe we would if it was 1998.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I keep all my docs in the cloud. Doesn’t everybody?”
Kendra smiled. “I will now.”
Wally thumbed his way through an app and drilled down to a collection of saved documents. “I do know he rented it from me about three weeks ago.”
“Three weeks? Was he with anybody?”
“Naw, he was alone. He didn’t know how long he’d be in town.”
“Did he say why he was here?” Kendra asked.
“No. He did seem kind of nervous, though. Jittery. At first, he wanted to buy an old car from me, but then he changed his mind. I don’t think he was too interested in messing with registration and all that. He seemed more comfortable staying under the radar.” Wally raised his phone. “Here he is.”
Kendra and Lynch moved closer to look at the screen, where there was a photocopied Montana driver’s license. Definitely the same man who had picked up Waldridge. She read the name. “Peter Hollister?”
“Yep.”
Lynch looked up. “The license is a fake, you know.”
“How do you figure that?”
“There should be a strip of microprint on the front right corner. It’s extremely hard to reproduce. Whoever made this license didn’t even attempt it.”
“Damn.” Wally looked at the license image. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people wouldn’t. I’m sure that’s why he picked a license for the least populous state in the union. Did he give you a local address?”
“Yeah.” Wally swiped his finger across the screen to flip through the rental contract. On the last page, he pinched to zoom in on the signature and handwritten address. “211 Starvation Flats.”
Kendra grimaced. “Starvation Flats? That has to be a phony address.”
“No, it’s a real street. It’s just off the main road.” Wally popped some more peanuts into his mouth. “You think this guy may have done something to your friend?”
“I don’t know. I’m just hoping I can get some answers from him.”
“And I’d really like to get my car back.”
Kendra nodded. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from the Santa Monica Police Department very soon. In any case, I’ll pass along your info to them.”
Lynch looked down the street. “Is your lot near here?”
“Yeah, just down the street. But I told you, all that info on this is—”
“That’s not what I want,” Lynch interrupted as he produced a wad of bills. “I’d like to rent one of your cars for a couple of hours. Let’s go pick one out.”
* * *
IN LESS THAN FIFTEEN MINUTES, Kendra and Lynch drove up Big Bear Boulevard in their rented Subaru Outback. Kendra sniffed the interior. “Did you have to pick a car drenched in the aroma of beef tacos?”
“I thought it was cheeseburgers.”
“Nope. Taco Bell
beef tacos with maximum strength Fire Sauce.”
“I’ll take your word for it. It was one of the only vehicles with four-wheel drive. So it was either the taco odor or sliding into a ditch.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure which is worse.”
He glanced down at the screen of Kendra’s phone on which she was searching the Web. “Any luck finding out who this guy is?”
“No. The name pops up a few times, but it isn’t him. It looks like a fake name came with the fake ID. Waldridge was obviously comfortable with him, though. I could see it in his body language.”
“On the surveillance video?”
“Yes. Waldridge tends to stick his chest out a bit more when he’s around men he doesn’t know well.”
“Only men?”
“Yes.”
“How Cro-Magnon of him.”
“It’s not all that uncommon. Anyway, he wasn’t doing it with this guy. If we don’t find him here, a thorough search of all his friends and associates back in England would be a good place to start. But maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Lynch slowed as they turned onto a street covered with several inches of snow. “The plows haven’t been here. We were right to choose four-wheel drive, taco smell and all.”
“So you say.” She looked at the house numbers. “His place is probably at the end, near the cul-de-sac. Four houses down.”
Lynch cut the headlights and pulled to the side of the road. “Let’s walk the rest of the way. Agreed?”
“Agreed. No sense in announcing ourselves any sooner than we have to.”
They climbed out of the Outback and trudged through the snow, making their way past the mostly deserted vacation cottages. They stopped short of Hollister’s house, which was a fanciful Germanic-styled home with yellow-and-blue trim. The house was dark.
“Did we somehow stumble into a Grimm fairy tale?” Lynch asked. “I’m pretty sure this thing is made of gingerbread.”
Kendra looked at a single line that cut through the snow and moved around the house. “I don’t think this motorcycle tread belongs to Hansel or Gretel,” she said as she knelt beside it. “This is fresh.”
“How fresh?”
“Last hour or so. No snow has accumulated on top of the tread marks.” She used her camera to snap a picture of the tread in the snow.
“Well, he did let Waldridge use his car. Maybe now he’s getting around on a bike.”
“Maybe.” Kendra activated the flash on her phone and shined it up ahead. Just before the tread peeled around the house, there was a footprint on either side, as if the rider had paused for a moment. Kendra stood over the print and inspected it. “It’s a SIDI Fusion Lei riding boot, size seven or eight.” She looked up. “This was a woman.”
He raised his brows. “SIDI Fusion Lei…?”
“In my wild days, a lot of my friends were bikers. This is a hot-looking boot. It’s hard to miss.”
“Even from just a footprint in the snow?”
Kendra shrugged. “I thought about buying a pair myself once.”
Lynch looked up at the front porch. “No footprints up there. No one has come or gone in the last day or so.”
“Let’s check around back. It looks like that’s what the motorcycle rider did.”
They circled around back, following the tread to the large expanse of land behind the house. It was darker here, but the snow-covered ground reflected the half-moon with a blue, iridescent glow.
