Hostage (2001) (24 page)

'What is it you want? Disks? Like computer disks? Where are they, where in the house?'

'Two disks, bigger than normal disks. They're called Zip disks, labeled Disk One and Disk Two. We won't know where they are until we find them, but Smith will know.'

The Watchman opened the door, paused before leaving, his glance flicking to the phone.

'Answer when it rings, Chief.'

The keys were dropped into Talley's lap. Doors opened, closed, and Talley was alone there in the alley behind the minimall in the middle of nowhere. The Mustang pulled away. The second car roared away, backwards. Talley sat behind the wheel, breathing, unable to move, feeling apart from his own body as if this had just happened to someone else.

He clawed for the keys, started his car, and spun the wheel hard, flooring it, fishtailing gravel. He hit his lights and siren, rolling code three, blasting straight back to his condo, never bothered to pull into a spot, just left the car like that in the parking lot, lights popping, and ran inside, almost as if they might be sitting there, all of this some hallucination.

The condo was empty, the silence of it outrageously loud. He called them anyway, not knowing what else to do.

'Jane! Amanda!'

Their only sign was the keys to Jane's car, sitting plainly on the dining room table, small and hard, left there as a threat.

Talley put Jane's keys in his pocket. He went upstairs to the little desk in his bedroom where he stared at the photographs. Jane and Amanda, much younger then, stared back in a picture taken at Disneyland, Jane sitting at one of those outdoor restaurants in Adventureland, her arms wrapped around Amanda, both of them showing more white teeth than a piano. They had eaten tostadas or tacos, one, with some salsa that was so mild that they'd laughed about it, the three native Angelenos, salsa with all the kick of Campbell's tomato soup, something that only people from Minnesota or Wisconsin would find spicy. Talley choked a sob in his chest. He took the picture from the frame, put it in his pocket with the keys. He went to his closet for the blue nylon gym bag on the top shelf, and brought the bag to his bed. He took out the pistol that he had carried during his SWAT days, a Colt .45 Model 1911 that had been tuned by the SWAT armorer for accuracy and reliability. It was big, ugly, and supremely dangerous. It held only seven bullets, but SWAT used the .45 as their combat pistol because just one of those big heavy bullets could knock a large man off his feet. A .38 or a 9mm couldn't promise that, but the .45 could. It was a killer.

Talley ejected the empty magazine, filled it with seven bullets, then reseated it. He dug through the gym bag for the black ballistic nylon holster. He took off his uniform, then put on blue jeans and tennis shoes. He fitted the holster onto his belt at his side, then covered it with a black sweatshirt. He clipped his badge to his belt.

The cell phone that the Watchman gave him was sitting on his desk. Talley stared at it. What if it rang?

What if the Watchman ordered him into Walter Smith's house right now and the people inside that house were killed? What if he answered that phone to hear Jane and Amanda screaming as they were murdered?

Talley sat on the edge of the bed thinking that he was a fool. He should go directly to both the Sheriff's Detective Bureau and the FBI; even the Watchman knew it. That would be the smart way to play this mess, and that was what he would have done except that he believed that the Watchman was telling the truth about having someone at York Estates, and would kill his family. Talley was scared; it's easy to say what someone should do when they're not you; when it's you, it's a nightmare. He told himself to be careful. The Watchman was right about something else, too: Panic kills. That same message had hung on the wall at the Special Weapons and TacticsSchool: Panic kills. The instructors had hammered it into them. It didn't matter how urgent the situation, you had to think; act quickly but efficiently. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, and nothing wastes your mind faster than getting your ass shot off. Think.

Talley put the Watchman's phone in his pocket and drove to his office.

The Bristo Camino Police Department was a two-story space in the mall that used to be a toy store. Talley's officers jokingly called it 'the crib.' This time of night, the mall parking lot was empty; only one radio car was out front, along with the personal cars belonging to his officers. Talley left his car at the curb. The second floor contained a single holding cell, a ready room for briefings, a bathroom, and a locker room. The most serious criminals it had held were two sixteen-year-old car thieves who had driven a stolen Porsche up from Santa Monica only to wrap it around a palm tree; mostly, the cell was used to let drunk drivers sleep off their buzz. Office space for Sarah filled most of the ground floor, with the front desk being designated for the duty officer of the watch, though Sarah, herself not a sworn officer, served that post whenever she wasn't ensconced in the communications bay. Talley's office sat in the rear, but his own computer wasn't tied into the National Law Enforcement Telecommunication System; only one computer in the office could access the NLETS, and that was up front by Sarah.

Kenner, sitting at the front desk, raised his eyebrows in surprise when Talley entered.

'Hey, Chief. I thought you went seven.'

Seven was the code for taking a meal break, but it was also slang for going off duty. Talley let himself through the gate that separated the public space from the desks without making eye contact. He didn't want conversation.

'I've got more to do.'

'What's happening out at the house?'

'The Sheriffs have it.'

Sarah waved from the communications bay. She was a retired public school teacher with bright red hair who worked the job because she enjoyed it. Talley nodded at her, but didn't stop to chat the way he ordinarily would. He went straight to the NLETS computer.

Sarah called, 'I thought you went home?'

'More to do.'

'Isn't that sad about that little boy? What happened with that?'

'I just stopped by to look up something. I've got to get back to the house.'

He made his manner brusque to discourage her.

Talley typed in the Mustang's license number, 2KLX561, and requested a California Department of Motor Vehicles search.

'Ah, Chief, I'd like to get some time out there. You know, at the house.'

Kenner had come up behind him, looking hopeful. Talley leaned forward to block the computer's screen.

