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‘We really need to look at some of your old programmes,’ Sam said. ‘We won’t take them, I promise. We just need to find a name.’

Davey shuffled to one side, allowing the lantern to reveal more of the tunnel. An impressive stone archway was suddenly bathed in light above them. It bore the same strange markings that had adorned Vadik’s lair.

Zack gasped. ‘This must be another arm of the Shanghai Tunnels. I told you they went everywhere.’

Sitting in a circle, with Zack attempting to draw warmth from the lantern, the three men looked through Davey’s prized programmes:
Arsenic and Old Lace, The Mouse That Roared, Inherit the Wind
, the yearly variety shows and others.

The signatures and witty comments –
See you and Sam in Hollywood. You can take my lunch order. Davey, you
Light
up my life
– from cast and crew made Sam smile as he remembered a simpler
time when he had no doubts he was destined for stardom.

In the programme for
Dark of the Moon
, they found the name they had been searching for.

83

Detectives Hogan and Preston stood around a white table, its surface littered with dozens of plastic bags and trays that contained melted, scorched, blackened and twisted objects.

Preston crossed his arms, his face showing boredom, as Rico ‘Fire Bug’ Fernandez spoke rapidly in English and the occasional spurt of Spanish to confirm everything that was already in his preliminary report.

When Preston finally sighed with irritation and pointed at his wristwatch, Rico produced a tiny metal object, not much larger than a gentleman’s cufflink, attached to a hunk of melted plastic. His eyes glistened with delight.

‘Clever, huh?’ He made his eyebrows dance.

‘What is it?’ Preston asked.

‘This little beauty make house go boom.’

‘It’s a bomb?’

‘Nah. A bomb? Come on. Look at it. It’s a punch.’

Hogan placed a hand on his partner’s arm to stop an explosive reaction. ‘Explain.’

Rico grinned. ‘This attached to gas line inside house. Using wireless transmitter, your arsonist hits button and this punches small hole in line.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Si
. Once gas begins to leak, all you need is a flame source and boom.’

‘Any idea on manufacturer?’

He squeezed the hunk of melted plastic. ‘This puppy is handmade, but steel punch is special machined part, very precise, but still not perfect. I’d say Eastern Europe. Perhaps Russian or Czech.’

Hogan squinted in thought. ‘What kind of distance are we looking at to set it off?’

Rico shrugged. ‘Receiver melted to shit, but from size I would say he had to be close. No more than quarter mile.’

Hogan glanced at his partner. ‘The actor’s alibi still holds. The mall’s twenty, twenty-five miles away.’

‘Yeah,’ Preston agreed. ‘But the Bug here is just guessing.’

‘Hey!’ Rico protested. ‘I don’t guess, I calculate.’

‘Yeah?’ Preston stepped close until he loomed over the shorter man. ‘Can you calculate what I’m thinking right now?’

Rico grinned wide. ‘I’m sorry, Detective, but I only like you as a friend.’

Hogan’s cellphone rang as the two detectives rode the elevator down to the basement parking lot.

‘Ah, Detective Hogan,’ said a familiar voice. ‘Chief Medical Examiner Randy Hogg, here. I have an ID on the young victim involved in that house explosion.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Well, I had the idea to post her information on the nationwide bulletin board, and there was a recent case of a black woman and child missing in San Diego that seemed similar in age.’

‘San Diego?’

‘Yes, I know, not what we were expecting. But I asked for the dental records and they’re a perfect match.’

‘So who is she?’

‘Kalli Kayesha Parker. She was fourteen. There are several warrants out on her father, Dr Zack Parker, for gross bodily assault and attempted rape of a patient. He’s a plastic surgeon and by all accounts a very good one.’

‘Christ.’ The elevator doors opened and Hogan stepped out. ‘How did the body end up in White’s house?’

‘I can’t help you there, Detective.’

‘What about the other body?’

‘Inconclusive, I’m afraid. Her jaw was shattered in the explosion, but my assistant is working on its reassembly. It is time-consuming work as I’m sure—’

‘Yeah, thanks, Doc,’ Hogan interrupted. ‘Keep me informed.’

