by Robert Crais
Part Three
THE LORD OF WAR AND THUNDER
21
At four minutes after seven the next morning, Pike received the call that changed everything. One minute earlier, at seven-oh-three, he was watching Carla Fuentes's house from a camellia bush in her backyard, the milky sky overhead promising a hazy day even between the leaves.
Pike had relieved Cole at four that morning, parking a block and a half from Carla's house in a deep pool of shadow beneath a sycamore tree. He slouched low behind the wheel, safe enough while the neighborhood slept, but he knew people would stir with the dawn. A man sitting in a parked vehicle would quickly draw attention, so Pike found a new position behind the camellia bush well before the eastern sky lightened. He could not see the front of the house, but had a good view of the back door, most of the drive, and the interior of the kitchen through the windows.
A light in the master bedroom came on at ten minutes after six. A few minutes later, the kitchen light followed, and Carla Fuentes entered the kitchen. She was alone, and wore a white T-shirt. She spent several minutes at the counter doing something Pike could not see, then returned to the bedroom. Pike guessed she had put on a pot of coffee. This was confirmed a few minutes later when she returned to the kitchen, poured a cup, and took it into the living room. Pike thought she was probably watching TV.
He saw her twice more before seven-oh-three. During this time, the sun rose, finches chirped through the bushes, and a mockingbird took a noisy position on the garage. Pike planned what he would do if Carla left the house or Mendoza appeared, but by seven-oh-three she had made no move to leave and Mendoza had not arrived.
At four minutes after seven, Pike received the call.
His phone made a soft buzz when it vibrated. It was on his thigh, where he had placed it so he could reach it with minimal movement, wrapped in a soft cloth to muffle the sound. He was surprised when the Caller ID showed CTY LOS ANG. This meant the call originated from a phone issued by the city. Pike debated whether or not to answer, but decided to pick up the call.
"Pike."
"You answer fast for this time of the morning."
It was Button, sounding quiet and knowing.
"Did you check out Mendoza?"
"Yeah. I think there's something to what you said. Did you find him?"
"No."
"I can help you with that. Got something here I want you to see. Come take a look."
Button's voice was so flat Pike knew this wasn't a friendly request, and something in the nature of his word choice and the early time of the call cut Pike like a desert wind.
"Is it Wilson and Dru?"
"You want a ride, I'll send a car."
"Did you find them?"
"I'm at Washington Boulevard where it crosses the canal. Can't miss me."
"Tell me if it's them, Button."
Button hung up without answering, and now the desert wind blew through Pike's chest like a cold rail. Pike worked his way out of the bush, slipped over the fence into the neighbor's yard, then ran for his Jeep. He was less than ten minutes from Button's location, and filled Cole in as he drove.
Cole said, "You want me back on Mendoza?"
"Not now. If this is Wilson or Dru, the police will be all over their house as soon as they clear the scene. If there's more to find on their street, we have to find it now."
"I'm on it, Joe, but listen-"
Cole's voice softened.
"Hold a good thought, okay?"
Pike broke the call in silence. Moments later he was bogged down in traffic three blocks from the canal, and knew he was heading for a major crime scene. Westbound traffic was rerouted through the marina by a uniformed officer who forced everyone to turn.
When Pike identified himself, the officer directed him into a parking lot behind a Thai restaurant. Several radio cars were along both sides of the canal, and two more blocked the Washington Boulevard Bridge. A Medical Examiner's van was on the far side of the canal. Even as Pike pulled into the parking lot, he saw that the water level was down. The Venice Canals did not flow freely into the sea. Once or twice a week, locks built into the bridge were opened, allowing the canals to drain with the falling tide, and refill with clean water as the tide rose. Now, the tide was out and the water was down, revealing a low wall of gray concrete stones that firmed the banks and the shallow slope of the bottom.
Pike spotted Futardo as he parked. She was with a small group of detectives and uniforms at the edge of the canal who stared at something in the water. Button was on the other side of the bridge with Straw. The man with the orange shirt was with them, only now he wore blue. He saw Pike first, then Button and Straw turned. Button came across the bridge to Futardo and motioned Pike to join them.
Pike felt his heart rate increase as he got closer. Two men in waders stepped into the water while two other men in knee boots spread a blue plastic sheet on the muddy bottom. All four wore long rubber gloves that reached to their shoulders. A stretcher waited solemnly nearby.
Button's face was blank as Pike approached, but a deep line cut Futardo's brow. Pike wondered what she was thinking. Button's jacket was already off in anticipation of the coming heat, and his hands were in his pockets. He didn't take them out to shake. Instead, he nodded toward the canal.
"There you go."
Pike looked, and in that moment he realized all his assumptions were wrong.
22
Reuben Mendoza's body was on its side in the shallow trough of water that remained in the canal. The arm with the cast reached toward the bank as if he had been trying to pull himself out when he died, but Pike knew this had not been the case. Mendoza's neck was cut so deeply the white core of bone was revealed, and the blue-gray pallor of his flesh indicated he had bled out long before he drifted to the bank. He wore baggy khaki shorts, a long-sleeved plaid shirt so big it cloaked him like a shawl, and Keds-the same clothes Jared described. Carla Fuentes would be able to keep her house.
