Michael Connelly - Blood Work

“Those boxes down there.”

“What boxes?”

“Stacked under the desk. Are they your cases?”

“They’re old files.”

“I recognize some of the names written on them. The article mentioned some of them. Luther Hatch, I remember him. And the Code Killer. Why did they call him that?”

“Because he-if it was a he-left messages for us or sent messages to us that always had the same number at the bottom.”

“What did it mean?”

“We never found out. The best people at the bureau and even the encryption people at the National Security Agency couldn’t crack it. Personally, I didn’t think it meant anything at all. It wasn’t a code. It was just another way for the UnSub to tweak us, keep us chasing our tails… nine-oh-three, four-seven-two, five-six-eight.”

“That’s the code?”

“That’s the number. Like I said, I don’t think there was any code.”

“Is that what they decided in Washington, too?”

“No. They never gave up on it. They were sure it meant something. They thought it might be the guy’s Social Security number. You know, scrambled around. With their computer they printed out every combination and then got all the names from Social Security. Hundreds of thousands. They ran them all through the computers.”

“Looking for what?”

“Criminal records, profile matches… it was one big wild-goose chase. The UnSub wasn’t on the list.”

“What is UnSub?”

“Unknown subject. That’s what we called each one until we caught him. We never caught the Code Killer.”

McCaleb heard the faint sound of a harmonica and looked over at the Double-Down. Lockridge was down below practicing Spoonful.

“Was he the only one of your cases where that happened?”

“You mean where the guy was never caught? No. Unfortunately, a lot of them get away. But the Code case was personal, I guess. He sent letters to me. He resented me for some reason.”

“What did he do to the people he…”

“The Code Killer was unusual. He killed in many different ways and with no discernible pattern. Men, women, even one small child. He shot, he stabbed, he strangled. There was no handle.”

“Then how did you know it was him each time?”

“He told us. The letters, the code left at the crime scenes. You see, the victims and who they were didn’t matter. They were only objects by which he could exercise power and stick it in the face of authority. He was an authority-complex killer. There was another killer, the Poet. He was a traveler, was active across the country a few years ago,”

“I remember. He got away here in L.A., right?”

“Right. He was an authority killer, too. See, you strip away their fantasies and their methods and a lot of these people are very much alike. The Poet got off on watching us flailing around. The Code Killer was the same way. He liked to tweak the cops every chance he got.”

“Then he just stopped?”

“He either died or went to jail for something else. Or he moved somewhere else and started a new routine. But it’s not something these guys can just turn off.”

“And what did you do in the Luther Hatch case?”

“Just my job. Look, we should talk about something else, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just… I don’t know, I don’t like all of those old stories.”

He had wanted to talk to her about her sister and the latest developments but now it didn’t seem like the right time. He let the opportunity pass.

For dinner McCaleb grilled hamburgers and barracuda steaks. Raymond seemed enthusiastic about eating the fish he had caught but then didn’t like the strong taste of the barracuda. Neither did Graciela, though McCaleb didn’t think it was bad.

The meal was followed with another walk to the ice-cream store and then a walk along the shops on Cabrillo Way. It was dark by the time they got back to the boat. The marina was quiet again. Raymond got the bad news from Graciela.

“Raymond, it’s been a long day and I want you to go to sleep,” she said gently. “If you’re good, you can fish some more tomorrow before we leave.”

The boy looked at McCaleb, seeking either confirmation or an appeal.

“She’s right, Raymond,” he said. “In the morning I’ll take you back out there. We’ll catch some more fish. Okay?”

In a cranky tone the boy agreed and Graciela took him down to his room. His parting request was that he be allowed to take his fishing pole to his room with him. There was no objection to that. McCaleb had secured the hook on one of the pole’s eyelets.

McCaleb had two space heaters on the boat and he set them up in each of their rooms. He knew that at night it could get cold on the boat, no matter how many blankets you had on.

“What are you going to use?” Graciela asked him.

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to use my sleeping bag. I’ll probably be warmer than both of you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He left them down there and went topside to wait for Graciela. He poured the last of the Sanford pinot noir he had opened on her first visit into her glass.

He took that and a can of Coke out to the stern. She joined him after ten minutes.

“It gets cold out here,” she said.

“Yeah. Do you think he’ll be all right with that heater?”

“Yes, he’s fine. He fell asleep almost as soon as he hit the pillow.”

He handed her the glass of wine and she tapped it against his Coke.

“Thank you,” she said. “He had a wonderful time today.”

“I’m glad.”

He tapped his Coke against her glass. He knew that at some point he needed to finally talk about the investigation with her but he didn’t want to spoil the moment. Once again he put it off.

“Who is that girl in the picture down on your desk?”

“What girl?”

“It looks like a photo from a yearbook or something. It’s taped to the wall over the desk in Raymond’s room.”

“Oh… it’s just… it’s just somebody I always want to remember. Somebody who died.”

“You mean like a case or someone you knew?”

“A case.”

“The Code Killer?”

“No, long before that.”

“What was her name?”

“Aubrey-Lynn.”

“What happened?”

“Something that shouldn’t happen to anybody. Let’s not talk about it right now.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I should have taken that thing down before Raymond came anyway.”

McCaleb didn’t get into the sleeping bag. He just draped it over his body and lay on his back with his hands laced behind his head. He knew he should be tired but he wasn’t. Many thoughts raced through his mind, from the mundane to the gut-wrenching. He was thinking about the heater in the boy’s berth. He knew it was safe but he worried about it anyway. The talk earlier in the day also resurfaced in a strand of thoughts about his father in the hospital bed. Once more he wished he had brought the old man home to die. He remembered taking the boat out after the ceremony at Descanso Beach and circling Catalina, parceling out the ashes a little at a time so that they lasted until he had come all the way around the island.

But those memories and concerns were only distractions from his thoughts of Graciela. The evening had ended on a wrong note after she had brought up Aubrey-Lynn Showitz. The memory had knocked McCaleb off stride and he stopped talking. He was infatuated with Graciela. He wanted her and had hoped the evening would end with them together. But he had let the grim memories intrude and it spoiled the moment.

He felt the boat gently rise and fall as the tide rolled in. He exhaled loudly, hoping to expel the demons. He readjusted himself on the thin cushion. There was a seam down the middle of the makeshift bed and he couldn’t get comfortable. He thought about getting up for some orange juice, but worried that if he had a glass, there might not be enough left for Raymond and Graciela in the morning.