Robert Crais - The Watchman

Pike said, “I’m going to miss you.”

The father he never had.

Pike started his truck. He drove away. He played the cards he was dealt even when they were bad cards, and he lived with the result.

But sometimes he wished for more.

The street grumbled with outbound trucks moving cargo up along the river toward the freeway. The same roach coach sat at the mouth of the alley, only today, this time of morning, the thinning crowd of sweatshop workers lingered on the sidewalk with breakfast burritos and plastic containers of orange juice. Pike smelled the chorizo and chili as they pulled to the curb behind Cole.

Pike studied the warehouse until he found the address, faded and peeling but still readable, like a shadow on the pale wall. 18185. Cole was good.

Pike glanced at Larkin.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

“I want to be here. I’m okay.”

She started to open the door, but Pike stopped her.

“Wait for Elvis.”

Cole got out of his car first. He scanned the surrounding roofs and windows like a Secret Service agent clearing the way for the president, then meandered around his car to the passenger side. He hefted a long green duffel from behind the seat and slung it over his shoulder. Pike saw him wince. From the way the bag pulled, you could see it was heavy.

Cole came back to the girl’s side of the car.

“There’s a little parking lot at the far end of the alley should work for us. Padlocked gate and a couple of doors. Let’s go see what we see.”

Larkin said, “Are we going to break in?”

Cole laughed.

“It’s been known to happen.”

They walked past the rear of the catering truck, then down the alley with the abandoned warehouse on their right and the sweatshop on their left, first Cole, then the girl, then Pike. The huge loading doors were still chained, but Cole continued past them and along the alley to the next street. At the corner, a small parking lot with another loading dock was cut into the building. The parking lot was littered with yellowed newspapers and trash, and brown explosions erupted from cracks in the tarmac where weeds had sprouted, flourished, and died. A loading dock lipped from one wall as high as Pike’s chest, and a metal, human-size door was set at ground level on the adjoining wall. A realty sign covered with graffiti was wired to the gate, advertising the building for sale or lease.

Pike turned to watch the catering van as Cole peered through the fence, but Cole spoke almost at once.

“Yep. They were here.”

When Pike turned back, Cole pointed at the corner of the roof. A pale blue alarm panel was mounted near the end of the building, but the cover was missing. Old wires had been cut, and new wires had been clipped to bypass the old. Whoever jumped the alarms hadn’t bothered to replace the cover, as if they didn’t care whether or not their work was discovered.

Pike glanced back at Cole.

“You still game?”

“Sure. Insurance companies make the owners carry security even when the buildings aren’t used. Now we don’t have to worry about the rent-a-cops. Makes it easier.”

Cole pulled a three-foot bolt cutter from the duffel, snapped the padlock, and Pike pushed open the gate. Cole went directly to the door, and Pike followed with the girl, lagging behind to cover their rear.

The employee door was faced with metal and secured by three industrial-strength dead-bolt locks. Cole didn’t waste time trying to pick the locks. He hammered them out of the door with a steel chisel and a ten-pound maul. Pike was proud of the girl. She didn’t ask questions or run her mouth. She stood to the side with her arms crossed and watched Cole work.

When the door swung open, Cole returned his tools to the duffel, then passed a flashlight to Pike and kept one for himself. He also gave them disposable latex gloves.

Pike went in first, stepping into a gloomy office suite that had long since been stripped of furniture, equipment, and everything else of value. A heavy layer of dust and rat droppings covered the floor, and the air was sharp with the smell of urine. Pike snapped on his flashlight and saw a confusion of fresh footprints pressed into the dust.

Pike moved deeper into the room so Elvis and Larkin could follow, then squatted to examine the footprints.

Larkin said, “Ugh. It stinks in here.”

Cole snapped on his light and walked it over the prints.

“What do you think?”

Pike stood.

“Three people. A week or so ago. Maybe ten days.”

Pike traced his light along a trail of footprints to the corner of the room where a large stain mottled the floor.

Larkin said, “What’s that?”

“One of our friends took a leak.”

“Oh, that is so gross.”

The footprints came from a second room beyond the first.

Pike said, “Back here.”

Like the first room, this second room was empty, but a door and a window were set into the wall so the manager could keep an eye on things in the warehouse. An enormous empty space lay beyond the glass, murky with a dim glow from skylights cut into the roof. Pike shined his flashlight through the glass, but the empty darkness swallowed the beam. His view of the room was limited, but he saw more footprints beyond the glass.

Cole and the girl came up on either side of him.

Pike said, “They came here the one time. They looked around and haven’t been back.”

The girl cupped her eyes to the glass.

“What were they looking for? Why would this place have anything to do with me?”

Cole went to the door.

“That’s what we want to find out. Tell me if you find a clue, okay?”

When Cole opened the door, a fresh spike of ammonia burned at Pike’s nose, but a stronger smell was behind it; something earthy and organic.

Larkin covered her mouth.

“Ugh.”

Pike followed Cole into the warehouse, with the girl coming out behind him. Their footsteps echoed loudly, and their lights swung through the murk like sabers.

The girl saw it first.

She said, “Ohmigod! That’s the car!”

Pike and Cole saw it together after that. A silver Mercedes sedan was parked near the loading dock off the little parking lot, alone and obvious in the empty warehouse. The fender behind the left rear wheel was crumpled and bent.

Larkin said, “This is the car I hit. This is the Mercedes.”

The girl walked over as if none of this were strange or frightening or not a part of her everyday life.

Pike said, “Larkin.”

“This is the car!”

She walked directly to the car, looked inside, then clutched her belly and heaved.

Cole caught up to her and turned her away as Pike shined his light through the glass. A dead man in the front passenger seat was slumped across the center console. A dead woman was curled on her side in the backseat. Both were naked, with their ankles and knees and wrists bound by cord. Their bodies were discolored and swollen so badly their bindings had split the flesh. Each had been shot in the back of the head. Pike figured they were the Kings, but he had never seen the Kings. He turned back to the girl.

Pike said, “I think it’s the Kings, but I don’t know. Can you see?”

Larkin was breathing through her mouth. Her face had gone grey, but she came closer.

“It just surprised me, that’s all.”

Pike stood between her and the car.

“Don’t look in the back. Just look at the man in the front seat.”

Pike shined his light. The girl leaned past him enough to peer into the car, then turned away.

“That’s him. That’s George King. Ohmigod.”

Pike glanced at Cole, and Cole nodded.

Pike said, “Go with Elvis. I’ll only be a few minutes.”