He hung up and turned to his partner. ‘You drive. Head for that liquor store on Tenth.’

Preston smirked. ‘You need a drink already? I’m the one doing all the work.’

Hogan scowled, his brow knit in concentration. ‘I need to see a Viking about a doctor.’

84

The guard entered the cell with a plastic tray in his hands. The woman and child followed him with their eyes, not daring to make any sudden moves.

The woman had learned that he reacted with explosive fury to any physical challenge. A swollen eye and deep aches in her cheek, jaw and ribs were a painful reminder of his violence.

‘Have you brought us food?’ Her words were slightly slurred as she tried to limit the movement of her mouth against the pain of her last assault.

The guard ignored her.

‘We could really use extra water,’ she continued. ‘You only brought one bottle last time and both MaryAnn and myself are very thirsty.’

The guard placed the tray on the ground near the door. He didn’t make eye contact.

‘Do you have children?’ she asked.

The guard began to back out of the room as the woman swung her legs off the side of the bed. Her fleece shorts rode up her toned thighs. In the dim
light, they still looked good, despite cuts and bruises, smears of dirt and days without shaving.

He stopped and his tongue darted across his lips.

‘Why do you need us both?’ she asked softly. ‘You could let MaryAnn go. I’ll stay here and won’t cause any trouble, if you just let her go. It could be . . . more intimate . . . with just the two of us.’

A soft whine of protest rose from MaryAnn’s throat. The woman clutched her hand on top of the blanket and squeezed tight.

The guard shook his head and left the room.

At the sound of the heavy bolt hitting home, the woman dropped her face into her hands while MaryAnn leapt off the bed to investigate the contents of the tray.

It carried barely enough to satisfy either one of them.

85

‘Who the hell is Alan Robertson?’ Sam asked as Zack pointed at the only name in the programme he recognized.

‘He was part of the computer club,’ Zack said. ‘The brains behind it, really. Alan could think in code.’

Sam turned to Davey. ‘You remember him?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Davey scratched his head excitedly, flakes of dandruff twinkling in the light. ‘He didn’t show up till Grade Twelve.’

‘That was after I graduated,’ Zack interjected. ‘Alan and a couple others in the club were younger than me. He never mentioned an interest in drama.’

Davey flashed Zack an annoyed look.

‘He was nice and all,’ Davey continued, taking back centre stage. ‘A little too . . . uptight, maybe, for the stage. He was all precise, measuring angles and shit. I preferred to just point the damn things where they looked good. I remember he recruited
a couple of geeks to help out when we wanted to position a mini-spot. Remember that scene, Sam, where you held up the ring as Barbara Allen dies?’

Sam nodded. ‘You made it glow purple.’

‘Right, right,’ Davey gushed. ‘The geeks helped me plot the positioning of that. It was tricky, but damn did it look cool, especially when we added the dry-ice fog.’

‘Any idea where Alan is now?’

‘I do,’ Zack said. ‘He owns a small software company here in Portland.’

‘Could he be the kidnapper?’

Zack shrugged. ‘He has a connection to both of us, plus he knew Davey. All the nerds were picked on by Ironman, so Alan would have hated him. He’s obviously a genius, which may make him a bit odd, but I never saw him as mentally unstable or possessing any kind of grudge.’

Sam reached into the pocket of his vest to feel the cold metal of his gun. He looked at Davey.

‘What’s your take?’

‘Fuck, man, I see people change every day. One minute they’re watching your back, and the next they want to slit your throat for half a J or a decent pair of socks.’

Sam clenched his jaw. ‘I’m tired of being led by the nose. If this is our best lead, let’s pay the prick a visit.’

‘Is that wise?’ Zack asked. ‘Maybe we should—’

‘He’ll talk to us,’ Sam snapped. ‘I’ll make fucking sure of it.’

86

‘Parker?’ Walt Toler leaned on the store counter, his walrus-thick moustache twitching under a bulbous nose.

‘Zack Parker,’ Hogan said.

Preston picked up a clear bottle of pear brandy, a whole yellow pear floating inside the sweet liquor. ‘How do they do that?’

Hogan glared at him.

