The Last Detective (6 page)

Starkey said, “What do you see?”

“If someone grabbed Ben, we should see signs of a struggle or at least the other person's footprints, but I don't see anything.”

“You're just missing it, Cole.”

“There's nothing to miss. Ben's prints just stop, and the soil here bears none of the scuffs and jumbled prints that you'd expect to find if he struggled.”

Starkey crept downhill, concentrating on the ground. She didn't answer for a few minutes, but then her voice was quiet.

“Maybe Gittamon was right about him being involved. Maybe you can't find a struggle because he ran away.”

“He didn't run away.”

“If he wasn't snatched, then—”

“Look at his prints—they come this far and then they stop. He didn't go back uphill, he didn't go downhill or sidehill; they just stop. He didn't just vanish. If Ben ran away, he would have left prints, but he didn't; he didn't walk away from this point. Someone carried him.”

“Then where are the other person's prints?”

I stared at the ground, shaking my head.

“I don't know.”

“That's stupid, Cole. We'll find something. Keep looking.”

Starkey paralleled my move downhill. She was three or four yards to my side when she stopped to study the ground.

“Hey, is this the boy's shoe or yours?”

I went to see. A faint line marked the heel of a shoe that was too large to be Ben's. The impression was crisp without being weathered, and was free of debris. I compared the crispness of its edge with the edges that marked Ben's shoe prints. They had been made at about the same time. I got behind the print and sighted forward through the center of the heel to see which way the print was headed. It pointed directly to the place where Ben's trail ended.

“It's him, Starkey. You got him.”

“We can't know that. One of your neighbors could have been dicking around up here.”

“No one was dicking around. Keep looking.”

Starkey pushed a stalk of rosemary into the soil to mark the print's location, and then we widened our circle. I seached the ground between the new print and Ben's, but found nothing more. I worked back in the opposite direction covering the same ground a second time, but still found nothing. Fragments of additional shoe prints should have been salted through Ben's like the overlapping pieces of a puzzle. I should have found scuffs, crushed grass, and the obvious evidence of another human moving across the earth, but all we had was the partial heel print of a single shoe. That couldn't be, but it was, and the more I thought about the lack of evidence, the more frightened I became. Evidence was the physical history of an event, but the absence of a physical history was its own kind of evidence.

I considered the surrounding brush and the flow of the slope, and the trees that surrounded us with their dead winter leaves spread over the ground. A man had worked his way uphill through heavy brush and brittle leaves so quietly that Ben did not hear him approaching. The man would not have been able to see him through the thick brush, which meant that he had located Ben by the sound of the Game Freak. Then, when he found him, he took a healthy ten-year-old boy so quickly that Ben had no chance to call out.

I said, “Starkey.”

“There's bugs down here, Cole. I fuckin' hate bugs.”

She was examining the ground a few feet away.

“Starkey, forget the names I gave you from my old cases. None of those people are good enough to do this.”

She misunderstood.

“Don't worry about it, Cole. I'll have SID come out. They'll be able to tell what happened.”

“I already know what happened. Forget the names from my case files. Just run the people who served with me, and forget everything else.”

“I thought you said none of those guys would do it.”

I stared at the ground, then at the thick brush and broken land, thinking hard about the people I had known and what the best of them could do. The skin on my back prickled. The leaves and branches that surrounded us became the broken pieces of an indistinct puzzle. A man with the right skills could be ten feet away. He could hide within the puzzle and watch us between the pieces and we would never see him even as his finger tightened over a trigger. I lowered my voice without realizing it.

“The man who did this has combat experience, Starkey. You're not seeing it, but I can see it. He's done this before. He was trained to hunt humans and he's good at it.”

“You're creeping me out. Take a breath with that, okay? I'll have SID come out.”

I glanced at my watch. Ben had been missing for sixteen hours and twelve minutes.

“Is Gittamon with Lucy?”

“Yeah, he's searching Ben's room.”

“I'm going to see them. I want to tell them what we're dealing with.”

“Look, Cole, don't get spooky with all this. We don't know what we're dealing with, so why don't you wait until SID gets here?”

“Can you find your way back?”

“If you wait two minutes I'll go with you.”

I walked back up the hill without waiting. Starkey trailed after me, and called out from time to time for me to slow down, but I never slowed enough for her to catch up. Shadows from a past that should have been buried lined the path back up to my house. The shadows outnumbered me, and I knew I would need help with them. When I reached my house, I went into the kitchen and phoned a gun shop I know in Culver City.

