Robert Crais - The Watchman

He studied the girl again.

“I know I’ve seen that girl. She do porno?”

Pike fingered John’s chin away from the girl so they were eye-to-eye. Prick.

Pike said, “You know about the two men who were shot in Malibu?”

“That’s the Sheriff’s. Their lab handles all that.”

“The three men who were killed in Eagle Rock?”

Chen wondered where Pike was going with this.

“Yeah, sure. We got that one, but it isn’t mine. What do you want?”

“The identities of the dead men.”

Chen was relieved, and almost at once thought about Ronda again. He thought Pike might want something difficult.

“No worries. I’ll call the coroner investigator this afternoon. He’ll know.”

“No, John, he won’t. Live Scan came back empty. None of the five were in the system.”

“So the detectives probably recovered-”

“No identifying information was found on the bodies.”

Chen saw his miraculous breakthrough evaporating.

“Then what can I do?”

“Run their guns, John. Run the casings.”

Chen knew what Pike was asking and didn’t like it. The police and the criminalists covering both crime scenes would have recovered any weapons and spent shell casings found with the bodies. Those weapons would have serial numbers and identifying characteristics that might or might not lead back to their owners, but running the guns was almost impossible. SID employed only two firearms analysis specialists, and the backlog of guns waiting to be analyzed numbered in the thousands. The workload was so horrendous that trials often began before the results were in. Judges actually issued court orders demanding that wait-listed guns be jumped ahead in the line.

The elation Chen felt dimmed.

“I dunno, dude, that backlog is brutal.”

“You came through before.”

“Yeah, but running a gun doesn’t mean you’ll come up with a name. Most guns like this were stolen or bought off the street.”

“One more thing-”

Pike gave him a date.

“An automobile accident occurred that night. LAPD towed the vehicle the next day, a silver Mercedes owned by a man named George King. They kept it for twenty-four hours, during which they examined the vehicle. I want to know what they found.”

Chen thought back but couldn’t remember the night or the car or anyone mentioning the car.

“Was a crime committed in the vehicle?”

“It was involved in a traffic accident.”

“They had some of our guys examine a traffic collision?”

“I want to know what they found. Call Elvis when you know. I won’t be around.”

Chen eyed the girl again and figured he knew exactly where Pike would be.

Chen said, “What’s in this for me?”

“The bullets from the Malibu bodies will match the bullets from Eagle Rock. Same shooter, John. L.A. and the Sheriff’s have not yet made the connection. Neither has the press.”

John Chen stared.

“Are you sure?”

Pike’s mouth twitched.

Chen’s heart began pounding. John had not worked the Eagle Rock killings, but he had been in the lab when the evidence arrived. The criminalist who worked Eagle Rock had not mentioned a connection between the two shootings. With the bullets in two different labs, unless the police had some other connecting evidence, it might take months or even years to connect the two shootings. They might never be connected-until and unless a superstar criminalist made a miraculous breakthrough.

Chen said, “What about the gun? Is the weapon one of the guns we have?”

“You might dig around about that, too. Compare the number of weapons logged into evidence with the weapons you have. See if the numbers add up.”

John Chen’s heart was pounding so hard his ears hurt. Pike was implying some sort of conspiracy and possibly a cover-up. Forget the local news losers-if Chen played his cards right, he might end up on the national news. Maybe even 60 Minutes ! All thoughts of Ronda were gone.

Pike drifted away toward the Lexus.

“Check it out, John. Call Elvis.”

Pike slipped into the car like he was made of hot butter, then drove away. Chen stared after them, watching the girl, certain she would go down on the lucky bastard before they reached the exit.

Chen turned back to the lab, scowling. After the way he carried on about seeing a dentist, Harriet would wonder why he never left the parking lot. But then Chen realized she had already given him an out-she had told him the pain would pass, and he would tell her it had. Everyone liked being told they were right, and he would also earn points by selflessly returning to work so they wouldn’t fall further behind!

John Chen was not the world’s smartest criminalist for nothing.

John ran back to the lab, and immediately went to work.

Ronda would get over it.

Losing time was like losing blood, and Pike felt the seconds draining away. Pike knew the girl was uneasy about returning to her neighborhood. This was where her nightmare began. The accident. The Kings. Alexander Meesh. But this was exactly why she had to return. Animals left trails where they passed, and so did men. Since Meesh and the Kings had been at this place, they might have left a trail. Pike intended to drop off the girl with Cole, then head for home. The man or men who entered his home had left a trail, too, and Pike already knew where to find it.

The drive south from Glendale was tedious with the heavy afternoon traffic, and ugly with the power cables and train yards that bordered the river. It was a dirty, grey part of Los Angeles that never seemed clean, even after the rains, and when they finally crossed back to the west side, the area in which Larkin lived wasn’t much better. The streets were lined with warehouses waiting to be brought up to earthquake standards or razed, and other buildings housing storage units or sweatshops where minimum-wage immigrants built cabinetry and decorative metalwork. Everything about the area was industrial.

Cole was waiting on the block where the accident occurred, only three blocks from the girl’s building. His yellow Corvette was parked on the opposite side of the street, but Cole was standing in a nearby doorway, out of the sun.

When Larkin saw him, she said, “What’s he doing here?”

“Working. He came down earlier to establish the scene at the time of the accident.”

“I don’t think it’s safe. What if they’re waiting for me?”

“Elvis would wave us away.”

“How does he know?”

Pike didn’t bother answering. He was already missing the silence.

The curbs were lined with cars, but Pike found a spot to park half a block past the alley. Cole waited for an eighteen-wheel van to pass, then crossed the street to join them. Cole was wearing olive green cargo shorts, a floral short-sleeved shirt, and a faded Dodgers cap. Pike thought he was moving a little more easily today.

Cole grinned at the girl.

“Nice neighborhood. Reminds me of Fallujah.”

“Nice clothes. Reminds me of a twelve-year-old.”

Cole turned the grin toward Pike.

“I love it when she talks that way.”

They were at the exact spot where the girl plowed into the Mercedes. A thin alley opened onto the street. It was a dirty fissure between two dingy warehouses. Dozens of shirtless men and chunky women wearing straw hats milled around outside the alley, ordering up orange sodas and bottles of water from a catering van at the curb. Pike scanned the rooflines and windows, then turned back to Cole. He wanted to roll on, but he also wanted Cole’s report.

Pike said, “Okay.”

“Nada. I talked to every business for two blocks in each direction. Everything closes at six o’clock, and none of these people carry a night watchman except for a shipping company down there-”