Steven James - The Rook

He grinned. “Oh. I see. You want to play it like that. Well, you’re the hotshot federal agent. Why don’t you work that out for yourself?”

“Well, you know, Detective, that sounds like a good idea. I believe I will.”

His voice stiffened. “So, the guy who called this in, you didn’t happen to get a good look at him, did you?”

“Mid to late thirties, blond hair, no sideburns, slight goatee.

He was seated the whole time, but his head was near the ceiling of the maroon 2003 Ford Mustang he was driving, so height was maybe six-three or six-four. He used a Nextel phone, had a bald eagle tattoo on his left forearm but no other visible body markings or jewelry. The Mustang has a scratch approximately twenty centimeters long on the front panel, driver’s side. Arizona plates number B73-” Dunn just stood staring at me. “Are you writing this down?” I asked.

“Are you making this up?”

“No,” I said, looking past him to the profile of Petco Park against the skyline. “This is what I do.”

During the last two hours, Creighton Melice and the brunette, who’d told him her name was Randi-with an “i”-had shared drinks at a downtown wine bistro and visited two nightclubs. Now, he was aiming the car toward the shipyards while she fussed with her hair in the car’s flip-down mirror. “So, where are you staying, Neville?” “I have a place down in Chula Vista.”

Creighton loved how she’d gotten into the car by her own choice.

He hadn’t been sure that she would, but it ended up being just that easy. Open the door. Let her climb in. Close the door. It was so much better when it happened that way. So much more satisfying.

Creighton kept an eye out for cops. You could never be too careful. He stopped at a light.

“You said you’re new to Diego,” she said, flipping the mirror up. “What brought you here?”

“A film project I’m working on. I tend to move around a lot.”

“How long are you planning to stay this time?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how long it takes to tie things up here.”

The light clicked green, and he turned onto the street that led to the warehouse with the cameras.

In my job, you don’t often have the luxury of working only one case at a time. As you move forward solving one crime, another one creeps up on you from behind. So, even with the arson case at the center of my radar screen, I couldn’t ignore the fact that the odd circumstances revolving around John Doe’s suicide were tapping me on the shoulder.

So, I made room in my mind for both cases.

I didn’t think it was likely the man with the black duffel and his buddy were just passing by and yet didn’t bother to look at what happened. Most people naturally rubberneck, unless, of course, they want to appear disinterested-and usually it’s only people who have something to hide who want that. Besides, I had a growing feeling that something more was going on here, especially after hearing the words of my new jurisdictionally paranoid detective friend.

So, after I finished giving my statement to Detective Dunn and letting a paramedic bandage my arm, I took a few minutes to ask the people who’d been on the trolley if any of them had seen a man with a black duffel bag aboard the trolley before it stopped.

None of them had.

I could check video surveillance from the trolley depots later to see if the two men had boarded.

Before leaving the scene, I walked to the metal fence again and looked down into the rift.

A couple city workers were scrubbing off the front of the trolley. One of them was complaining about missing Leno, the other guy was trying to get his buddy interested in discussing the Lakers’ starting lineup.

Just past them, a somber-looking police officer retrieved the shoe.

And just like I thought.

It wasn’t empty.

I took one more look around, then hopped into my car. Since human bites nearly always result in infections, I stopped by the hospital for some more antibiotics. The emergency room doctors also did a hepatitis C and HIV test because of the bite, and told me to check back with them in a week and then get retested in six months. Nothing more to do about all that right now, so I put it out of my mind.

Before leaving the hospital, I took a moment to picture what the Avis representative’s face would look like on Saturday when I explained what had happened to the windshield.

That would be interesting.

I didn’t want Tessa to see the streaks and splatters of John Doe’s blood on the glass come morning so I went searching for a twenty-four-hour car wash.

My mind cycling back and forth between the two cases the whole time.

Creighton and Randi arrived at the warehouse’s expansive parking lot. He saw Randi sending a text message.

“Who’s that to?”

“My roommate. I’m telling her not to wait up for me.”

“That’s a good idea.”

She closed up the phone and set it down, then peered out the window. “Where are we? I thought we were going to your place?”

“I need to take care of something here first. Come on. I don’t want to leave you out here alone.”

“What are you talking about? What do you need to do here?”

He didn’t answer her, just opened his door. But as he did so, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated to life. He knew who it was right away. Only one person had this number. He retrieved the cell. “Yeah?”

“It’s time,” the electronically altered voice said. “We do it tonight.”

“What?” Creighton’s eyes danced over to Randi. “You can’t be serious.”

A pause. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m ready. But we were set up to do it during the day. I need at least a few hours to find her and-”

Randi folded her arms. “To find who?”

“Shh,” he said.

“Who’s there?” asked Shade.

“It’s nothing,” Creighton said. “Listen, I’m telling you, tonight’s no good. I don’t like being rushed. The plan was to pick her up on her way home from work-”

Randi put away her makeup, then zippered her purse shut and set it on her lap. “Pick up who, Neville?”

Creighton turned the phone away from his mouth and glared at her. “Just a minute,” he hissed.

“Things have changed,” Shade said. “We do it now. Hunter’s on the run. Don’t let me down.”

The phone went dead and Creighton realized it was too tough to jam it into his pocket while he was sitting down. He set it beside him, between the seats.

“What’s going on?” asked Randi.

Creighton rubbed his rough fingers together. It seemed he needed to make a decision. “Let me think.”

“It’s another girl, isn’t it?”

“Quiet.”

Creighton weighed his options. Randi… Cassandra… Randi

… Cassandra… who should he give this night to?

“Who is she?” Randi asked.

Then Creighton made his decision and started the car. “We’re not going to my place. Something’s come up.”

“Oh?”

“Get out.”

Randi looked at the weary warehouse district stretching to the ocean. “I’m supposed to get out here? You’re not dumping me out here in the middle of nowhere!”

Creighton let his voice become a two-by-four. “Get out of the car.” He reached across her, cranked open the passenger side door.

She cussed loudly as she scrambled to grab her things, and then swung her legs outside. “I could have given you a good time.” He put a hand on her back, pushed her out the door. She staggered to her feet. “You don’t know what you’re missing!” “Neither do you.” Before she could close her door, he stamped on the gas, jerking the car forward, using the momentum to slam the door shut.