“Let me have Joe.”

“He isn't here.”

“It's important you find him. Tell him to meet me at Lucy's right away. Tell him that Ben Chenier is missing.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Tell him I'm scared.”

I hung up and went out to my car. I started the engine, but sat with my hands on the steering wheel, trying to stop their shaking.

The man who took Ben had moved well and with silence. He had studied when we came and when we left. He knew my home and canyon, and how Ben went down the slope to play, and he had done it all so well that I did not notice. He had probably stalked us for days. It took special training and skills to hunt humans. I had known men with those skills, and they scared me. I had been one of them.

6
            

time missing: 17 hours, 41 minutes

B
everly Hills makes people think of mansions and hillbillies, but the flats south of Wilshire are lined with modest stucco homes and sturdy bungalow apartments that would go unnoticed in any American town. Lucy and Ben shared an apartment in a two-story building shaped like a U, with the mouth facing the street and the arms embracing a stairway courtyard filled with birds-of-paradise and two towering palms. It was not a limousine street, but a black Presidential stretch was waiting by the fire hydrant outside her building.

I wedged my car into a parking spot half a block down and walked up the sidewalk. The limo driver was reading a magazine behind the wheel with the windows raised and the engine running. Two men were smoking in a Mercury Marquis parked across the street in front of Gittamon's car. They were thick men in their late forties with ruddy faces, short hair, and the flat expressions of men who were used to being in the wrong place at the wrong time and weren't much bothered by it. They watched me like cops.

I went up the stairs and rang her bell. A man I had never met before answered the door.

“May I help you?”

It was Richard. I put out my hand.

“Elvis Cole. I wish we weren't meeting like this.”

Richard's face darkened. He ignored my hand.

“I wish we weren't meeting at all.”

Lucy stepped in front of him, looking uncomfortable and irritated. Richard was good at making her angry.

She said, “Don't start.”

“I told you this would happen, didn't I? How many times did I tell you, but you wouldn't listen?”

“Richard, just stop, please.”

I said, “Yes, now would be the time to stop.”

Something sour flickered in Richard's eyes, but then he turned back into her apartment. Richard was Lucy's age, but his hair was silver on the sides and thinning badly. He wore a black knit shirt, khaki slacks that were wrinkled from the plane, and Bruno Magli mocs that cost more than I made in a week. Even wrinkled and sleepless, Richard looked rich. He owned a natural gas company with international holdings.

Lucy lowered her voice as I followed her inside.

“They just got here. I called to tell you that he landed, but I guess you were on your way over.”

Richard had joined a solidly built man in a dark business suit in Lucy's living room. The man had steel-gray hair so short that he was nearly bald, and eyes that looked like the wrong end of gun sights. He put out his hand.

“Leland Myers. I run security for Richard's company.”

Richard said, “I brought Lee to help find Ben since you people managed to lose him.”

As Myers and I shook, Gittamon came out of the hall with Ben's orange iMac. He huffed with the weight as he put it on a little table by her door.

“We'll have his E-mail by the end of the day. You'd be surprised what children tell their friends.”

I was annoyed that Gittamon was still chasing the staged abduction theory, but I wanted to be careful with how I described what we found on the slope to Lucy.

“You're not going to find anything in his E-mail, Sergeant. Starkey and I searched the slope this morning. We found a shoe print where Ben dropped his Game Freak. It was probably left by the man who took Ben, and he was likely someone who served with me in Vietnam.”

Lucy shook her head.

“I thought the others were dead.”

“They are, but now I think that the person who did this has a certain type of combat experience. I gave Starkey a list of names, and I'll try to remember more. She called SID to try for a cast of the print. Any luck, and we might get a pretty good guess of his height and weight.”

Richard and Myers glanced at each other, then Richard crossed his arms, frowning.

Richard said, “Lucy told me the man mentioned Vietnam last night, and that all of this had something to do with you. Were we doubting this before now?”

“People can say anything, Richard. Now I know he's for real.”

Myers said, “What do you mean, a certain type of combat experience?”

“You don't learn how to move the way this man moved by hunting deer on the weekends or going through ROTC. This guy spent time in places where he was surrounded by people who would kill him if they found him, so he knows how to move without leaving a trail. Also, we didn't find signs of a struggle, which means Ben never saw him coming.”