'Call Anders. Tell him I said to rotate you out there at the shift change.'

Talley turned back to the computer.

'Ah, Chief? You think I could work the perimeter?'

Talley blocked the screen again, letting his annoyance show.

'You want some trigger time? That it, Kenner?'

Kenner shrugged.

'Well, yes, sir.'

'See Anders.'

Talley stared at Kenner until he returned to the front desk. The DMV search came back, showing that license plate 2KLX561 was currently an unregistered listing. Next, he typed in the name Walter Smith and ran it through the NationalCrimeInformationCenter, limiting the search to white males in the Southwest within a ten-year time frame. The NCIC search kicked back one hundred twenty-eight hits. That was too many. Talley could have limited the search if he had Smith's middle name, but he didn't. He cut the frame to five years, tried again, and this time got thirty-one hits. He skimmed the results. Twenty-one of the thirty-two arrestees were currently incarcerated, and the remaining ten were too young. As far as the law enforcement computer network knew, the Walter Smith who lived in York Estates was just another upstanding American with something in his house that men were willing to kill for.

Talley deleted the screen, then tried to recall as many details as possible about the three men and the woman who kidnapped him. The woman: Short dark hair that cupped her face, five-five, slender, light-colored blouse and skirt; it had been too dark to see any more. The three men had worn nicely tailored sport coats, gloves, and masks; he had noticed no identifying characteristics. He tried to remember background noise from when he spoke with Jane, some telling sound that could identify her location, but there had been none.

Talley took out the Watchman's phone, wondering if a print could be lifted. It was a new black Nokia. The phone's battery indicator showed a full charge. Talley felt a sudden fear that the battery would fail, and he would never hear from Jane and Amanda again. He trembled as the panic grew, then forced those thoughts down. Think. The cell phone was his link to the people who had Jane and Amanda, a link that might lead back to them. If the Watchman had called Jane's location, that number would be in the memory. Talley's heart pounded. He pressed redial. No number came up. Talley checked the phone's stored memory, but no numbers were listed. Think!!! If the people holding Jane had phoned the Watchman, Talley might be able to reverse-dial the number with the star 69 feature. He pressed star 69. Nothing happened. Talley's heart pounded harder; he wanted to smash the fucking phone. He wanted to throw it against the wall, then stomp it to splinters. Goddamnit, THINK!!! Someone had paid for the phone and was paying for its service. Talley turned off the phone, then turned it back on. As the view screen lit, the phone's number appeared. 555-1367. Talley wanted to jump up and pump his fist. He copied the number, his only lead.

Then Talley realized he had another lead: Walter Smith. Smith could identify these people, Smith had what they wanted, and Smith might even be able to tell him where they had taken Jane and Amanda. Smith had answers. All Talley had to do was reach him.

And get him out of that house.

Talley called Larry Anders when he was five minutes from the development, saying to meet him inside the south entrance, and to wait there alone. The traffic passing the development was less than it had been earlier, but a long line of gawkers still made the going slow once Talley turned off Flanders Road. He burped his siren to make them pull to the side, then waved himself through the blockade.

Anders was parked on the side of the road. Talley pulled up behind him and flicked his lights. Anders walked back to Talley's window, looking nervous.

'What's up, Chief?'

'Where's Metzger?'

'Up with the Sheriffs in case they need something. Did I do something?'

'Get in.'

Talley waited as Anders walked around the front of the car and climbed in. Anders wasn't the oldest person on his department, but he was the senior officer in years served, and Talley respected him. He thought again that the man in the ski mask had someone here, and wondered if that person was Larry Anders. Talley recalled a photograph that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times, one taken at the day-care center that showed Spencer Morgan, the man who had held the children hostage, holding a gun to Talley's head. Talley thought of the trust it had taken for him to stand there while his friend Neal Craimont lined up the crosshairs.

Anders squirmed.

'Jesus, Chief, why are you staring at me like that?'

'I have something for you to do. You're not to tell anyone else what you're doing, not Metzger, not the other guys, not the Sheriffs, no one; just tell them that I want you to run down some background info, but don't tell them what. You understand me, Larry?'

Anders replied slowly.

'I guess so.'

'I can't have you guessing. Either you can keep your mouth shut or you can't. This is important.'

'This isn't something illegal, is it, Chief? I really like being a cop. I couldn't do something illegal.'

'It's police work, the real thing. I want you to find out as much as you can about Walter Smith.'

'The guy in the house?'

'I believe he's involved in illegal activity or associates with people who are. I need to find out what that is. Talk to the neighbors, but don't be obvious about it. Don't tell anyone what you're doing or what you suspect. Try to find out whatever you can about him, where he's from, stuff like that; his business, his clients, anything that will give us a handle on him. It will help if you can learn his middle name. When you've finished here, go back to the office and run him through the FBI and the NLETS database. I went back five years, but you go back twenty.'

Anders cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable with all this.

'What's the problem with telling our guys? I mean, why not?'

'Because that's the way I want it, Larry. I have a good reason, I just can't tell you right now, but I'm trusting that you'll keep your word.'

'I will, Chief. Yes, sir, I will.'

Talley gave him the Nokia's cell phone number.

'Before you do any of that, I want you to trace this cell phone number. You can do this by phone from here. Find out who it's billed to. If you need a court order, call the Palmdale District Court. They have a judge on page for night work. Sarah has the number.'

Anders looked at the slip of paper.

'The judge, he'll want to know why, won't he?'

'Tell him we believe this number will provide life-or-death information about one of the men in the house.'

Anders nodded dully, knowing it was a lie.

'All right.'