Robert Crais - Chasing Darkness

SYLMAR WAS a small rural community at the foot of the Newhall Pass, where the San Fernando Valley died against the mountains. The main streets were lined with outdated strip malls and fast-food outlets, but remnants of truck farms and plant nurseries were scattered across a landscape gone largely undeveloped thanks to the ugly convergence of freeways, railroad tracks, and power stations. It was the kind of area where signs offered FEED and TACK.

Pike followed me to a small house in a ragged neighborhood between the Golden State Freeway and the railroad. The yards were large the way they tend to be in rural areas, and burned dead by the heat. More than one house sported rusted-out cars and chain-link fences so old they sagged from the weight of the air. Even in that shabby neighborhood, Sara Hill’s house looked tired and sad.

The white Neon was not in her drive, so we cruised the area to see if it was parked nearby or hidden in someone’s yard. When we returned to the house, we parked on either side of the street, then Pike trotted down the drive to cover the rear. I found three letters and some throwaway flyers in the mailbox. The letters were addressed to Sara Hill. We had the right place.

I brought the mail to the door, rang the bell once, then knocked. A few seconds later, Mrs. Sara K. Hill called from behind the door.

“Who is it?”

“I phoned about Ivy Casik.”

“Go away. I don’t know anything about the credit, and I ain’t got nothin’ to say about it.”

“I have your mail.”

Her voice rose.

“Put it down. Stealin’ mail is a federal crime. I’ll call the police.”

“I’m the police. Open the door and I’ll show you my badge.”

Lying is often the best policy.

Sara Hill threw open the door. She was a large woman with angry eyes and swollen joints, and she filled the frame with her bulk. She wore a thin housedress frayed at the hem, and rested her weight on a cane. I tried to see past her, but couldn’t.

“You’re not from the credit?”

“I don’t know anything about the credit. See?”

I held up my license. It didn’t look anything like a badge, but she probably didn’t understand what she was seeing.

“You gimme that mail. I don’t like the look of you one bit. You look like your voice.”

I held up the mail but didn’t give it to her.

“The Neon.”

“You’re not from the credit?”

“No, I am not from the credit. I’m trying to find the woman who is driving your car. She may have knowledge of a crime and she might be in danger.”

The angry eyes softened into something fearful, as if she was used to bad news and figured she was about to get more.

“She didn’t have an accident, did she? I don’t think I could take that right now.”

“Do you know a young woman named Ivy Casik?”

“I don’t know any Ivy Casik. My daughter is Jonna Hill. She has the car, but I guess she could’ve loaned it out. What happened?”

I tried to see past her again, and held up my hand to indicate Ivy’s height.

“This tall. A big girl, athletic, with straight hair. A heart tattooed here on her arm.”

Her eyes fluttered with even more fear, then she pivoted on the cane and grabbed the wall for support as she headed into the house. She pointed the cane at something deep in the room I could not see, so I followed her.

The small living room was as ragged as the yard, with threadbare furniture that smelled of sour flesh and pickles. An ancient console television sat under the window, but it probably hadn’t worked in years. She was using it as a table. A small Hitachi portable was on the console, along with a couple of pictures. She jabbed the cane toward one of the pictures.

“That’s Jonna right there. Don’t you dare tell me something bad.”

The picture was yet another high school graduation portrait, the kind every school in America takes during senior year so they can sell different sizes to you and your family. Jonna was Ivy, of course, only younger, with naturally dark hair. I had seen a lot of these graduation pictures in the past week, but Jonna Hill’s picture was not the last. A picture of Yvonne Bennett was beside it.

I stared at Yvonne for a while, then looked at Sara Hill. The only part of her I saw in her daughters were the eyes. Seeds of anger were deep in their eyes.

Joe Pike stepped out of the kitchen, as quiet as air moving through air.

“She’s not here.”

Mrs. Hill staggered sideways in surprise, catching herself on her cane.

“Jesus Lord, what is this? Who are you?”

I gave her a gentle smile.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Hill. He’s the police, too. We just wanted to make sure everyone was safe.”

I glanced at Pike.

“See if she left anything.”

Mrs. Hill waved the cane after him as he disappeared.

“Where’s he going? What’s he going to do?”

“Look around. It’s a cop thing. We always look around.”

She jabbed at the picture again.

“You better not be from the credit and lied to get in here. Jonna warned me the credit might send a man looking for her.”

I kept my voice gentle, just like the smile.

“Did Jonna tell you she was hiding from a collection agency?”

“She got behind, is all. You know how these kids do with the plastic. She said they were getting mean about it and if anyone came I should say I don’t know where she is and haven’t heard from her.”

Then she studied me as if realizing what she was saying.

“That isn’t you, is it? If you’re lying I’ll get on the phone right now. I’ll call the police.”

“We’re not from the credit.”

“Then why do you want Jonna? She isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“Yes, I think she is.”

Sara clumped to the couch and eased herself down.

“Lord, please don’t tell me that. She told me she had the credit problems, but now something like this.”

I picked up the picture of Yvonne. Yvonne would have been five or six years older than Jonna, and though I could see a resemblance, they didn’t look much alike. Even in high school, the woman I knew as Ivy Casik looked humorless and dark. Even then, Yvonne’s mouth had already curled into a knowing grin absent of innocence.

“Is this Jonna’s sister?”

“I don’t talk about that one. That’s the bad one. She was always bad, and her bad ways caught up. I wouldn’t even keep it up there if it wasn’t for Jonna. She gets mad when I put it away.”

“Her name was Yvonne.”

Sara Hill was surprised.

“You knew her?”

“I worked on the case.”

“She was a tramp. Wasn’t no better than a cat in heat from when she was little.”

My right eye ticked and I fought to control it. I put the picture back in its place.

“They had different fathers to go with the different last names?”

“The good one and the bad one, just like the girls, and the good one wasn’t worth too damn much, either. He left like they all left, off to take up with tramps. Vonnie drove half of’m away, acting the tramp.”

Pike reappeared. He shook his head, telling me he hadn’t found anything. I sat beside Mrs. Hill.

“We need to find Jonna. She’s got worse trouble than bad credit.”

“Don’t tell me she’s turned into a whore. Jonna was always the good one, not like Yvonne. Just please don’t tell me that.”

“Remember Lionel Byrd?”

“I never heard of him.”

“Lionel Byrd was charged with Yvonne’s murder. You didn’t know that?”

She twitched her cane as if she didn’t give a damn either way.

“I washed my hands of all that. She was always bad, and her bad ways caught up to her. We parted company long before she was punished.”