The sentry jp-3

by Robert Crais

  When Pike reached home, he stretched in the parking lot to cool, then peeled off his sweatshirt, deactivated the alarms, and let himself in. His condo was austere and functional with little in the way of decoration. Dining room set off the kitchen; couch, chair, and coffee table in the living room; a flat-screen television for sports and news. A black stone meditation fountain burbled in the corner. Pike found peace in the natural sound, as if he were alone in the forest.

  Pike stood for a moment, listening, not to the water, but beyond the water-checking to make sure he was alone. He did this every time he came home. Habit.

  Pike drank a half-liter of bottled water, then placed the bottle with others waiting to be recycled. His condo was quiet and empty, but sometimes felt more empty than others. He thought about Dru Rayne and the little girl in the picture, and why Dru had felt the need to show him. Pike liked it that she had shown him the picture. He thought it spoke well of her, and suggested she thought more of him than a beer at the beach.

  Pike ate a meal of leftover polenta, black beans, and broccoli sprinkled with a minced serrano pepper. He ate standing up in the kitchen.

  Pike had not been in a serious relationship for a long while. Dates, yes, and sex, and he enjoyed close friendships with several women, but nothing he would call a romantic relationship. Maybe for the same reason he didn't have pets. He often disappeared for long periods, and often left without warning.

  Pike finished eating, drank more water, then stripped out of his remaining clothes. He spread a foam mat on the living room floor and proceeded through a series of yoga asanas. After a lifetime of strength training and martial arts, he could lay his chest on his thighs and face on his knees; he could spread his legs one hundred eighty degrees and become one with the floor.

  Pike worked slowly, allowing his body to melt into the postures. The only sounds in his life were the gurgling water, his heart, and the brush of his skin on the towel. After a while he assumed the position of resolve, and meditated. His body calmed, his breathing slowed, and all he knew was the singular sound of his heart. Forty-two slow-motion beats per minute, like thunder alive in his chest.

  Pike meditated for exactly fifteen minutes. He did not check his watch, but he had been meditating for most of his life. When fifteen minutes had passed, his consciousness floated to the surface, and Joe Pike was back.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  At eleven-fifteen that night, Pike brought his things up to his bedroom. His house was orderly and neat. His equipment was clean and squared away. He showered, dried himself, then pulled on a pair of white briefs. He went downstairs for another bottle of water, and noticed his cell phone on the kitchen counter. The screen showed a missed call. He studied the number until he realized it was Dru. She phoned while he was in the shower, but had not left a message.

  Pike called her and got her voice mail.

  "Hi, this is Dru. You know what to do, so do it."

  Her message line beeped.

  "It's Joe."

  He was still thinking what else to say when the phone cut him off. He called back, and this time finished his message.

  "Call whenever. Doesn't matter how late."

  He brought the phone upstairs, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed. His mattress was hard. The sheets were crisp and tight as the skin of a drum. He listened to the water, softly bubbling downstairs in his empty home. He wondered what it would be like to have another person's sounds in his house.

  Pike waited for her to return his call, but the phone remained silent.

  Par Two

  PRINCESS OF THE ANGELS

  10

  Hydeck called at 10:08 the next morning, identifying herself as if they had never met.

  "This is Officer Hydeck with the Los Angeles Police Department. Sorry to bother you, but do you know how to reach Ms. Rayne?"

  The professional lack of expression in her voice told Pike something was wrong.

  "Why?"

  Hydeck hesitated long enough for Pike to hear radio calls in the background.

  "Someone trashed their place again. I have a number for Smith, but he isn't answering. I thought you might have a number for his niece."

  Pike wondered why she thought he would have Dru's phone, but dropped the thought quickly. He was picturing Miguel Azzara at the coffee shop. Smiling. It's done.

  "Are you there now?"

  "Yes, Pike, I'm here now, and I'm trying to get them here, too. The place is a mess. Do you have her number or not?"

