Robert Crais - The Forgotten Man

I dialed her cell again, but her message still answered. I called Pardy.

Starkey

Starkey walked from Musso back to her office, feeling sullen and antsy. The morning sun beat hard through the broken sky, making her sweat on the short walk back to Hollywood Station. Her collar itched, and so did her scars. She wanted to peel off her blazer, but the blazer hid her pistol, so she slogged on. Starkey wished it was still raining. She wanted to walk in the rain with limp dangling hair and smoke soggy cigarettes and show everyone she was perfectly purely pathetic.

She loved Cole more than ever.

She realized-the two of them sitting in Musso's with Starkey trying to keep her feelings in check like some kind of crash-test dummy-that Cole kept himself buried; he hid behind flashy shirts and funny banter not unlike how his friend Pike hid behind dark glasses and a stone face. But hidden is hidden; for a moment just now in Musso's, Cole had let Starkey see the hidden and hurting part of himself, and now she loved him even more deeply. For letting her see. For trusting her.

Goddamn it sucked being her.

Starkey stripped off the jacket as soon as she reached her desk. She forced Cole out of her head by organizing the reports on her desk. She had just closed a teenaged prostitution case. All that was left was correcting her report. She had just gotten her head into it when Metcalf strolled by with a fresh cup of coffee.

"How's it going, Starkey? Did Cole come across for the little favor you did?"

When she glanced up, Metcalf leered, and pushed out his cheek with his tongue. He laughed as he went to his desk.

Starkey stared at the report, but now the feelings for Cole filled her again, and-just like that-she made up her mind.

Starkey decided to lay it on the line. She would tell Cole exactly how she felt about him; no more biting her tongue, no more hoping the goofy doof would wake up to realize Starkey was the real deal and Lady Puffinstuff Southern Belle was yesterday's news. Some guys, you had to put it straight up their noses, and Cole-clearly-was one of them. If he freaked, then he freaked; if he chose Lady Macbeth, then-

Starkey pushed away that thought.

She ate two antacids, slugged down some water, then ate two more.

She squared the report again, then eyeballed Metcalf, muttering into his phone at his desk. He was either taking notes or talking to one of his girlfriends. His coffee was still steaming in its cup. He needed one of those cups with a slogan on the side: World's Biggest Asshole.

Starkey got up, slipped on her blazer, then walked over to Metcalf on her way out.

"Hey, Ronnie."

Metcalf looked up.

Starkey pushed her tongue into her cheek like she was giving a blow job, then tipped his steaming coffee into his lap. Metcalf shrieked as he stumbled out of his chair. He was still hopping and cursing when Starkey left.

She headed for Cole's house.

"It's Diaz. Diaz killed George Reinnike."

Pardy said, "I'm listening."

"Her family was murdered when she was four years old. Father, mother, and brother-she was the only survivor. Did you know that?"

Pardy made a soft whistle in the phone.

"No. I had no idea. I figured her for the shooting, but I had no idea. Jesus."

"The original murder book is here in her house. The Reinnikes disappeared eight days after the murders. They are not named in the investigation, but the silver heart she wears belonged to her mother. It was reported missing at the time of the crime. That's all in the book. The investigators believed the killer had taken it as a trophy. Now she's wearing it. I think Reinnike brought it to prove who he was."

"She could say she had a copy made."

"She can say anything she wants. I'm telling you she's good for it, and you know it, too-that's why you didn't care about Golden."

Pardy hesitated, like he still had trouble admitting what we both knew.

"I had her for it, I just didn't know why. I have the gun."

"The murder weapon?"

"One of my street people found it behind Union Station. A Browning.380. Your boy Chen just matched it to the bullet in Reinnike. It's not clean, but I can put the gun with her."

"Your own private Walk-in Wednesday."

"I couldn't have made the connection without that, Cole. This gun was used in a murder last year up at the top of Angels Flight. Wits saw the gun at the scene, but somehow that weapon wasn't recovered. Diaz worked that case, Cole. That gives her access."

"Thin."

"You're goddamned right it's thin, so I need the i's dotted. I have two wits who saw Reinnike with a dark-haired woman the night he was killed. I gotta have time to put that together. This business about her family gives me enough to go to O'Loughlin. Here I am, my first lead, and I'm making a case where it looks like the shooter is a senior detective in my own station. I need this thing stitched before I bring it forward."

"What are you going to do?"

"Leave everything like you found it and get out. I can put together a search warrant, and go to O'Loughlin. He's going to shit, but he'll do the right thing."

I thought about Chen calling Pardy and Beckett.

"Did she get the ID information about Payne Keller?"

Pardy hesitated, so I knew that she had. She could have gotten Keller's address from O'Loughlin, or she might have called Chen herself.

"Pardy, she's on her way up there. If she has Reinnike's address, she's going for his son."

"Just settle down, forchrissake. We don't even know David Reinnike is still alive, let alone whether he was with his old man. We need to get together our evidence, then bring her in nice and easy. This woman is an LAPD homicide detective."

"If she finds him, she'll kill him. That will make it even worse."

"And if she finds out we're onto her she'll take off or lawyer up, or maybe do something even more stupid. I've already spoken with the sheriff up there. Reinnike lived alone. As far as the sheriff knew, he didn't have any family, so there's probably nobody to find."

"Then where is she, Pardy?"

"Let's take it easy. Let me talk to O'Loughlin, and then we'll head up to take a look-I don't want this to get out about Diaz until we have her in custody."

"Take all the time you want, Pardy-I'm going."

I hung up, and went out to my car.

Frederick

Cole had a pretty nice place; it was small, with a tiny bedroom and bath on the ground floor and a loft bedroom and bath up above. The high pointy ceiling made it feel more like a cabin or a tree house than a real house. Frederick fantasized moving in after he killed Cole. He knew it was only a fantasy, but he liked the idea.

Frederick quickly checked the rooms, then returned to Cole's kitchen. He searched through the drawers, and selected a chopping knife with a heavy blade. He thought he might try to stab Cole instead of shooting him-less noise. Then he could go to work with the vise-grip pliers.

Frederick peeked out the curtained kitchen door into the empty carport, then went into the living room. He was getting used to being in the house, and feeling more relaxed. He saw the papers spread over Cole's table. The top page was a newspaper article about the disappearance of George and David Reinnike.

Coldness swept over Frederick, and the house swelled around him, growing huge and cavernous.

He pushed through the other papers, finding more newspaper accounts and what appeared to be official-looking police documents. A bill from the Home Away Suites was part of Cole's file. Then he saw Payne's name and address scrawled in the margin of one of the documents.

Frederick 's eyes burned, and he trembled.

Cole had everything.