Robert Crais - The Forgotten Man

The voices whispered as Frederick searched the papers and documents for his own name. Cole had Payne's name and address, but not Frederick 's. Cole was probably up at Payne's right now. Frederick wouldn't find him here at his house; he would find him at Payne's. Frederick saw Cole's path in an intuitive flash: Cole would search Payne's house, then go to the station. Elroy would tell Cole about Frederick, and Cole would go to his home. Frederick saw it unfolding with a pure bright clarity, and knew what to do. He would find Cole in Canyon Camino, and that's where he would kill him.

Frederick decided to go. He decided to let himself out through the kitchen door. He had left the table and was crossing the kitchen when a car pulled into the carport.

Cold

Frederick 's face split into a wide jagged grin, and he ran to the door, but when he peeked past the edge of the curtain he saw it was a woman.

Starkey

Starkey frowned when she saw that Cole's car was gone. Just her goddamned luck, having to put off the big scene after she worked up her nut. She turned into his empty carport and shut off her car.

"Damnit."

Starkey lit a cigarette. She fumed as she smoked, then decided to call him. She fished her cell phone from her purse, but when she tried to speed-dial his number, her phone couldn't lock on to a signal.

Starkey said, "SonofaBITCH!"

She thought it might be her battery, so she plugged the phone into the power cord trailing from the cigarette lighter. She still couldn't get a signal.

Starkey thought, well, shit, she'd use Cole's phone. She got out of her car, and went to the spare key she once saw him use. He kept it on the side of his house. She retrieved the key, returned to the carport, and let herself into the kitchen.

She crossed to the cordless phone cradled on the counter between the kitchen and dining room, and pressed in the number for Cole's cell. She stood with her back to the living room, impatiently listening to the ring.

Frederick

Frederick watched the woman getting out of her car, and realized she was the police officer who was guarding Cole's house. His pulse sped with horrific images of his capture and torture. He was caught in a panicked indecision between killing her or hiding, and he didn't know which to do. Secret cameras might be letting them watch his every move RIGHT NOW 1. More police might be surrounding Cole's house RIGHT NOW!

Yet, she wasn't hurrying. Her gun wasn't out. He didn't hear the sound of approaching sirens.

Frederick backed out of the kitchen, ran across the living room, and ducked into the entry closet. He clutched the shotgun across his chest, and gripped the knife tight. He heard her enter the house just as he pulled the door closed.

Starkey

Starkey was about to hang up when Cole answered.

"Hello?"

Mr. Witty. She wanted to make a wisecrack, but didn't.

Cole wasn't smarting off the way he usually did because he was hurting.

"Hey, it's me, Starkey. I'm standing in your house."

She was about to launch into it when Cole cut her off.

"Starkey, it's Diaz. Diaz killed him."

He went off into this blur of a story about the Reinnikes and Diaz, and Pardy building the case, and Diaz probably being on her way to Canyon Camino to find and kill David Reinnike. When Cole said he was going to stop her, Starkey flashed on her dream.

… his inevitable death.

"Cole, don't. Wait for Pardy."

She felt it so deep a taste like cold nickels coated her tongue- the medicinal taste of his death.

He said, "It'll be fine."

It was the last thing he said, and then the signal was gone.

"Cole?"

Dead air.

"Goddamnit, Cole."

Starkey punched the redial on his phone, but this time his voice mail picked up right away. No signal.

"SHIT!"

Carol Starkey had been dead, and then risen; she had been drunk, then sober; she had been a cop for thirteen years and had seen every imaginable human depravity; she did not believe in God; she did not believe in premonitions, telepathy, channeling, ESP, clairvoyance, remote viewing, fortune-telling, astrology, or the afterlife. She believed that Cole would be killed.

"SHIT!! SHITSHITSHIT!"

She punched in the number and waited out the ring. His personal number. The one he gave her.

"Yes."

"Pike. Pike, it's me."

Starkey told him where to meet her, and told him why.

Frederick

Frederick heard the door slam when she left. He listened to her engine roar, and the rubber shriek as she shredded away. Then he opened the door.

There in Cole's closet, he made peace with his own death, which was preordained and certain. They were too many against him, Cole and all these others. They were tightening their net, they would find him, and they would kill him. It was the punishment Payne had predicted. It had finally come to pass, and in a swell of emotion that filled his eyes with tears, Frederick realized now the truth of why Payne had gone to Los Angeles without telling him-Payne had gone to protect him. Payne had sacrificed himself in the final demonstration of his love.

Frederick could do no less.

Cole was going to Payne's, and that's where Frederick would find him. Frederick went back to his car, and drove hard toward Payne's home.

The I-5 curved across the eastern edge of the San Fernando Valley and through the Newhall Pass. Hundreds of thousands of commuters followed that route every day, traveling to and from the bedroom communities that sprout from the freeways like budding flowers. Most everyone turns east when they reach Newhall, where the rolling hills and desert flats are covered with housing developments. The land wasn't flat to the west. The mountains grew steep overlooking Magic Mountain, and the little towns tucked in the pine-filled ridges felt isolated even though they were only twenty minutes from the city. Canyon Camino was a good place to hide.

The Sheriffs Substation was a small brown building located between a convenience store and a video store. I parked at the video store, and walked to the Sheriffs.

A slender deputy in a khaki uniform was leaning back with his feet up, talking on the phone when I walked in. He dropped his feet when he saw me, and hung up.

"Can I help you?"

His name tag read Biggins. I identified myself, showed him my license, then put Pardy's card on the counter.

"I'm here about a local named Payne Keller. Detective Pardy at LAPD spoke with someone."

"I was here. What a bunch of crap, getting killed like that. The sheriff's out now, letting people know. He had to secure Payne's house. What a bunch of crap."

"When is the sheriff getting back?"

"All I can tell you is he'll get back when he gets back. We been real busy this morning."

"It's going to get even busier. Pardy is coming up, and a couple of other homicide cops are going to meet us here. Has Detective Diaz checked in?"

"You're the first."

"Maybe she called."

"A woman?"

"Yeah."

"Someone from Sheriffs Homicide called-Mullen, I think she said. Then there was Pardy and someone named Beckett-"

Diaz had probably posed as Mullen.

"Okay. I need directions to Keller's house, and I'm also interested in talking to his friends. Maybe you could give me a few names."

Biggins was looking nervous.

"Tell me again-what's your involvement in this?"

"I'm working for the family."

I tapped Pardy's card.

"Call Pardy. He knows I'm working the case, and he's good with it. Give him a call."

Biggins frowned at the card, then pushed it aside.

"I didn't know Payne that well, just to trade a cup of coffee when I rolled by his station. I lived in Riverside before we moved up here."