Button clucked his tongue.
"Looks to me like your boy Mendoza here didn't abduct anyone."
Futardo moved closer, watching him the way cops watch a suspect.
"Do you recognize this man?"
Pike nodded.
"When is the last time you saw him?"
Pike glanced at Futardo, and saw Button smile.
"Detective Futardo here wants to work homicide. She thinks you're a person of interest."
Futardo flushed dark and her thin lips grew tighter as Button went on, lecturing her.
"This isn't Pike's style. Pike here, he'd shoot the guy point-blank or beat him to death, but he wouldn't do this. Hey, Eddie-"
A man in waders looked over.
"Roll him and open the shirt, please. We want to see the wound."
Most of the body was still in the water. They rolled it to face Button, then pulled back the plaid shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned as Jared described, but the T-shirt beneath was ripped from the upper left chest down through the center of the shirt to his pants. Washed clean of blood by being in the canal, picket-fence ribs protruded through the chest and internal organs bulged like blue balloons from the abdomen.
"Gutted him. Cut his neck to kill him, then gutted him thinking the body would stay down."
Pike watched the team maneuver the body, then gazed up the canal. Grand Canal was the longest canal of the six, letting the five smaller canals breathe from the sea through the locks built into the bridge. Pike wondered how long it took for the body to work its way down from the upper canals as the water drained.
"How long has he been in the water?"
"Thanks, Eddie. That's good."
The recovery team returned to its work as Button answered Pike's question.
"Cold as the water is, the window is wide open. More than six, but less than twenty-four. They'll tighten it up when they get him on the table, but that's the CI's best guess for now."
"Could have happened after. He took them first, and someone killed him af
ter."
"Whatever you say, Pike. And maybe the one thing doesn't have anything to do with the other, but I wouldn't bet on it."
"You find Gomer?"
"You think Gomer killed him?"
"Did Jared make him as the man with Mendoza?"
"Didn't see him well enough, but I doubt it was Gomer. Gomer's too lightweight for something like this. You kill someone the way this man was killed, you're a heavyweight."
Pike guessed Button probably had several candidates for the kill, and Pike was probably high on the list despite Button's comment to Futardo.
Futardo moved closer again.
"The homicide detectives want to talk to you. You feel like answering a few questions or you want to lawyer up?"
"Now's fine."
Button smiled again.
"I was you, I'd lawyer up."
"I'm good."
Pike wasn't going to tell them anything Button didn't already know. If he told them more, they would promote him from person of interest to suspect.
Button glanced at Futardo.
"Tell'm they can have him when I'm finished. Stay with them so Pike and I can have a word."
Button watched her walk away, then turned back to Pike.
"Let me ask you something, between you and me, and I don't care what you tell the homicide dicks. You know where Smith and his niece are?"
"No."
"You think Smith did this?"
The thought had occurred to Pike, but he hesitated before he answered.
"Open the ribs like that, you have to be strong, and you have to know what you're doing. I don't know that he has the skill or the strength."
Button grunted.
"Maybe not, but cooks know their knives. Mendoza and Gomer go to threaten the man like they did in his shop, only this time they get the big surprise."
"It's still two on one."
"Gomer's a runner. Ran before when you showed up, and this time he beat feet when the knife came out. Then it's one on one, only the girl's there to help her uncle. Once the body is down, they panic and decide to get rid of it. Then Smith calls me with that bullshit about Oregon to buy some getaway time."
"They didn't have to run. If that's how it happened, they killed him in self-defense."
Button grunted again.
"People lose their minds when they kill someone, Pike. That's why they call it blood simple."
Pike wondered why Button was sharing his theory, like they were in this together, until he realized Button's true purpose. He was trying to read whether Pike was involved in the murder or subsequent cover-up with Wilson and Dru.
Pike shrugged, willing to let Button think what he wanted, when Futardo reappeared. She looked excited.
"Boss, they need you over here. It's important."
Button told Pike not to leave, and went over to see what the detectives wanted.
The men in the waders had the body on the plastic sheet. Working together, they lifted the body, but their footing in the mud was bad. One of the men slipped, and the body went down.
Pike took out his phone. He was going to let Cole know what was happening when he saw Straw approaching. The man in blue remained on the bridge.
Straw didn't hurry. He strolled over like a man rehearsing what he wanted to say. When he arrived, he nodded at Pike.
"This time yesterday, I had a serious hard-on for you. Today, not so much."
Straw paused. Pike knew he was now supposed to ask why Straw no longer had a hard-on, but Pike didn't ask. He didn't care. Straw finally nodded toward the homicide crew. The homicide detectives were talking as if they were excited about something, and two were on phones. One trotted to a waiting radio car, and jumped into the back seat as it left.
"Our detective friends are split down the middle whether you or Smith did this. They're even running a pool."
"How'd you bet?"
"I don't think you or Smith had anything to do with this. That mess with the heads in Smith's shop, I don't think these bangers had anything to do with it. Something more complicated is in play."