  "Yeah, hang on."

  Pike gave her Dru's cell, hung up, then immediately dialed the number. Like the night before, his call went to her voice mail. Pike left another message, then decided to see the damage for himself. Gomer had almost certainly broken the window on the first night, but Mendoza had probably wanted some payback of his own after he was released. After Pike saw it, he thought he might encourage Azzara to make Gomer and Mendoza clean it up.

  When Pike arrived, he expected to find the new glass shattered, but Wilson's shop appeared undisturbed. The new window was bright, shiny, and intact, and the CLOSED sign hung in the door. An LAPD radio car was at the curb, but Hydeck and McIntosh weren't out front, so Pike rounded the corner to the service alley. He found them clustered at the back door along with Betsy Harmon and her son, Ethan. All four of them turned as Pike rolled up, and Hydeck walked over to meet him.

  Pike said, "Did you reach them?"

  Meaning Wilson and Dru.

  "Left more messages. Those poor people will be walking into a nightmare when they see this place. The pricks really did a job."

  McIntosh tried to make a joke.

  "But the good news is, we can add B amp;E and illegal disposal of animal parts to the tab."

  Betsy Harmon said, "You should see what they did. Disgusting."

  She wore a bright lemon dress today. She stood with her arms tightly crossed, looking strained and rigid.

  Pike saw that the metal security door was bent at the knob where the door had been levered open. The jamb above the lock was dimpled where the lever buckled the frame. It had taken a strong man or more than one man working hard to bend the metal.

  "Ms. Harmon called when she saw the door."

  "No, I called when I saw inside. Degenerates. What kind of people would do this?"

  McIntosh widened his eyes at Pike.

  "This shit is sick, dude. Check it out."

  Pike stepped past the officers and opened the door.

  The dank odor of blood and raw meat enveloped him. Pike moved through the storage room, but stopped by the counter as soon as he entered the dining room. Lumbering bottle flies had already homed on the scent and buzzed in slow loops past his head. The counter was red with a viscous pool of drying blood that traced darker red paths to the floor. Long thick pieces of what was probably beef liver, kidneys, and intestines floated in the blood like blue islands. More pieces were draped over the cash register and prep area, and what appeared to be a large gray beef heart was nailed to the New Orleans Saints poster. The skinless heads of three goats hung from the ceiling lights, their lidless eyes dull and bulging. Bottle flies fed on their eyes.

  Behind him, McIntosh whispered.

  "What if it's people?"

  "It's not."

  "I know these are animal heads, but this could be human blood. These organs could be from people."

  "They aren't. Butchered people smell different."

  McIntosh studied Pike as if wondering how Pike knew that, then pointed out the wall behind the counter.

  "Check it. Your boys left a message."

  Three words were written in blood on the wall above the prep counter.

  I AM HERE.

  I, not We. Singular. Pike wondered what it meant.

  Hydeck came up beside them.

  "C'mon, it's time to go. I got some snaps for the report. All we're doing is letting in flies."

  Pike said, "Have you called Button?"

  Hydeck's irritation turned to annoyance.<
br />
  "Yes, Pike, I put in a call. I'm waiting to hear back from him, too. Right now I'm more interested in getting the owners out here so they can get this place cleaned up and secure."

  Pike stepped around the goat heads to the front door. He studied the gas station and buildings across the street, and wondered if Straw's people had seen anything, and whether they had stood by and watched this happen.

  Hydeck said, "Let's go, Pike. I mean it. You shouldn't even be in here."

  Pike followed them out.

  Betsy Harmon still had her arms locked across her chest.

  "Are we going to have the CSIs out here and all of that?"

  McIntosh said, "That's on TV. Our people are SIDs."

  Hydeck pushed the door closed. The bent frame made it difficult, so McIntosh leaned in to help. It still didn't close all the way.

  "Those are animal parts, Ms. Harmon. The people who did this probably robbed a Latin market. Latin butchers sell a lot of goat meat. What time does Mr. Smith usually get here?"