Kendra motioned toward the back of house, where the footprints told the story. “Whoever the motorcycle rider was, she checked the back door and windows. After that, she circled around…” Kendra’s eyes followed the line of footprints behind her, which appeared to circle a dark object half-covered in snow. “What’s that?”
Lynch was already heading toward it. “Wait here.”
“No way.” She half waded, half hopped, through the snow, but Lynch got there first.
He whirled sharply toward her. “Stay back!”
“What makes you think you can—”
She froze in her tracks, suddenly realizing what he’d seen, what he was trying to keep her from seeing.
A body. A dead body.
Waldridge?
“Oh, God. Is it—?”
He crouched next to the corpse. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
She made herself walk over and kneel next to him. Someone else had already brushed some of the snow off the body’s head and chest. But not enough, she couldn’t tell—
She reached out, but Lynch stopped her. “I’ll do it.”
She shook her head. “It should be me.”
Don’t let it be him, she prayed. Don’t let all that brilliance and dedication end like this. Her hand was shaking as she carefully brushed off the rest of the loose snow.
She stopped as she saw the plump features and straggly white hair. It wasn’t Waldridge.
Thank God.
“It’s Hollister,” Lynch said. “Or whatever his name really was. He was shot in the chest. Looks like he’s been out here a couple of days, at least.”
Kendra nodded. “He may have been dead even before Waldridge came to see me. But why? And why here?”
Then something occurred to her. “The motorcycle tracks … Which way did they go?”
Lynch pointed to a clump of trees and brush. “They go in that direction…”
Kendra stiffened as her gaze followed where he was pointing. She whispered, “But where does it come out, Lynch?”
A single blinding headlight flooded through the trees and a motorcycle engine roared to life!
Before Kendra could even react, the cycle and its rider burst through the brush and spun its wheels in the snow.
It roared back around the house and hit the street.
Lynch was already running for the car. “Come on!”
They scrambled toward the Outback and piled in. Lynch started the engine and turned the wheel hard left. “Buckle up. I’m not sure what this thing can do.”
“There’s no way we can catch her.”
“We can sure as hell try.”
He jammed the accelerator and spun the Outback up the street. The back end fishtailed on the snow and ice.
Kendra glanced over at him. “That’s not good. Too slick. How does it feel?”
“We could use some more weight in the rear. Wanna get back there?”
“Seriously?”
“No.”
He stepped harder on the gas, getting more traction when they hit the plowed roadway. He pushed a button on the door console, powering down the door windows. Icy wind whipped through the passenger compartment.
“What’s that for?” Kendra shouted.
“Listen for the motorcycle. Which direction?”
Kendra nodded. Of course. Clever man. She should have thought of that herself, she thought in disgust. She leaned toward her open window and closed her eyes.
Detach. Concentrate.
There it was. That obnoxious motorcycle engine was echoing off buildings in the distance.
She leaned back. “Turn right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You asked me to find it. Now trust me, dammit.”
He pulled the wheel hard right and skidded down a well-lit street of small shops.
“It’s up ahead now.”
Lynch nodded. “I hear it now. It doesn’t sound like she’s gunning it as hard.”
“She isn’t. She may not know we’re after her.”
Lynch stepped harder on the accelerator.
Kendra cocked her head. “I think she veered off to the left.”
Lynch cursed. “She’s heading down the mountain.”
“That’s a bad thing.”
“Depends on how icy the roads get. Hang on.” He spun onto a side road, kicking up snow and rock salt as he raced toward State Route 18.
There was a bend in the road just ahead. They barreled around it.
Flashing lights. A police car up ahead.
They skidded to a stop, narrowly missing the police car parked in front of a blue-and-white barricade. Two uniformed officers approached them with guns drawn.
“Show us your hands!” one of the officers yelled.
Kendra and Lynch immediately complied.
“There’s been a murder,” Lynch said. “We’re pursuing a suspect.”
“Hands where we can see them,” the officer repeated.
“He’s telling the truth,” Kendra said. “A man is dead.”
“So we’ve been told,” the other officer said. “But right now, the only suspects are you.”
“Shit,” Kendra whispered. “She called the police.”
Lynch nodded. “Check and mate.”
* * *
IT TOOK OVER NINETY MINUTES of explanations, confirmations, and follow-up calls at the local police station before Kendra and Lynch were able to convince the police who they were and their exact interest in the case. They were finally allowed to drive back to the murder scene, which was by then taped off and lit in every direction by several work lights. It looked like a stadium as they approached.
A young detective bent under the police tape and approached them. “Dr. Michaels, Mr. Lynch?”
Kendra extended her hand toward him. “Yes. Detective…?”
“Sergeant Mark Brantley. I heard my buddies put you through the ringer tonight. They were just doing their jobs, you know.”
There was a trace of defensiveness in his tone even as he flashed an appealing, lopsided smile. Brantley projected a more nerdy vibe than most cops that Kendra had met with his prep-school haircut and wire-rimmed glasses. But even through his long winter coat, she could see that he was in phenomenal physical shape with well-defined chest muscles and abs.
Lynch shrugged. “They did an amazingly fast job of getting out there and laying down the roadblock. Too bad they got the wrong people.”
“It would have been a different story if you had called the police. Then they would have caught the right person.”
Kendra looked away. “We already got this lecture from the detectives at your station.”
Night Watch--A Novel Page 6
