Jonathan Kellerman: Bones

Moe Reed said, “Now we’re enlisting him?”

Milo pointed to Reed’s cell phone. “Get on the mini-horn, Moses.”

“Who’m I calling?”

“Your brother.”

Subj: you know

8:32 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38@hotmail.com

To: hardbod2673@tw.com

it’s me. i know all. can keep a secret. if can afford to.

Subj: you know

8:54 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38@hotmail.com

To: hardbod2673@tw.com

not there? you got another hour then…

Subj: you know

9:49 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673@tw.com

To: rivrboat38@hotmail.com

where r u

9:56 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

not important. find way to send $50 thou

10:11 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

ur kidding

10:15 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

don’t hear LOL. do hear gook gook-fucker golden hands. also piano girl also whores for blame me. not nice. hmm… no fifty thou, 100 thou.

10:18 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

what?????

10:22 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

no big deal for you lotslotslots more $$$$ coming for you, you wont feel it. do it!!!

10:28 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

we need talk not cyber.

10:34 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

don’t think so LOL you do me like others? you and badwig. now LOL see? i know.

10:40 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

u think u know u dont. we need to meet. safe place for u. beachhouse?

10:46 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

oh sure your territory why dont you just shoot me

10:54 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

no more e trail im deleting w privacykeeper. where r u some i-cafe???

10:59 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

100. do I need to repeat myself??? Ok 100. 100!!!

11:04 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

dont be parinoid beachhouse is good for u, outside open sand, people all around what could happen?

11:08 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

leave pch gate open by 7:30 that’s p.m. tonite!!! don’t come till 7:45. leave garage door open so I see you’re not there first. or badwig. low tide is around 8. come to the tideline not later than 8:10. use big trader joes bag. paper. wrap $$$ in saran for wet. bring all of it!!!!

11:12 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

take time to get fiftyk but probly ok. if delay can i reach u same eml?

11:16 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

fifty? LOL. hundred. no excuses.

11:21 a.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

ur being hardass. sixty best I can do cleaning me out. not like u all hardass what’s wrong???

11:29 a.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

don’t like sixty. deserve more but ok i just want away what’s wrong? you ask that? LOL. MEGA LOL!!!!

12:05 p.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

no LOL here. i care. take care of u.

12:11 p.m. PDT

From: rivrboat38

To: hardbod2673

best take care is $$$. no more talk.

12:14 p.m. PDT

From: hardbod2673

To: rivrboat38

talk helps everything will be ok promise we still good right?

Cybersilence.

Moe Reed explained.

Sitting behind a rough-edged, smoked-glass-slab desk, Aaron Fox listened.

Fox’s office was hermetically silent.

Milo had directed Reed to sum up the situation, maybe as part of training the younger detective.

Or, was there a chance he wanted to get the brothers talking?

No sense conjecturing; he’d never admit it.

Fox remained expressionless. When Reed finished, he said, “Murderous little bitch. I knew she was bad news but not that bad. You’re sure Huck’s up to it?”

Reed said, “We’re not, but he says yes.”

“And that’s worth something?”

“He’s what we’ve got, Aaron, and we’ll be watching, okay? She’s the one suggested the beach, it really is an open spot.”

Fox said, “It’s open all right, but what’s to stop her from paying him off, then having him followed?”

“If she does, we’ll be ready.”

Fox tamped down the collar of a white-on-white silk shirt. “Another possibility is Weir positions himself on the deck of the house with a nightscope rifle and nails the poor sucker. Shots synchronize with the incoming tide, noise wipes out the sound.”

Reed said, “We’ll be watching Weir’s office and the house. He shows up there, we reevaluate.”

Not mentioning Robin’s call to Weir’s office, claiming to be a prospective client. The secretary taking her bogus name and volunteering that Mr. Weir was in meetings all day, she’d be sure he got the message.

Fox said, “Reevaluate as in call it off?”

“Reevaluate as in reevaluate.”

“ La Costa ’s private sand, Moses. How’re you going to get access?”

Reed’s neck swelled. “All of a sudden you’re Dudley Downer?”

“I’m a realist, bro. Leads to longevity.”

“We got access from a neighbor. Our watch car’ll be stationed across PCH. Everything’s covered. This is the plan, Aaron. Up to you.”

Fox ran a finger around the circumference of a silver-disk desk clock. “It’s already four, what’s to say Weir hasn’t gotten there and hunkered down?”

Milo said, “We’re on it, Aaron.”

“Okay, okay… Malibu neighbor, huh? You guys have the right friends. Anyone I might have heard of?”

Reed said, “Someone Dr. Delaware knows.”

Fox stretched. Onyx cuff links gleamed. “Sounds like Dr. Delaware and I need to get better acquainted. Okay, I’ll go get the toys.”

After he left the room, Milo said, “Nice work space, sure beats civil service.”

Fox’s place was on San Vicente near Wilshire, the southeast corner of Beverly Hills. The décor was skinny Italian leather seating, charcoal felt walls, chrome and brass and glass and cubist lithographs. The building was a twenties duplex, one of the last carryovers from the street’s former life as a quiet residential byway. Now the structure shared space with commercial and professional buildings.

Fox’s “Workland” had once been a master bedroom. Big and bright, with a rear view of a cactus garden, soundproofed padding beneath the felt. Playland-his living quarters-was on the second story, accessed through a teak spiral staircase, probably salvaged from a yacht.

Reed said, “He probably writes the whole building off. Aaron needs his deductions.”

Fox returned with a brown suede carrying case, settled back behind the glass desk. Fishing out a black box the size of a cigarette pack, he laid it down, added what looked to be a pen, then a tiny white button attached to a cord and a pin-jack. Similar wires spaghettied from the other components. The whole kit could fit in a trouser pocket.

Fox’s mocha hands passed over the equipment, like a battle priest blessing armaments. “One-stop shopping, gentlemen.”

Milo said, “That’s all of it?”

“Plus my laptop. Feed’s programmed to interface, one keystroke and we’ve got DVDs for posterity.”

“Cute.”

“Private enterprise.”

Milo pointed to the little black box. “That’s the recorder?”

“Recorder and transmitter,” said Fox. “This here”-touching the white button-“is the camera. Don’t ask me what it cost. We’re talking high-def infrared, cuts through the dark like a knife through trans fat.” Deft fingers rolled to the pen. “Decent mike, but truthfully, not spectacular. Manufacturer claims a two-thousand-foot range, I’ve found one thousand to be closer to the truth, and sometimes it blanks out. High-tech industry’s like Congress, promises more than delivers. For best results, have your mope stay no more than ten feet from her. I’ve got another one, a little more reliable, but it’s embedded in a jeans jacket, if he gets hugged hard enough, it could be detected.”