Robert Crais - The sentry

When Cole closed the fridge, he noticed a hand-printed note taped to the door. He hadn't seen it before because it was lost among the takeout menus.

IF EMERGENCY, CALL 911.

PLUMBING PROBLEM, CALL NICKY TATE – 323-555-8402 IF YOU NEED ME WHILE I'M IN LONDON STEVE – 310-555-3691.London was eight hours ahead. It was late, but Steve Brown might be up. If Smith took the time to call Button, maybe he called his landlord, too. Cole dialed the number.

Brown's phone rang six times before voice mail picked up.

"Mr. Brown, my name is Elvis Cole. I'm in Los Angeles. Would you please give me a call about Wilson Smith and Dru Rayne?"

Cole left his number, hung up, then went to the window over the sink. It was the last thing he would check before leaving. He had found no hard evidence of either an abduction or a trip, and was already deciding which of his LAPD contacts to call about Mendoza and Gomer. The house had been a bust, and his head was out of the game.

He studied the window's latches and interior frame, and that's when he saw a single deep cut on an exterior part of the frame. A thin, bright groove sparkled across the metal near the latch, far shinier than the surrounding metal. Cole touched the handle, and the window slid effortlessly open. Once the window was open, he saw a deep dimple in the frame. Cole closed the window. He stared at it for a few seconds, then called Joe Pike.

"Did you check the kitchen window?"

"Yes. All the windows."

"The window over the sink."

"You found something?"

"Someone forced it open. I'm looking at it. There's a scratch on the frame where the screwdriver slipped, and the frame is bent by the latch. None of this was here this morning?"

"No."

"The latch is broken. The window slides free."

"Not this morning."

"Which means this didn't happen until three or four hours after Jared saw Mendoza."

"Find anything in the house?"

"Nada. No sign they were taken. No sign they went on a trip. Nothing."

"I understand."

"I don't."

"Understand later. I just left Button. You don't have much time."

Cole put away his phone and stared at the window. Maybe he did not find evidence of a crime because someone had already found it. Maybe there had been many signs of a struggle, but someone cleaned the crime scene.

Cole returned to the front entry and was about to let himself out when he noticed the empty bookcase. Steve Brown showed prudence by storing his valuable items. Maybe his books and computers weren't the only things he decided to hide.

Cole ran his fingers along the top of the bookcase and found a weathered key. He tried it in the front door, and found that it fit the deadbolt perfectly. Brown had stashed his spare key inside while he was gone instead of leaving it outside where a passing burglar might find it. A smart move made by someone who knew all the tricks because he had written so many cop shows.

Cole let himself out. He used the key to lock the deadbolt, then hid it behind the fence.

Cole cracked open the front gate, made sure no one was watching, then pulled off the vinyl gloves and let himself out. He took a single deep breath, released it, and let the tension he carried out with it. He had seen with fresh eyes, and now everything was different, and maybe everything Pike feared was true.

Cole crossed the alley for a better view of Smith's house, then looked from one end of the alley to the other. It was crowded by wall-to-wall houses, with only one way in or out for cars. A person could enter or leave by the pedestrian bridges, but for cars there was only one way out. It was a lousy place to do crime, but lousy places for crime were great places for witnesses.

A skinny guy with stringy black hair came to the upper window at the Palmer house. This would be Jared. He stared at Cole with a serious frown, and Cole stared back, thinking if there was one Jared, there might be more.

Cole had decided to knock on doors when a tan Crown Victoria turned into the alley, heading his way. A man was driving, with a woman in the passenger seat. Cole knew they were cops, and wondered if the man was Button.

The outsized Detroit sedan was so wide it filled the street. Cole stepped to the side to let them pass, and gave them a cheery wave.

"Beautiful day, isn't it? Great walking weather."

The man looked at Cole as if Cole was litter.

"Great if you don't have to work for a living."

The woman seemed embarrassed.

Cole continued on his way. Behind him, the Crown Vic stopped in front of the Palmers' house, and the man and the woman got out.

Cole strolled down the center of the street, checking the houses for large facing windows or decks with clear views of the street, but found something better.

A dark green contemporary home sat across the street and two doors down from the Smith house. It had sleek lines, a flat roof, and a large steel door. A security camera that looked like a black bubble clung to a wall beside the door.

Cole checked to see what the police were doing, and saw that the Palmers' front door was now open. Jared and his mother were in the street with the officers.

Cole drifted closer to the camera. Because it was focused on the gate, the camera probably did not have a full-on view of the street, but it might see enough for a glimpse of a passing car.

Cole felt a subtle electric tingle that came when he knew he was in the hunt. Many security systems were hooked to a DVR. Some only recorded when the bell was pressed, but others recorded continuously on a rewritable disk. The camera might give him nothing, but it also might give him everything.

Cole took a last glance back at the Palmer house. The door was closed, and now the two officers were inside. Talking to Jared.

Cole turned the corner, and then, like Joe Pike, he ran.

D arkness towered above Joe Pike like an ominous black cloud. He did not know when or where he was, or how he came to be trapped here with this awful thing. He only knew the giant shadow would smother him with a darkness he could not escape. The shadow fell over him with the delicate grace of fog, but held him with the awful weight of concrete, a rising pool of blackness that would fill his mouth and nose and ears. Pike fought desperately to scramble away, but his arms and legs would not move. He strained to break free, grunting, hissing, spit and tears flying as his head whipped side to side. Pike did not know what it was, this shadow. He did not understand how it held him, or why he could not escape. It rose from the dark as always, and one day it would kill him… as he feared it had killed him before.

Pike woke with damp sheets twisted around his legs. He was alert and awake, but had no memory of his nightmare. Pike never remembered. Sometimes in the first moments of consciousness, he saw dim shapes, one shadow over another, but never more than that. Nothing new, and nothing he wasted time worrying about. Pike had suffered night terrors since he was a boy.

Pike checked his watch. The luminous hands told him it was 3:17 in the morning. Cole had relieved him ninety minutes ago, and now sat outside Carla Fuentes's house, waiting for Mendoza. Pike had come home to grab some rest, but his sleep was finished for the night.

Pike untangled the sheets, then swung his feet from the bed. He saw his cell phone on the nightstand and thought of Dru. He checked the phone, but found no messages or missed calls.

Pike pulled on a pair of light blue running shorts, yesterday's sweatshirt, and carried his shoes downstairs before putting them on. He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't need to. He saw well enough in the dark.

Downstairs, he drank half a bottle of water, put on his shoes, then strapped on a nylon fanny pack. He wore the fanny pack to carry his phone, keys, DL, and a.25-caliber Beretta pocket gun.