Michael Connelly - The Scarecrow

I turned back to Rachel.

“You saved my life, you know that? No doubt about that now.”

“I’m glad.”

“How would he know I owned a gun?”

“Is it registered?”

“Yes, but what, now you’re saying he can hack into the ATF computers? This is getting far-fetched, don’t you think?”

“Actually, no. If he tapped the prison computer, I don’t see why he couldn’t get into the gun registry. And that may be only one place where he could have gotten it. Back during the period when you bought it, you were interviewed by everybody from Larry King to the National Enquirer . Did you ever put it out there that you owned a gun?”

I shook my head.

“Unbelievable. I did. I said it in a few interviews. I was hoping the word would get out and it would deter a surprise visit from the Poet.”

“There you go.”

“But for the record, I never did an interview with the Enquirer . They did a story on me and the Poet without my cooperation.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, this guy now isn’t as smart as we think. There was one big flaw in his plan.”

“What was that?”

“I flew to Vegas. All baggage is screened. I never would have gotten the gun there.”

She nodded.

“Maybe not. But I think it is a widely accepted fact that the scanning process is not one hundred percent perfect. It would probably bother the investigators in Ely but not enough to make them change their conclusion. There are always loose ends in any investigation.”

“Can we go back out to the living room?”

Rachel headed out of the room and I followed, taking a glance back at the bed as I went through the door. In the living room, I dropped down on the couch. A lot had happened in the last thirty-six hours. I was getting fatigued but knew there would be no rest for the weary for a long time.

“I thought of something else. Schifino.”

“The lawyer in Vegas? What about him?”

“I went to him first and he knew everything. He could put the lie to my suicide.”

Rachel considered this for a moment and then nodded.

“That could’ve put him in danger. Maybe the plan was to kill you and then double back to Vegas and take him out, too. Then, when the chance was missed with you, there was no reason to hit Schifino. I’ll have the field office in Vegas make contact, anyway, and see about protection.”

“Are you going to have them go up to Ely and pull the video from the casino where I sat with this guy?”

“I’ll do that, too.”

Rachel’s phone rang and she answered immediately.

“It’s just me and the homeowner,” she said. “Jack McEvoy. He’s a reporter for the Times . The victim here was a reporter as well.”

She listened for a moment and said, “We’re coming out now.”

She closed the phone and told me the police were out front.

“They’ll feel more comfortable if we come out to meet them.”

We walked to the front door and Rachel opened it.

“Keep your hands in sight,” Rachel said to me.

She walked out, holding her credentials high. There were two patrol cars and a detective cruiser in the street out front. Four uniformed officers and two detectives were waiting on the driveway. The uniformed officers pointed their flashlights at us.

When we got closer I recognized the two detectives from Hollywood Division. They held their guns down at their sides and looked ready to use them if I gave them the right reason.

I didn’t.

I didn’t get to the Times until shortly before noon on Thursday. The place was bustling with activity. A lot of reporters and editors were moving about the newsroom like bees in a hive. I knew it was all because of Angela and what had happened. It’s not every day that you come to work and find out your colleague has been brutally murdered.

And that another colleague is somehow involved.

Dorothy Fowler, the city editor, was the first to spot me as I came in from the stairwell. She jumped from her desk at the raft and came directly toward me.

“Jack, my office, please.”

She changed directions and headed to the wall of glass. I followed, knowing every eye in the newsroom was on me once again. No longer because I was the one that got pink-slipped by the axman. They watched me now because I was the one who might have gotten Angela Cook killed.

We entered her small office and she told me to close the door. I did as instructed and then took the seat directly across the desk from her.

“What happened with the police?” she asked.

No howyadoin’, are you all right or sorry about Angela. Right down to business and I liked it that way.

“Well, let’s see,” I said. “I spent about eight hours being questioned. First by the LAPD and the FBI, then the Santa Monica detectives joined in. They gave me a break for about an hour and then I had to tell the whole story again to the Las Vegas police, who flew in just to talk to me. After that, they let me go but wouldn’t let me go back to my house because it’s still an active crime scene. So I had them take me to the Kyoto Grand, where I checked into a room-and put it on the Times ’ tab, since I don’t have a working credit card-took a shower and then walked over here.”

The Kyoto was a block away and the Times used it to put up out-of-town reporters, new hires and job candidates when needed.

“That’s fine,” Fowler said. “What did you tell the police?”

“Basically, I told them what I tried to tell Prendo yesterday. I uncovered a killer out there who murdered Denise Babbit and a woman in Las Vegas named Sharon Oglevy. Somehow, either Angela or I hit a trip wire somewhere and alerted this guy that we were onto him. He then took steps to eliminate the threat. That included killing Angela first and going to Nevada to try to get me. But I was lucky. While I was unable to convince Prendo yesterday, I had convinced an FBI agent that all of this was legit, and she met me in Nevada to talk about it. Her presence kept the killer away from me. If she hadn’t believed me and met with me, you’d be putting together stories about how I killed Angela and went off to the desert to kill myself. That’s what the Unsub’s plan was.”

“Unsub?”

“Unknown subject. That’s what the bureau is calling him.”

Fowler shook her head in stunned disbelief.

“This is an amazing story. Do the police agree with it?”

“You mean, do they believe me? They let me go, didn’t they?”

Her face colored in embarrassment.

“It’s just hard for me to get my head around it, Jack. Nothing like this has ever happened in this newsroom.”

“Actually, the cops probably wouldn’t have believed it if it had just come from me. But I was with that FBI agent most of yesterday. We think we actually saw the guy in Nevada. And she was with me when I got home. She found Angela’s body when we were searching the house. She backed me up on everything with the cops. And that’s probably why I’m not talking to you through Plexiglas.”

Mention of Angela’s body brought a morbid pause to the conversation.

“It’s just horrible,” Fowler said.

“Yes. She was a sweet kid. I don’t even want to think about what her last hours were like.”

“How was she killed, Jack? Like the girl in the trunk?”

“Pretty much. It looked that way to me but I guess they won’t know everything till the autopsy.”

Fowler nodded somberly.

“How are they handling the investigation now, do you know?”

“They were putting together a task force with L.A., Las Vegas and Santa Monica contributing detectives and the FBI taking part as well. I think they are going to run it out of Parker Center.”