by Matt Coyle
I plugged earbuds into my already muted iPhone and put the phone into my right pants pocket. If Moira called, I’d take the call through the earbuds. I toggled the Mustang’s overhead light switch to off and got out of the car.
The night had a bite to it. Winter cold for Southern California. Early spring for the Midwest. I wore dark-blue jeans, a bomber jacket, and a black Callaway golf hat. Not easy to pick up in the dark, but a resident just out for a stroll if headlights hit me. I walked, hidden under the golf hat, down the sidewalk toward Fellows’ new home.
The light from the streetlight down the block ran out of illumination by the time it made it up the hill to Trey’s house. Dark was good. The garage door had a series of square windows across the top. I pointed my cell phone flashlight through the window and peeked inside. Empty. The owner of the house most likely wasn’t home and Trey was staying there alone. Except for his new guests.
I went over to the sidewalk and glanced into the back and cab of the F-150 pickup as I walked past it. The back had a built-in toolbox and a couple of loose chains. The chains were probably for securing motorcycles, but I could envision a Raptor using them for something more colorful. And painful. The cab was empty except for take-out food wrappers.
I kept moving and glanced up at the house. Curtains closed. Same glow from behind that I’d seen when I pulled up over an hour ago. I slowed after I passed the house and checked both sides of the street up and down the hill. Nobody out walking and nobody peeking out at the street through windows.
I moved under the cover of an elm tree and looked back up at Fellows’ house. I caught the corner of the family room from the angle where the front window and the one to the backyard came together to form an edge. A wood-slat fence blocked all but the upper quarter of the window to the backyard. From that angle, there was a sliver of a view into the living room between the curtains and window. From down below, all I could see was a slice of the ceiling. If I got closer along the fence on the same level of the house, I’d be able to see if anyone was in the family room.
I scouted the street and the windows of the neighborhood houses again. Clear. I walked over to the fence like it was the most natural thing for me to do at night in somebody else’s neighborhood and followed it up along the front lawn. I kept my head just below the top of the fence. When I got to within a yard of the window, I slowly pushed my head up so that my eyes just peeked over the top of the fence. I saw a shadow rising up to the ceiling. I raised my head an inch and moved it slightly to the left. The man-mountain stood with his oak-tree arms crossed, staring down at something. I looked to the right and saw that he was looking at Fellows and the thin man sitting at a table.
The thin man’s briefcase was opened on the table. Fellows looked down at something in front of him. I couldn’t see what it was.
The thin man stood up and closed the briefcase. Fellows stood up and shook his hand. The guests were about to leave. I ducked my head down, but something on the wall above the fireplace caught my eyes just before they went below the fence. It was a photo that looked familiar, but I didn’t have time to look at it again.
I backed down the slope away from the fence to the sidewalk. Then I sprinted up the hill toward the Mustang. My phone vibrated in my pocket right before I made it to my car. I tapped on the microphone/call receiver that was on the cord to the earbuds and answered.
“Yeah.” Out on a rush of breath.
“Why are you out of breath, Cahill,” Moira asked. “What are you up to now?’
“Explain later.” I gulped in some air. “What did you find out?”
She paused. I waited. “The truck is registered to a Helen Grant.”
Hadn’t expected the owner to be a woman.
“Has a brother named Eric Schmidt.” She sounded triumphant, so I knew there was more coming. “Has a rap sheet for assault and drug distribution. Known to be a member of the Raptors.”
The information just confirmed what I’d already figured out, but now I had a name to attach to the mountain.
Moira sounded like she wanted a pat on the back. I didn’t think getting the info was anything above and beyond. Any PI would have gone further than Helen Grant, but I patted her anyway. I needed a favor.
“Nice work, Moira. Thanks.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Not at all.” I turned on the ignition, but left the lights off. “But I need your help. There’s another dude with Schmidt. Looks like a lawyer. I think we should find out more about him. He and Schmidt are about to leave, and I’m going to tail them. I need you to come over here and watch the house while I’m gone.”
“Did you run this by Mr. Buckley?” Little sister voice about to rat out her big brother. Even though she had me by at least five years. “You’re supposed to stay and watch the house, not follow people who visit it.”
“No time. You want to earn Brownie points with the boss or do some real PI work?”
“You’re an asshole, Cahill.”
“We already established that. Call me when you get to the house.” I hung up.
Schmidt and the thin man left Fellows’ hideout and got into the truck. It coughed to a start and took off down the street, turning on the first right the way it came in. I knew the street had a stop sign instead of a traffic light. The cross street wasn’t a particularly busy one so Schmidt wouldn’t have to wait long before he turned. Still, I kept my headlights off as I rolled down the hill.
By the time I got to the turn, the truck was already gone. Red taillights shone two hundred yards down the hill to the left. They seemed too close together for a truck. I gambled and turned right, leaving a streak of rubber as I pushed the Mustang hard up the hill. I pulled my foot off the gas, slammed my fingers down onto the electric window buttons and the windows slipped into the doors. I strained to listen past the gentle hum of the motor. Then I heard it. The distant rumble of the truck up the hill, well beyond the bend.