I told them how Ben's footprints ended abruptly and that we had found only the one other print. Myers took notes while I described the scene, with Richard crossing and recrossing his arms with increasing agitation. By the time I finished he was pacing Lucy's small living room in tight circles.

“This is fucking great, Cole. You're saying some kind of murdering Green Beret commando like Rambo took my son?”

Gittamon checked his pager, looking unhappy with me.

“We don't know that, Mr. Chenier. Once SID reaches the scene, we'll investigate more thoroughly. Mr. Cole might be jumping at conclusions without enough evidence.”

I said, “I'm not jumping at anything, Gittamon. I came here because I want you to see for yourself. SID is on the way now.”

Richard glanced at Gittamon, then stared at Lucy.

“No, I'm sure that Mr. Cole has it right. I'm sure this man is every bit as dangerous as Cole believes. Cole has a history of drawing people like this. A man named Rossier almost killed my ex-wife back in Louisiana thanks to Mr. Cole.”

The corners of Lucy's mouth tightened with pale dots.

“We've been over that enough, Richard.”

Richard kept going.

“Then she moved here to Los Angeles so another lunatic named Sobek could stalk our son—how many people did he kill, Lucille? Seven, eight? He was some kind of serial killer or something.”

Lucy stepped in front of him, and lowered her voice.

“Stop it, Richard. You don't always have to be an asshole.”

Richard's voice grew louder.

“I tried to tell her that associating with Cole puts them in danger, but would she listen? No. She didn't listen because our son's safety wasn't as important as her getting what she wants.”

Lucy slapped him with a single hard shot that snapped on his cheek like a firecracker.

“I told you to stop.”

Gittamon squirmed as if he wished he were anywhere else. Myers touched Richard's arm.

“Richard.”

Richard didn't move.

“Richard, we need to get started.”

Richard's jaw knotted as if he wanted to say more but was chewing the words to keep them inside. He glanced at Lucy, then averted his eyes as if he suddenly felt awkward and embarrassed by his outburst. He lowered his voice.

“I promised myself I wouldn't do that, Lucille. I'm sorry.”

Lucy didn't answer. Her left nostril pulsed as she breathed. I could hear her breathing from across the room.

Richard wet his lips, the awkwardness giving him the air of a little boy who had been caught doing something naughty and embarrassing. He moved away from her, then shrugged at Gittamon.

“She's right, Sergeant—I'm an asshole, but I love my son and I'm worried about him. I'll do whatever I can to find him. That's why I'm here, and that's why I brought Lee.”

Myers cleared his throat.

“We should see this hill Cole described. Debbie's good with a crime scene. He should be in on this.”

Gittamon said, “Who's Debbie?”

Richard glanced at Lucy again, then sat on a hard chair in the corner. He rubbed his face with both hands.

“Debbie DeNice; it's short for Debulon or something. He's a retired New Orleans detective. Homicide or something, right, Lee?”

“Homicide. Phenomenal case clearance rate.”

Richard pushed to his feet.

“The best in the city. Everyone I brought is the best. I'll find Ben if I have to hire Scotland-fucking-Yard.”

Myers glanced at Gittamon, then me.

“I'd like to get my people up to your house, Cole. I'd also like a copy of those names.”

“Starkey has the list. We can make a copy.”

He glanced at Gittamon.

“If SID is on the way, we'd better get going, but I'd also like a quick brief on what we know and what's being done, Sergeant. Can I count on you for that?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely.”

I gave him directions to my house. Myers copied them onto a Palm Pilot, then offered to carry Ben's computer down to Gittamon's car. They left together. Richard followed after them, but hesitated when he reached Lucy. He glanced at me, and his mouth tightened as if he smelled bile.

“Are you coming?”

“In a minute.”

Richard looked at Lucy, and the hardness around his mouth softened. He touched her arm.

“I'm staying at the Beverly Hills on Sunset. I shouldn't have said those things, Lucille. I regret them and I apologize, but they're true.”

He glanced at me again, then left.

Lucy raised a hand to her forehead.

“This is a nightmare.”

time missing: 18 hours, 05 minutes

T
he sun had risen like a mid-morning flare, so intense that it washed the color from the sky and made the palm trees glimmer. Gittamon had gone by the time I reached the street, but Richard was waiting by the black limo with Myers and the two men from the Marquis. They were probably his people from New Orleans.

