Michael Connelly - The Scarecrow

I thought that was wishful thinking on her part. In law enforcement bureaucracies, once you were out, you were out. And that was probably more so with the FBI than anywhere else. The ranks in the bureau were so tight, even legitimate, badge-carrying cops couldn’t get through. I thought Rachel was in for a rude awakening if she thought her old comrades were going to take her calls, run down names and share information. She was going to quickly find out that she was on the outside looking in-through six-inch glass.

“What if that doesn’t work?”

“Then I don’t know,” she said curtly. “I guess we do it the old-fashioned way. We go back and sit on that place and wait for Freddy’s slacker buddies to punch out and go home. They’ll either lead us right to him or we can finesse it out of them.”

She said it with full sarcasm but I liked the plan and thought it could work to find out who Freddy was and where he lived. I just wasn’t sure we were going to find Freddy himself. I had a feeling Freddy was in the wind.

“I think it’s a good plan, but my vibe is that Freddy’s long gone. He didn’t just quit. He split town.”

“Why?”

“Did you look in that box?”

“No, I was too busy keeping Carver busy. You were supposed to look in the box.”

That was news to me but I smiled. It was the first sign I registered that she viewed us as partners on this case.

“Really? That’s what you were doing?”

“Absolutely. What was in the box?”

“Stuff you wouldn’t leave behind if you’re just quitting your job. Cigarettes, flash drives and an iPod. Kids that age, their iPod is indispensable. Plus, the timing of it. The FBI shows up one day and he’s gone the same night. I don’t think we’re going to find him here in Mesa, Arizona.”

Rachel didn’t respond. I glanced over and saw her furrowed brow.

“What are you thinking?”

“That you’re probably right. And it makes me think we have to call in the pros. Like I said, they probably already have his name and they can run him down quickly. We’re just spinning our wheels out here and kicking sand in the air.”

“Not yet, Rachel. Let’s at least see what we can find out today.”

“I don’t like it. We should call them.”

“Not yet.”

“Look, you made the connection. No matter what happens it will be because you made the break. You’ll get the credit.”

“I’m not worried about the credit.”

“Then, why are you doing this? Don’t tell me it’s still about the story. Aren’t you over that yet?”

“Are you over being an agent yet?”

She didn’t answer and looked out the window again.

“Same as me,” I said. “This is my last story and it’s important. Besides, this could be your ticket back inside. You identify the Unsub and they’re going to give you back your badge.”

She shook her head.

“Jack, you don’t know anything about the bureau. There are no second acts. I resigned under threat of prosecution. Don’t you get it? I could find Osama bin Laden hiding in a cave in Griffith Park and they wouldn’t take me back.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

We drove in silence after that and soon I saw a barbecue restaurant called Rosie’s come up on the right. It was early for lunch but the intensity of posing as someone I was not for the past hour had left me famished. I pulled in.

“Let’s get something to eat, make some calls and then go back and wait for Kurt and Mizzou to punch out,” I said.

“You got it, partner,” Rachel said.

Carver sat in his office, studying the camera angles. Over one hundred views of the building and its surroundings. All at his command. At the moment, he was manipulating the exterior camera located on one of the top corners at the front of the building. By raising and turning the lens, and adjusting the focus, he could see up and down McKellips Road.

It didn’t take long to spot them. He knew they’d come back. He knew about thought processes.

McEvoy and Walling were parked next to the wall outside the Public Storage center. They were watching Western Data at the same time he was watching them. Only he wasn’t as obvious about it.

Carver toyed with the idea of letting them bake out there. Waiting longer to give them what they wanted. But then he decided to get things moving. He picked up his phone and punched in three numbers.

“Mizzou, come in here, please. It’s unlocked.”

He put the phone down and waited. Mizzou opened the door without a knock and stepped in.

“Close the door,” Carver said.

The young computer genius did as instructed and then approached Carver’s worktable.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want you to take that box of Freddy’s belongings and deliver them to him.”

“I thought you said he blew town.”

Carver looked up at him. He thought that someday he would hire somebody who didn’t take issue with everything he said.

“I said he probably did. But that’s beside the point. Those people that were in here earlier today saw that box on his damn chair and realized we either had to fire somebody or we have a turnover problem. Either way, it doesn’t instill confidence in the prospective customer.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Then, take that box, strap it to the back of your motorcycle and take it to his warehouse. You know where that is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been there.”

“Good, then go.”

“But Kurt and me were in the middle of breaking down thirty-seven to see where the heat buildup’s coming from. We got a flash on it.”

“Good, I am sure he can handle it from here. I want you to make that delivery.”

“And then come all the way back?”

Carver looked at his watch. He knew Mizzou was angling for the rest of the day off. Little did he know that Carver already knew that he wouldn’t be returning-not on this day, at least.

“Fine,” he said as though he were frustrated about being cornered. “Take the rest of the day. Just go. Now, before I change my mind.”

Mizzou left the office, closing the door behind him. Carver watched anxiously on the cameras, waiting to track him once he got on his beloved motorcycle in the parking lot. He seemed to be taking forever to get out there. Carver started humming. He went to his old standby, the song that had pervaded all corners of his life for as long as he could remember. Soon he quietly sang his two favorite lines and found himself repeating them faster and faster instead of continuing the lyrics of the song.

There’s a killer on the road; his brain is squirming like a toad

There’s a killer on the road; his brain is squirming like a toad

There’s a killer on the road; his brain is squirming like a toad

There’s a killer on the road; his brain is squirming like a toad…

If you give this man a ride…

Finally, Mizzou entered the camera frame and started securing the cardboard box to the small cargo rack behind the seat. He was smoking a cigarette and Carver saw it was almost burned down to the filter. This explained the delay. Mizzou had taken the time to go to the bench at the back of the plant and maybe visit with his fellow smokers.

Finally the box was secured on the motorcycle. Mizzou flicked away the butt of his cigarette and put on his helmet. He straddled the bike, started the engine and rode out through the open front gate.

Carver tracked him out the whole way and then turned the camera toward the Public Storage center down the street. He saw that McEvoy and Walling had seen the box and taken the bait. McEvoy was pulling out to follow.