I pushed the gas pedal back down and turned on the lights. If I came up on Schmidt now, I was just another vehicle on the road. I caught the truck’s taillights and followed it all the way up and over Mount Soledad and onto La Jolla Shores Drive up the winding hill to La Jolla Farms Road. The Farms is where the real money in La Jolla lives. The homes are mansions on huge estates. The values of the real estate is added up in multiples of five million. Rich company for a biker gang member driving a rundown pickup truck.
I began the left turn onto the Farms when a Maserati Gran Turismo blew through a stop sign. I jammed on the brakes and the Maserati did too, fishtailing into a one-eighty right in front of me, blocking my entry into the Farms. The window went down and a middle finger came out. Yeah, asshole, it was my fault. The Maserati burned rubber in reverse, then slammed into first and sped past me to go and ruin someone else’s night. I finished the turn and searched for the truck’s taillights.
Lost them.
I goosed the accelerator and wound around the street. The truck appeared beyond a bend, backing out of a driveway. From the angle, the truck looked like it might have just completed a Y-turn. No pedestrian visible in the driveway or on the street. I went past the truck and pulled the brim of my cap down to block the headlights and peeked at the cab. I caught a glimpse of hair and beard pointed in my direction, but the passenger side looked empty.
I slowed and continued down the street a couple houses until the truck’s taillights disappeared behind me. I did my own Y-turn and stopped in front of the house where the truck had done the same. I guessed that Schmidt had either dropped the thin man at this house or at the one across the street. I wrote down the addresses for each and called Kim after I’d promised not to bother her for a while.
“Rick.” She answered on the fifth ring and didn’t seem happy about it. The clock may have run out on her “call anytime” offer.
“I hate to bother you again, but I need another favor.” No point beating around the bush this time.
“Don’t expect me to be surprised.” Her
voice, cold as her words. I must have caught her at a bad time. Unless I was becoming the bad time.
“Sorry. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”
“Important to you.” A man’s voice murmured in the background. The voice of the man whose picture was in the foreground at every bus stop in La Jolla. “I’m a bit busy right now, Rick.”
She could have ignored my call but picked up to tell me she was busy. Was that for Bus Stop Man or for me? Either way, it made me odd man out. Where I belonged, but had never been relegated to before tonight.
“Well then, I guess it can wait. Thanks.”
“I’ll call you back in a little while. Good-bye, Rick.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I made it back to my perch above Fellows’ hideout by 9:10 p.m. Moira was parked on the other side of the street. She flipped me off and drove away as soon as my car came to a complete stop.
Kim hadn’t called me back yet. Maybe she wouldn’t until tomorrow. Or never. Something had changed with her. Maybe she was upset about the other night. Upset that we kissed or, maybe, upset that we stopped. Either way, I now truly felt like an ex. I’d stayed just close enough after our breakup to remain a part of her life. Even with the new boyfriend, we’d talk at least once a week.
I could have found another real estate source. She could have spent more time talking to her boyfriend. But we had still fit and we still liked each other more than we liked most anyone else. Until now?
Ten o’clock. Still no call from Kim. My detail was done for the night, but I had one last thing to do. I pulled my backup binoculars from my backpack. They were about the size of opera glasses, small and not as powerful as the larger binoculars I’d been using earlier. But that was fine. I wouldn’t need too much range.
I checked the streets. Empty. I got out of my car and walked down the sidewalk toward Fellows’ house. When I got to the house’s property line, I sidled up along the fence like I had earlier. The light was still on in the living room. I peeked through the curtains. No sign of Fellows. That was fine. He wasn’t my target. I scanned the wall above the fireplace and found the photograph that I’d spotted earlier before my quick retreat.
I had time now. The picture was among a collage of photos in a large, wrought-iron frame. It looked like a smaller version of the picture of Trey’s sister and her boyfriend at Trey’s house. Brad Larson. I used the binos to get a closer look. It was the same photograph. But why was it on the wall of Trey’s hideout? His sister lived in Ocean Beach. The owner of the house was Dianne Wilkens. Who was she to Trey and his sister? And who was Brad Larson to her?
I zeroed in on the other pictures in the collage. Larson was in three of the other thirteen photos. Maybe a couple more if he was the blond-haired kid at various stages of childhood. So, Larson must have been Dianne Wilkens’ son. Maybe she’d been married more than once. Thus the different last name. Sierra was just in the one photo. Trey wasn’t in any.
I walked back up the hill to my Mustang and called Trey’s cell phone. The call went to voicemail. I hung up and called again. Fellows answered on the second ring this time.
“Has anyone from the La Jolla Police Department contacted you?”
“No, man. Shit. Are they going to?” Jumpy.
“Eventually, but you knew that.” Calm, a friend checking up. “Just want to make sure they don’t drop by while you’re swallowing smoke, and they decide to search your house and find your stash. You know, the Mason jars?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Quickly. “I took care of that.”
