Robert Crais - Chasing Darkness

I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“You washed your hands.”

“When the police called I told’m I wanted nothing to do with it. It liked to kill Jonna, though. My God, she carried on, going on and on about how this man got away with it, but I just wouldn’t hear of it, all that sordid mess, and I said this must stop, Jonna, Yvonne isn’t worth it. Yvonne has always been like this and she got what she deserved.”

Pike said, “I’ll wait outside.”

Mrs. Hill frowned as he left.

I said, “Did Jonna want to punish the man who murdered Yvonne?”

She waved the cane again.

“Don’t be silly. She got over all that, got herself a good job, and she’s doing just fine, thank you very much. Jonna’s my good baby. We don’t talk about Yvonne. She knows I won’t have it.”

“Where is she?”

“I guess she’s at home.”

“We just left her place. It looked like she moved out.”

Mrs. Hill seemed confused.

“Maybe she thought you were from the credit. She was here just a little while ago, and told me she was going right home.”

Something in her casual certainty made me wonder if we were talking about the same thing.

“She went back to Hollywood?”

“What’s down in Hollywood?”

“Her apartment.”

“She doesn’t live in Hollywood. She lives right over here by the reservoir.”

I could see it in the clarity of her eyes. Sara Hill was telling me the absolute truth as she knew it. Her daughter had successfully lied to everyone.

Then her eyes grew smaller and blinked.

“You’re not from the credit, are you? She was so afraid someone would come after her she thought she might have to hide.”

I gave her a smile I did not feel.

“I’m not from the credit. Tell me where Jonna lives. I’ll find out why she’s afraid.”

JONNA HILL had rented a small bungalow not much larger than Angel Tomaso’s garage, less than a half-mile from her mother. Pike stayed with Sara to prevent her from warning her daughter, so I drove to Jonna’s alone. I didn’t know what I expected to find, but she was getting ready to leave.

The white Neon was parked at the side of the house with its trunk open like a hungry mouth. The woman I knew as Ivy Casik was carrying an armful of clothes toward the car when I pulled into her drive. She didn’t recognize me at first because she stood with the clothes, staring, and then I got out.

“Hi, Jonna. Remember me?”

She dropped the clothes and ran toward her door. I closed on her fast, but she reached the door, and for no reason I knew then or now, she turned hard for the street. Maybe she was so scared all she thought was to run and keep running.

I tackled her in the front yard, and the two of us tumbled into the baked earth and dead grass. She punched and gouged, pumping her knees to get away until I locked her elbow.

“Stop it, Jonna-stop!”

“I told the police about you! I’ll call them again!”

“C’mon. I know you’re Yvonne’s sister. Stop.”

She finally stopped, sucking air with a whimpering sound that wasn’t quite crying.

I pulled her to her feet, then brought her inside, where she sat with her face in her hands. Several pictures of Yvonne Bennett were pushpinned to the wall, most showing the two of them as children together, Jonna much smaller because Yvonne was older, Jonna unsmiling even then, Yvonne with an arm protectively around her shoulders. Jonna had already taken down a few, but some were still up.

“Who helped you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Who helped you kill him?”

She shook her head.

“All I knew was Lonnie Jones. I didn’t know who he was until I saw the paper.”

“So Yvonne Bennett’s sister just happened to rent a room across the street from the man who was accused of murdering her?”

“Shit happens.”

“Where’d you get the pictures?”

“I don’t know anything. I’m going to call the police.”

Someone had given her the pictures. Someone had told her where to find Lionel Byrd and had put the plan in her head and convinced her she could finally make the man who murdered her sister pay. Someone had used her, and I thought it might be Wilts. If Wilts wanted to set up Byrd to stop the Repko investigation, it had to be Wilts, but I didn’t have proof.

“Was it Wilts?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did Wilts give you the pictures?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her eyes were clear and unafraid, and I knew she wasn’t going to admit to any of it. I called Pike on my cell.

“She’s here. I have her.”

“I’m on my way.”

I put away the phone, then looked through Jonna’s things. I was mostly checking for a gun or knife or something she might kill me with, but I found a copy of Lionel Byrd’s original arrest report and court documents relating to the dismissal of the charges against him.

I held them up to show her.

“This is what we call evidence.”

She raised her middle finger.

“This is what we call the finger. You don’t have shit.”

Her wallet, keys, sunglasses, and two cell phones were on the kitchenette counter. I didn’t pay attention to the phones at first, but one was familiar. It was a clunky, inexpensive knockoff, exactly the same phone pictured on the spec sheet I found in Marx’s file.

When I picked up the phone, Jonna shifted uneasily.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, but I’m going to have you arrested. That’s no bullshit.”

I touched a finger to my lips. “Shh.”

“That isn’t my phone. I found it.”

“Shh.”

The more I examined the phone, the more certain I became. Jonna’s other phone was a nice little Motorola, but the Kyoto was identical to the disposable phone in Marx’s file. Debra Repko had received six calls from a prepaid number assigned to the same model phone. She had called a similar phone on her PDA.

Pike turned into the drive behind the Neon and let himself through the door. He nodded when he entered, but said nothing. Jonna’s eyes widened as if he were a cobra. I showed him the phone.

“Look familiar?”

“The disposable.”

“Uh-huh.”

I turned on the phone and watched the display as the phone found a signal. It took me a minute to figure out how to access the call list, then I scrolled through the outgoing calls. Maybe I smiled. All the outgoing calls had been placed to the same number, and it was a number I recognized.

Pike said, “What?”

“She’s been calling the same number Debra Repko called. All the incoming calls were from the same number, too.”

“Wilts?”

“Let’s find out.”

Jonna pushed up from the chair and tried to run, but Pike wrapped her in his arms. She kicked and whipped her head from side to side, but Pike held her close and covered her mouth. He squeezed just enough to make her stop squirming, then nodded at me.

I dialed the number, then waited through the rings. I didn’t wait long.

A voice said, “Jonna? Jonna, where have you been? I’ve been calling-”

I held my breath, and wondered if he could hear the pulse pounding in my ear.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

He raised his voice.

“Do we have a bad connection?”

I turned off the phone, then took a deep breath. I wanted to push it out and blow away all the terrible feelings, but I couldn’t move.

Pike said, “Was it Wilts?”

I shook my head.

“No. Not Wilts. It was Alan Levy.”

PIKE TIED her wrists with an extension cord. I put her cell phones in a paper grocery bag I found in the kitchen, but we left everything else as we found it. Marx would want the scene as undisturbed as possible for his detectives and criminalists. It was Marx’s play and I should have left it to him, but didn’t.