  "Wilson is always here by nine, every day but Sunday. If they get a food delivery, he'll come in earlier, but one of them should have been here. They're always here by now."

  Pike checked his watch and saw it was almost ten-thirty. Hydeck glanced at her watch at exactly the same time, then frowned with impatience.

  "Maybe they're not coming in, him with the concussion. He should be in bed, anyway."

  Betsy Harmon held herself even tighter.

  "In bed doesn't mean you turn off your phones. Someone has to clean up that mess."

  "We've left messages. There isn't anything else we can do."

  "What if they don't check their messages? That mess in there is going to rot. I can't have my customers smelling it. People can see it from the street."

  Hydeck's cell phone buzzed. She glanced at the incoming number, then turned away to take the call.

  Pike said, "Is it them?"

  "It's Button. Let me see what he wants to do."

  As Hydeck walked away, Betsy Harmon turned to Pike.

  "They can't just leave it like this, can they? Aren't they supposed to do something?"

  Pike had nothing to say. He didn't like it that Dru and her uncle weren't answering their phones. The blood and heads and the message on the wall felt like more than an act of malicious vandalism. There was a darkness to what had been done that left him feeling as if a shadow had passed beneath him out on the open sea.

  Hydeck glanced over as she spoke with Button, and Pike could see something was wrong in the way she held herself. Her agitation grew as their conversation went on, then she put away the phone and returned.

  "Mr. Smith and Ms. Rayne won't be coming in today. They're leaving for Oregon."

  Betsy Harmon stepped back as if she had been kicked.

  "Oregon? Who said they're going to Oregon?"

  "Mr. Smith. Apparently, he came by earlier and decided enough was enough. He phoned Detective Button about it this morning."

  "He's going to leave it like this?"

  "I don't know."

  "But who's going to clean up the mess?"

  "I'm sorry, but that's all I know. I'm sure he'll take care of it before they go."

  Pike was surprised, and wondered why Dru hadn't called him.

  "Were they threatened?"

  "Pike, look inside again and open your eyes. I'd say that's a threat. The guy's scared. He wants to get out of town until these idiots cool down, and he says he won't cooperate with any further investigation. I don't know any more than that, and frankly, if he doesn't give a shit, neither do I."

  She glanced at McIntosh.

  "We're done here. Let's roll."

  Pike said, "Is Button coming out?"

  "Don't hold your breath. He was pretty pissed off."

  Betsy Harmon's face pulled tight with anxiety.

  "But Wilson isn't answering his phone. What if he leaves it like this?"

  "If it's determined to be a health hazard, Mr. Smith will be cited. If Mr. Smith doesn't take care of it, I suggest you call the landlord or leasing agency."

  "That's it? That's all you're going to do?"

  "That's all we can do. I'm sorry."

  Pike watched Hydeck and McIntosh head back to their radio car, then took out his phone and tried Dru again. His call went to voice mail, but this time he did not leave a message.

  Beside him, Betsy Harmon said, "I don't think they would leave it like this. I just don't believe it."

  Pike didn't believe it, either, thinking that anyone who would dump goat heads and blood in the man's shop might not stop with vandalism. He put away his cell.

  "You know where they live?"

  Betsy Harmon brightened for the first time that morning.

  "Yes, I do. They're only a few blocks away."

  She had once helped Wilson and Dru bring home perishable food when the shop's refrigerator failed. She didn't remember the street address, but gave Pike directions and described a house on the Venice Canals. She also gave him the cell phone number she had for Wilson Smith.

  When Pike turned to his Jeep, Betsy Harmon called after him.

  "I saw you."

  Pike glanced back, and saw her smiling.

  "You and Dru. I saw you kissing yesterday. She looked very happy."

  Pike nodded once, such a small nod she might not have seen, then climbed into his Jeep. Dru would have called. He didn't understand why Dru hadn't called.

