Robert Crais - L.A. Requiem

“No.”

“We know he had our address. We know he's a killer.” She gripped my arm then, as hard as Frank Garcia had gripped me when he had begged me to find his child. “I need you right now.”

I looked at Krantz. “Krantz, he's going to Palm Springs.”

Krantz didn't like it, but he was seeing it. “You got her name and address?”

“Her name is Paulette Renfro. I don't remember the address, but I can tell you how to get there.”

Krantz was already dialing his phone. “The States can get the address. They can get a car there before us.”

Krantz frowned as he made the call, and I knew what he was seeing in his head, a couple of sheriff's deps snapping the cuffs on Sobek, the two deputies getting the headlines and being interviewed by Katie Couric.

I looked back at Lucy, and gave her my best reassuring smile, but she wasn't at home to receive it.

“That's where he's going, Luce. I can't go back with you now, but just stay here until I get back. I'll take you home when I get back.”

Lucy's eyes were distant and cold, and hurt.

“I don't need you to take me home.”

Krantz went for the door even as he worked the phone, calling to Williams. “Jerry, let's mount up. We're going over there.”

When we left the cafeteria, I glanced back at Lucy, but she wasn't looking at me. I didn't need to see her to know what was in her eyes:

I had chosen someone else once again.

Sobek has not moved for the better part of an hour. The desert sun has driven the temperature inside his Jeep to almost 130 degrees, and his sweatshirt is soaked, but he imagines himself a predatory lizard, motionless in the brutal heat as he waits for prey. He is armored by muscle and resolve, and his mission commitment is without peer. He will wait for the rest of the day, if necessary, and the night, and for all the days to come.

It does not take that long.

A car eases up the residential streets below and pulls into the vic's drive. Sobek fingers the .357 when the car turns in, thinking it's her, but it isn't. A man gets out and stands looking at the house in the brilliant desert light, the man wearing jeans, an outrageous beachcomber shirt with the tail out, and sunglasses.

Sobek leans forward until his chest touches the steering wheel.

It is Joe Pike.

Pike goes to the front door, rings the bell, then goes around to the back of the house. Sobek can't see him back there, and thinks Pike must be sitting on the little veranda, or that he's found a way inside.

Sobek waits, but Pike does not return.

His heart pounds as he clutches the .357 with both hands. The gun is nestled between his legs where he can feel the weight of it on his penis. It feels good there.

He allows himself to smile, the first expression of emotion he's had in days. Pike has come to him.

Control.

Sobek settles back and waits for Paulette Wozniak and her daughter to return.

Paulette picked up her daughter Evelyn earlier that morning from Banning, where Evelyn had dropped her car for service. Evelyn's Volkswagen Beetle had gone kaput, and now Evelyn was without a car. First the boyfriend, then the apartment, now the car. Paulette had taken Evelyn to her job at Starbucks, then picked her up again, and was bringing her home to wait until her car was ready at the end of the day. Evelyn, of course, wasn't happy about it. Paulette never expected to find a strange car in her drive.

Evelyn was sulky and angry, and glowering in the passenger seat like she was fit to choke a dog. The only thing she'd said that morning was to ask if Paulette had heard from Mr. Cole again. Paulette hadn't, and thought it odd that Evelyn would ask.

Paulette Renfro turned onto her street thinking the old cliche was true: When it rains, it pours. What could be next?

Evelyn glared at the strange car. “Who's that?”

“I don't know.”

A neat, clean sedan was parked to the side of her drive, leaving her plenty of room to get into her garage. She did not recognize it, and wondered if one of her friends had gotten a new car without telling her. It was so hot out that they were probably in back, waiting under the veranda, though she couldn't imagine why anyone would be waiting for her unannounced.

Paulette pressed the garage opener, eased her car inside, then let Evelyn and herself into the house through the laundry room.

She went directly to the back glass doors in the family room, and that's where she saw him, standing tanned and lean and tall in the shade on the veranda. He was waiting for her to see him. He wore a flowered shirt that looked a size too big and dark glasses, and her first thought, the very first thought that came to her after all these years was, “He hasn't aged a day and I must look like hell.”

Evelyn said, “There's a man outside.”

Joe raised a hand in greeting, and Paulette felt herself smile.

Evelyn said, “You know that guy?”

Paulette opened the door, then stepped back to let him inside.

“Hello, Joe.”

“It's good to see you, Paulette.”

She had thought of this moment-of seeing him again-in her dreams and over morning coffee and during long quiet drives across the desert. She'd imagined what she would say and how she would say it in every possible way, but all she managed to get out was so lame.

“Would you like some water? It's so hot out.”

“That would be fine. Thank you.”

Evelyn got that ugly sulk on her face, the one that said she was unhappy and everyone was supposed to know it. You had to know it and do something about it, else she'd get even sulkier.

Evelyn said, “You called him Joe.”

Paulette knew what was coming. “Joe, this is Evelyn. Evie, you remember Joe Pike.”

Evelyn crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. Her face grew blotched. She said, “Oh, fuck.”

Joe said, “Paulette, I need to talk to you. About Woz, and about something that's going to happen.”

Before Paulette could say anything, Evelyn leaned toward Joe and shrieked, “What could you possibly have to say? You killed him! Mother, he's wanted! He just murdered someone else!”

Paulette took her daughter by the arms, wanting to be gentle, but wanting to be firm, too.

“Evie. Go in the back. I'll talk to you later, but I want to talk with Joe now.”

Evelyn pulled away, livid and furious from a lifetime of mourning her father. “Talk to him all you want! I'm gonna call the police!”

Paulette shook her daughter with a fierceness she hadn't felt in years. “No! You won't!”

“He killed Daddy!”

“You won't !”

Joe spoke quietly. “It's okay, Paulette. Let her call.”

Evelyn looked as surprised as Paulette felt, the two of them staring at Joe for a moment before Evie ran back toward the bedrooms.

Paulette said, “Are you sure? I saw on the news.”

“I'll be gone before they get here. You look good, Paulette.”

He spoke with the absolute calm at which she had always marveled, and secretly envied. As if he were so certain of himself, so secure and confident that there was no room left for doubt. Whatever came, he could handle it; whatever the problem, he would solve it.

She felt herself blush. “I've gotten older.”

“You've grown more beautiful.”

She blushed deeper, suddenly thinking how odd this was, to be here with this man after all this time, and to blush like a teenager because of him.

“Joe, take off those glasses. I can't see you.”

He took off the glasses.

My God, those eyes were incredible, so brilliantly blue that she could just stare. Instead, she got him the water.

“Joe, I've seen the news. A friend of yours was here. What happened?”