They stopped talking when I came around the birds-of-paradise, and Richard stepped in front of the others to meet me. He didn't bother hiding his feelings now; his face was angry and intent.

“I've got something to say to you.”

“Let me guess: You're not going to ask where I bought the shirt.”

“This is your fault. It's only a matter of time before one of them gets killed because of you, and I'm not going to let that happen.”

Myers drifted up and touched Richard's arm.

“We don't have time for this.”

Richard brushed away his hand.

“I want to say it.”

I said, “Take his advice, Richard. Please.”

Debbie DeNice and Ray Fontenot moved to Richard's other side. DeNice was a large-boned man with gray eyes the color of soapy dishwater. Fontenot was an ex-NOPD detective like DeNice. He was tall and angular with a bad scar on his neck.

DeNice said, “Take his advice or what?”

It had been a long night. Pressure built in my head until my eyes felt hard. I answered him calmly.

“It's still morning. We're going to see a lot of each other.”

Richard said, “Not if I can help it. I don't like you, Cole. I don't trust you. You draw trouble like flies to puke, and I want you to stay away from my family.”

I made myself breathe. Further up the street, a middle-aged woman walked a pug. It waddled as it looked for a place to pee. This man was Ben's father and Lucy's former husband. I told myself that if I said or did anything to this man it would hurt them. We didn't have time for this nonsense. We had to find Ben.

“I'll see you up at the house.”

I tried to go around them, but DeNice stepped sideways to block my path.

“You don' know whut you dealin' with, podnuh.”

Fontenot smiled softly.

“Oh, yeah, you got that right.”

Myers said, “Debbie. Ray.”

Neither of them moved. Richard stared at Lucy's apartment and wet his lips again as he had upstairs. He seemed more confused than angry.

“She was stupid and selfish to move to Los Angeles. She was stupid to be involved with someone like you, and selfish to take Ben away. I hope she comes to her senses before one of them dies.”

DeNice was a wide man with a lurid face that made me think of a homicidal clown. He had small scars on the bridge of his nose. New Orleans was probably a tough beat, but he looked like the kind of man who enjoyed it tough. I could have tried again to step around him, but I didn't.

“Get out of my way.”

DeNice opened his sport coat to flash his gun, and I wondered if they were impressed with that down in the Ninth Ward.

DeNice said, “You don't get the picture.”

Something flickered at the edges of light; an arm roped with thick veins looped around DeNice's neck; a heavy blue .357 Colt Python appeared under his right arm, the sound as it cocked like breaking knuckles. DeNice floundered off balance as Joe Pike lifted him backwards, Pike's voice a soft hiss.

“Picture this.”

Fontenot clawed under his own jacket. Pike snapped the .357 across Fontenot's face. Fontenot staggered. The woman down the street glanced over, but all she saw were six men on the walk with one of them clutching his face.

I said, “Richard, we don't have time for this. We have to find Ben.”

Pike wore a sleeveless gray sweatshirt, jeans, and dark glasses that glittered in the sun. The muscles in his arm were bunched like cobblestones around DeNice's neck. The red arrow tattooed across his deltoid was stretched tight with inner tension.

Myers watched Pike the way a lizard watches, not really seeing, more like he was waiting for something that would trigger his own preordained reaction: attack, retreat, fight.

Myers spoke calmly.

“That was stupid, Debbie, stupid and unprofessional. You see, Richard? You can't play with people like this.”

Richard seemed to wake, as if he was coming out of a fog. He shook his head.

“Jesus Christ, Lee, what does DeNice think he's doing? I just wanted to talk to Cole. I can't have something like this.”

Myers never looked away from Joe. He took DeNice's arm even though Pike still held him.

“I'm sorry, Richard. I'll talk to him.”

Myers tugged the arm.

“We're good now. Let go.”

Pike's arm tightened.

I said, “Richard, listen. I know you're upset, but I'm upset, too. We have to focus on Ben. Finding Ben comes first. You have to remember that. Now go get into your car. I don't want to have this conversation again.”

Richard's jaw popped and flexed, but then he went to his car.

Myers was still watching Pike.

“You going to let go?”

DeNice said, “You better let go, you motherfucker!”

I said, “It's okay now, Joe. Let him go.”