Robert Crais - The sentry

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 after."

"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?"

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."