That wasn’t quite a lie. He had moved his stash when he moved himself. I didn’t expect him to volunteer the last part.
“Everything else cool? You haven’t seen or heard from any of the Raptors, have you?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Just checking to make sure they haven’t caught onto anything.” Even when I expected it, I didn’t like being lied to. I fought the urge to call him on it and make him tell me what was going on. But I deferred to Buckley’s wishes. For a change. “Call me if anybody contacts you. Keep it tight. You’re doing the right thing.”
So far, and for reasons I couldn’t figure out.
A couple breaths of silence. Finally, just above a whisper, “I hope so.”
“I’ll be in touch.” I hung up.
Trey had chosen to keep his secrets to himself and kept pushing off lies. I knew about the lies, but not the secrets within them. He was playing a game even more dangerous than the one he was playing for our team. I just didn’t know what it was yet.
I didn’t see the cop car pull up behind me, but I felt it. I had my head down, stuffing the camera and binoculars into my backpack. The car’s light bar vibrated rainbows and winked at me in my rearview mirror. If I’d had my police scanner on, I might have heard the dispatch call to investigate the man with binoculars in the Mustang GT on Candlelight Drive.
I sat very still with my hands at my sides. Every cop stationed out of the Brick House hated me. I didn’t want to make a sudden move and let one of them turn me into a martyr.
“Put your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them and don’t move.” Loud speaker from the car.
I did as I was told. I eyed a second cop inching up in a crouch along the driver’s side of the car through the side-view mirror. Two handed grip on a sidearm pointed at me. These guys weren’t joking and neither would I. The second cop stopped just behind my left ear.
“Slowly put your hands out the window.” He sounded young and anxious. That made me feel old and anxious.
A light flashed in from the other side of the car behind me. The cop on my side whipped open my door.
“Slowly step out of the car, please.” His gun was back in his holster, but he kept his hand on the butt.
I did as I was told.
“License and registration, please.” He was probably less than a year out of the academy, and looked like he spent most of his free time bench pressing continents.
“I have to get the registration out of the glove compartment. Okay if I reach back into the car and get it?”
“Just give me your driver’s license.”
I pulled out my wallet and gave it to him. The other cop had circled around to the back of my car, outlined in colored shadows from the light bar.
“Do you mind telling me what you are doing sitting in a car at night staring at homes through binoculars, Mr. Cahill?”
“And those binoculars wouldn’t just happen to have been targeted on any bedroom windows, would they, Cahill?” The other cop jumped in before I could answer. Not that I had a good one. He came out of the shadows and nodded the junior officer to the squad car, no doubt to run a warrant check on me.
The senior cop wore sergeant’s stripes and his gold nameplate read Castro. He was in his early fifties, losing hair and gaining pounds around the middle. I didn’t know him but had the feeling, by the way he said my name, that he already knew all about me. And probably my father before me.
“I’m a private investigator working surveillance on a case. I can show you my PI license if you like.” I took the license out of my wallet.
“And just what case is that?”
“It’s confidential.” I didn’t want to alert them to Trey Fellows.
“You may have come here for legitimate reasons, Cahill.” He snatched the license from my hand. “But once you got here, you fell back into your old routine of peeking through bedroom windows hoping for a show. Pretty sick gig, getting paid to be a Peeping Tom.”
Yeah. He knew me and he knew my specialty. I had a reputation at the Brick House, but I thought it was just for being a multiple murder suspect, a bad cop, and the son of a bad cop. Now my private investigations forte was part of the tale? I doubted it. Something else was at play.
“Well, if you have a complaint then take me to the Brick House. Otherwise, let me get back to my job.”
“You got pictures of high school girls taking showers in that came
ra you just put in your backpack? Or something worse?”
If I showed him what was on the camera he could figure out what house I’d been staking out, as well as get a look at the men who went into it. If he decided to investigate, Trey might panic and get busted with five pounds of weed, or flee before I could tail him. If I didn’t show the cop, he’d probably continue with his intimidation con game.
I rode the con.
“Not even their mothers.”
Castro eyeballed me and smiled. Not in a friendly way.
“Any paper, Ives?” Castro yelled back at the patrolman in the car.
I looked over at the young cop sitting at the dashboard computer of his police car. The young cop shook his head. No warrants with my name on them. For now.
“Stay put, Cahill.” Sergeant Castro walked back to the patrol car and said something to the kid.
I leaned against my car and folded my arms across my chest. I could front it off to the cops that this was just another day at the office, but, inside, my nerves twitched and my stomach sucked in on itself. The kid eyeballed me without expression. A pretty decent attempt at a cop stare for a rookie.
I noticed a triangle of light coming from a window across the street. And the silhouette of a head in the middle of it. While I’d been watching 5564 Candlelight, someone had been watching me and then called the police. Only a week removed from peeping on cheaters and I’d already lost my edge.
Castro made a call on a cell phone, then got out of the squad car and walked over to me. “Cahill, hop in the backseat of the cruiser so we can head over to the station.”
“Are you arresting me?” The words came out steady but my heart wasn’t.
