Michael Prescott - In Dark Places

Wolper looked away. "I just wish you'd worked with me, gone through me."

"Why?"

"We can't have the investigation ranging all over the place. We need centralized command and control."

"This isn't an academic exercise. It's Meg's life."

"I understand that"

"I did the first thing I could think of. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly. Can you blame me?"

He sighed. "No. No, I can't." He sat opposite her. "You think this mystery man is a legitimate lead?"

"I don't know."

"It would be a hell of a coincidence, this guy taking Meg at the exact same time Gray makes his escape."

"I know. But coincidences happen."

"Not often."

"My daughter doesn't get kidnapped often, either."

"Fair enough, Doctor." He looked at her. "So what else is on your mind?"

"What do you mean?"

"There's something you want to talk about. I know the look. I've done enough interviews to know when somebody has something to say."

She nodded. "I've been thinking amp; suppose Gray doesn't have Meg. Then he won't be running to the desert or doing any of the other things we assumed."

"So what would he do?"

"That's the question. He's out on the street. Free again after twelve months. He's in a state somewhere between panic and exhilaration. He's gotten loose, but the whole city will be looking for him. He can hide anywherebut he may not be safe. He's a free man and a hunted animal."

"Okay."

"So how does he feel?"

"Do we care?"

"We do if it helps tell us what action he might take."

"Granted. How does he feel?"

"Disoriented. Confused. Like he's riding a roller coasterscared and thrilled at the same time. It's all happening so fast. He needs amp; he needs to slow it down, sort things out, clear his head. He needs to go someplace safe."

"No place is safe," Wolper said. "Not for him."

"Someplace that feels safe. Someplace he's familiar with."

"His old neighborhood? He lived in Culver City. Units are patrolling there."

"That's not it. He's too smart to go to his old address. Anyway, have you seen photos of his apartment? It was empty, almost unfurnished. No keepsakes, no pictures on the walls, nothing in the fridge. It wasn't home to him. It was just a place to crash."

"Then what was home?"

"His van, maybe."

"Impounded for evidence. He might boost another one."

She stood, paced. "No. I'm looking at this wrong. It's not home he wants. Home was a nightmare to him. It was the scene of abuse, torture. He never had a home. After the kind of adolescence he went through, he wouldn't want one."

"I'm crying for him."

"You don't understand. I'm not trying to feel for him. I'm trying to feel with him. To feel the way he feels right now amp; Whenever his father hurt him, he would leave home. He wasn't running away. He just needed space, distance."

"Where would he go?"

"As a kid, he gravitated toward seedy, crowded, urban areas."

"That covers pretty much all of LA."

"I mean really seedy, like a red-light district. He would hang out in pool halls, video arcades, tattoo parlors." She fixed her stare on Wolper. "Tattoos."

"What about them?"

"He started getting tattoos when he was a teenager. Later he moved on to body piercing and scarification. He likes to punish himself. He takes pleasure in having his skin pricked and bruised."

"All right, so"

"He got some of his tattoos after he moved to LA. He even mentioned the place in today's session. He said the name amp;"

"Robin, even if you remember the name, I doubt he's going into any tat parlor today."

"Wild Ink," she said. "That was it. The guy who applied the tattoos was Ernesto. Ernesto at Wild Ink. That's what he said."

"Okay. But"

"I know, I know, he won't go there now. I understand that. But you're missing the point. That's the area where we should be looking. That's the neighborhood. That's his zone of comfort. It's where he feels safe."

"Unless he has Meg. Then he'll need to take her somewhere."

"Yes, probably. But if he doesn't have her amp;"

"Then finding him won't help us find her."

"It will narrow down the possibilities. Help us focus in the right direction. That's got to be worth something."

Wolper nodded slowly. "Give me a minute," he said, rising from the table. He left again. Robin wondered if he was looking up the address of Wild Ink or arranging for a psychiatric consult. He might think she had lost her mind. He could even be right. Then he was back.

"It's on Hollywood Boulevard, east of Highland. But there's no way he'll go there. He can't go walking the boulevard. A wanted man isn't going to expose himself to those crowds."

"You never know. It's irrational, but if he's motivated by old fears, he may revert to old patterns of behavior."

"I can have Hollywood Division keep an eye out"

She shook her head. "We need to go there."

"Robin, I had to call in a few favors to handle this interview."

"I gathered as much. So what?"

"I have no official involvement in this case."

"Then you won't be breaking any rules by taking me to Hollywood."

"If Gray is there, it's the last place you ought to be."

"If he's there, it's where I have to be."

He studied her, thinking. "How sure are you of this?"

"I don't know. There's a chance I'm right, i can't compute the odds."

"It's a gut feeling. A hunch. Intuition. Right?"

"You could say that."

He seemed relieved to have pigeonholed the problem in a convenient category. "Then you can call my ex-wife about it. I'm not in the market for hunches."

He started to walk out the door. Robin grabbed his arm. "If you'd unbend for a minute, have an open mind amp;"

"An open mind is an empty mind."

Her patience had frayed. "You're very damn complacent, you know that?"

"Now you're actually starting to sound like my ex."

"I'm starting to relate to her. Look, we have to do something"

"Chasing mirages isn't doing something. It's wasting time."

"You promised me you'd do everything possible."

"That doesn't include wild-goose chases after a red herring. Excuse the mixed metaphor."

She released his arm and picked up her phone. "All right, if you won't take me, I'll call a cab and go by myself."

"That's also not a good idea."

"Why not? Gray's not going to be there anyway. You told me so."

"Gray or no Gray, it's a dangerous neighborhood."

"Not as dangerous as the one you sent me into yesterday afternoon."

He looked embarrassed. "Yeah, well amp; I didn't think you'd have the stones to actually go."

"Then I guess you really don't have much intuition, do you?" She took a step past him. "Now I'm getting out of hereunless you plan to place me under arrest."

Wolper spread his hands. "All right."

"You're arresting me?"

"I'm driving you to Hollywood. Come on, Doctor."

Hammond stood under the glare of portable arc lamps at the entrance to a mid-Wilshire parking garage, facing a bank of microphones from every local radio and TV news operation. Reporters stretched before him in a semicircle of faces and lenses. He imagined that he could see his reflection in each lens, and he wished again that he were wearing his dress blues.

Behind him was Captain Turkle, commanding officer of the Wilshire Area station, a man who plainly did not enjoy being upstaged. Hammond couldn't blame him. Turkle's people had done the work and made the connections, and now the deputy chief had swooped in to steal the glory. Life was unfair sometimes. But Hammond didn't feel too bad about it. He looked a lot better on camera than Turkle. He was better able to represent the department. And it was the department that mattered, not anybody's personal ambitions.