‘They grow the pears inside the bottle, and then add the liquor,’ Walt explained.

‘No shit.’

Hogan cleared his throat noisily. ‘Parker?’ he said again.

Walt snapped his fingers. ‘Piggy Parker, Piggy Parker.’ He grinned at the memory flash. ‘A skinny black kid. King of the nerds. Ironman used to tease the snot out of him.’

‘This was in high school?’ Hogan clarified.

‘Fuck, yeah.’ Walt grinned. ‘We roamed the hallways like fuckin’ kings back then. Ironman
used to love catching ol’ Piggy Parker and his pals between classes.’ He laughed aloud. ‘We used to make their lives hell.’

‘Parker became a surgeon,’ Hogan said coldly.

Walt shrugged. ‘Good for him.’

Preston placed the bottle of pear brandy on the counter. ‘Did Parker know Sam White?’

‘Might’ve knew
of
him, but they wouldn’t hang together or nothin’. Nerds and freaks, man. Not much in common.’ Walt rung in the brandy, took 20 per cent off, and plucked two twenties out of the three Preston held in his hand.

‘It’s a present for the wife,’ Preston told Hogan as they exited the store. ‘She’ll get a kick out of the pear.’

87

At the mouth of the concrete tunnel, Zack caught up with Sam. The rain was hammering down in a noisy torrent, drowning the city in a wash of depressing grey.

Zack grabbed hold of his arm. ‘We need a plan.’

‘I have one.’ Sam pulled free of Zack’s grip before stepping out of the tunnel and squeezing through the gap in the fence to the park beyond.

Zack followed, the unforgiving rain striking his chilled skin like blunt needles.

‘We can’t just walk in there,’ he said.

‘Why not? We’re old friends from high school.’

‘But we don’t know for sure it’s him,’ Zack protested.

Sam stopped and spun around, every muscle tensed, every bone rigid. Before Zack could react, Sam grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him so close their noses practically touched.

‘I’m not playing games any more, Zack,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘He’s the only name
connected to both of us. Now, this fucker is going to tell me where my family is or he’s going out the fucking window. Are you with me or do I leave you behind?’

The hard rain poured down, reducing the world to just two men, locked together by Sam’s anger.

‘I’m with you.’

Sam released him, part of his anger washing away as he did so. Sam patted Zack’s chest, taking a moment to straighten the suit’s ruined lapels.

‘You’re a mess,’ he said quietly.

‘We both are,’ Zack agreed.

‘Let’s make someone pay.’

88

Detective Preston removed the clear plastic cover from his Stetson and gave it a shake. An arc of water droplets flew across the squad room, splashing three robbery investigators at the next desk.

They all shouted ‘Hey!’ in unison.

‘Sorry, ladies,’ Preston apologized with a smirk. ‘Some of us can’t spend all day keeping dry inside a giant, empty mall.’

Hogan rolled his eyes.

‘What are you doing now?’ Preston asked.

‘Running a check on the Parkers to see . . . here it is . . . nice.’

‘What?’

‘Dr Parker owns a silver Mercedes E320 Diesel sedan.’

‘Our mysterious Merc?’

‘I’ll add the registration to our BOLO.’ Hogan paused as he called up the San Diego police report on the rape and assault charges. ‘Hmmm, this is strange.’

Preston lifted his eyebrows quizzically, but Hogan was already dialling the phone.

‘Detective McNamara,’ Hogan said into the handset. He glanced over at his partner. ‘San Diego.’

Preston lifted his own handset and patched into the call.

‘McNamara,’ said a sandpaper-rough voice.

Hogan explained who he was and his suspicion that Dr Zack Parker was in Portland.

‘Makes sense,’ said McNamara. ‘That’s his home town.’

‘In your report, you said you suspected the rape had been staged,’ Hogan said.

‘Yeah, really odd. We did a rape kit on the victim, but she hadn’t been touched. One theory is that he was interrupted before he could get to penetration, but everything was too clean, too . . . calculated. As you know, rape is a violent act. But Parker showed none of that rage. In fact, it was practically the opposite. He didn’t
want
to hurt her.’