  11

  The Venice Canals were the dream of a man named Abbot Kinney, a tobacco millionaire from back East who developed the area as a beachside resort. The canals were originally dug to drain marshy land, but Kinney reasoned that one Venice was as good as another, so he decided to re-create Venice, Italy, complete with gondola rides. Sixteen miles of canals were dug, but over time they were filled or shortened. The remaining six were laid out in a perfect square with four canals running side by side and the fifth and sixth canals laid across their tops and bottoms, cutting the land between the canals into three identical, rectangular islands. What began as an amusement park became weekend getaway housing in 1905 that eventually devolved into run-down bungalows on tiny lots in the fifties and sixties occupied by hippies, beachside denizens, and artists. But proximity to the beach and rising property values eventually elevated the area, and the shabby bungalows were replaced by expensive homes.

  Pike followed Betsy Harmon's directions into the grid of narrow alleys that lined the canals. He crossed an even more narrow arched bridge, then turned onto an alley lined by houses. According to Betsy Harmon, Wilson and Dru lived in the third house from the end on the left side, a redwood home hidden behind an ivy-covered fence. Pike found the house easily, and parked.

  The lots along the canals were small, so the houses all had two or three stories and were built shoulder-to-shoulder out to the street, with their front yards facing the canals and their garages flush on the alleys. A carport was carved into Wilson's house next to a wood gate, but the house and its entrance were hidden by the fence. The carport was empty. Pike was surprised by the house. This was an expensive address.

  Pike went to the gate, but found it locked. He pressed a buzzer. A chime sounded inside the house, but no one answered. As he pushed the buzzer again, he noticed a thin young man with straggly black hair watching him from a second-story window at the house next door. The watcher turned away when Pike saw him.

  Pike still got no answer, so he went into the carport and banged on the wall. If Wilson and Dru were going to leave, one of them might be inside packing while the other was shopping for last-minute necessities. Hence the missing car.

  Pike pounded hard on the wall three times, got no response, and was pounding again when a woman came out of the house next door and called out to him.

  "Excuse me!"

  She was in her mid-forties with leathery skin, tight jeans, and a tighter T-shirt that highlighted her breasts. She had large breasts, and wanted them seen.

  "Are you trying t
o knock down that house? I can hear you all the way over here."

  "Is this Wilson Smith's house?"

  "Hardly. They're house-sitting. The owner is in London. He goes there a lot."

  She rubbed her thumb and fingers together.

  "Made a load in television."

  This explained how they could live at such an expensive address. House-sitting.

  "But Wilson and Dru live here now?"

  "That's right. Is something the matter?"

  "There's been some damage to his place of business. I need to speak with him about it."

  The woman came out into the alley far enough to peer into the empty carport.

  "Well, their car isn't here, so I don't know what to tell you. I'll let them know if I see them."

  The thin man came to the door. Close up, he looked like a teenager. He was eating a banana, and squinted as if the sun was overly bright. Pike read them for mother and son.

  "S'up?"

  "He's looking for Wilson."

  He headed back into the house.

  "I'm gonna lay out."

  "How about looking for a job instead?"

  She made a big show of acting disgusted as her son slouched away.

  "Three years at Berkeley, and all he does is lay out. My fault, I guess. No man around to set an example."

  Her eyes lingered on Pike a beat too long, then she sighed as if realizing she'd just had another bad idea.

  "It's a single-mom thing."

  She put out her hand.

  "I'm Lily Palmer. Who are you?"

  "Pike."

  "Well, Pike, you want me to give them a message when I see them?"

  "Tell them to call. They have the number."

  Pike returned to his Jeep, but didn't start the engine. Dru and Wilson might very well be leaving, but Pike felt they would not have had time to leave yet. They would have to make arrangements, pack, and do all the things people do to prepare for a trip. Pike told himself they were doing those things now, which is why they weren't home, so he decided to wait.