Pike studied Straw for a moment, and thought he was probably right. Straw's shakedown operation was finished, so now he was digging for a replacement.
"Like what?"
"No idea."
"Weren't you guys watching the shop?"
Straw showed his first sign of irritation.
"We were watching the entire street, Pike. We had the front of his shop. Whoever made that mess broke through the back and got away clean. But you know that. You were there the next morning."
"Too bad you didn't see something helpful."
Straw's jaw flexed one time, then he studied the ground for several seconds before he looked up.
"You have any idea where these people are?"
Pike nodded toward Mendoza's body.
"I thought he had them."
"If he did, someone else has them now."
"Who?"
"Whoever. I'm seeing Smith and his niece jammed up by something a helluva lot worse than a shakedown."
Straw handed Pike a card.
"You learn anything or need any help, let me know. I'd like to find these people before whoever did that to Mendoza finds them."
Button and Futardo returned from their group. Pike thought they were coming to get him for the homicide dicks, but Button had news, and the news made him smile.
"Alberto Gomer is no longer missing in action. Homeless dude found him an hour ago in a parked car up at the north end of the canal. His throat was cut ear to ear. That makes your boy Smith two for two."
Futardo gestured toward the homicide detectives.
"They'd like to speak with you now. You ready to talk?"
23
Elvis Cole
When Pike phoned Cole that morning to tell him about Button's call, Cole heard the strain in his friend's voice. Pike was a man who showed nothing, projecting a zen-like detachment that Cole sometimes found amusing, but also admired. Cole often wondered what such calm cost his friend, and whether Pike had no other choice but to pay it.
Cole was off the couch and out of the house sixteen minutes after Pike hung up. Who needs deodorant when you're the World's Greatest Detective? Who needs to brush your teeth when you're fighting to absolve your friend's guilt?
The morning traffic down from the canyon and westbound through Hollywood sucked. Bumper-to-bumper with garbage trucks, buses, and citizens headed for work, all of them funneled through streets torn up by poorly planned construction and maintenance projects.
Cole was still two miles from the freeway when his phone rang. He thought it would be Pike, but didn't recognize the number.
"Elvis Cole."
"This is Steve Brown in London, returning your call."
Brown spoke firmly, as if he was used to being in meetings and getting things done. Cole did a quick calculation. Eight hours ahead made it five P.M. in London.
"Thanks for getting back, Mr. Brown. I'm trying to locate Wilson Smith and Dru Rayne. I was hoping you might know how to reach them."
"Why would I know that?"
Cole thought that was an odd response, considering the people were living in the man's house.
"I understand they're house-sitting for you."
"Uh-huh. And you understand this how?"
Now Brown sounded suspicious, which maybe went with getting a cold call from a total stranger six thousand miles away.
"Your neighbor. Lily Palmer. She told me about the house-sitting, and suggested I call."
"Uh-huh. Okay. What's this about?"
Cole had expected Brown to have questions, and had decided to limit his answers.
"Wilson's shop was damaged. I've been trying to find him so I can tell him what happened, but it looks like they've gone away for a few days. I was hoping you would know how to reach them."
"Uh-huh."
Brown fell silent.
"Mr. Brown?"
"Let me ask you a question. These people are livi
ng in my house, Dru and this guy?"
Brown sounded angry, and Cole didn't like where the conversation was going.
"Are they there without your knowledge?"
"I told Dru she could use the place. That's it. I don't know any Wilson Smith. I never heard of him, and I'm fucking pissed off if she's shacking with some guy in my house."
"He's her uncle."
"I don't give a shit if he's her twin brother, though I have my doubts. This wasn't the deal. I didn't want anyone else in the house, and she was cool with it. That's why I let her use the place."
Cole felt a soft chill, and liked the conversation even less. Cole had believed Smith arranged for the house, and invited Dru to stay with him when she came to L.A. to help with his business. Now that was upended.
"Dru works for him. Mr. Smith has a restaurant up by the boardwalk."
"Maybe so, but she wasn't working for anybody when I gave her the keys. She was living off alimony. She never said anything about an uncle, and she sure as hell didn't tell me he was going to move in."
Cole wet his lips, and hated the question he had to ask.
"Why did you let her move in?"
"I was fucking her, why do you think? She wanted out of the dump she was living in, and I was coming back here, so it was a good deal for both of us. Saved me the hassle of vetting a house sitter."
Cole felt hollow.
"All right. Listen, thanks for getting back to me."
"Hold on. How long is she going to be away?"
"I don't know."
"I called her when I got your message, but she hasn't called back."
"We haven't been able to reach either one of them."
"What are we talking about? A few days? A couple of weeks? Has she abandoned the place?"
"I don't know."
"Goddamnit, as of right now, you are telling me my house is empty? Is that correct? She's gone, and no one is taking care of my house?"
"No, sir. Not now."
"Son of a BITCH. That fucking whore."
Brown hung up cursing, and the line went dead.
Cole drove on with a confusion that left him feeling blindsided, and realized he had missed an obvious question. He opened the incoming call list and called Brown back.
