B007GFGTIY EBOK (27 page)

B
eckerman had watched them come and go all day and night from the living room window. He’d beat Hayden, Rebecca, and Santiago back to San Rafael. He even spotted the helpful Deputy Rice sitting in his car waiting for the fight to come to him. Rice had left after Santiago moved in with Hayden and Rebecca, but returned with takeout during the night to relieve Santiago. Other than that, nothing else had happened. He could have rigged up his listening equipment to monitor what was going on in the house, but there wasn’t any point. The trap was set and no one could do anything to change it.

Before Santiago arrived with Hayden and Rebecca, Beckerman stashed his Dodge Charger on a neighboring street and walked up to 2337 Oleander. The house wasn’t directly across from the house containing Hayden and Rebecca, but had a clear view of it. He pressed the doorbell and waited for the door to be answered.

He’d selected 2337 not for its location but its occupant. He needed someone who lived alone and had hermit tendencies. Doreen Morley fit the bill. She was seventy-two and a widow with no children. A search of public records had narrowed his search to Doreen, and a little Q&A with the neighbors had filled in the gaps.

Doreen opened the door as wide as the security chain would allow. Her face appeared in the gap.

“Hi, I’m from PG&E,” Beckerman said. “It’s fall and we’re helping people check their pilot lights before the cold nights begin. I’d be happy to check yours for you.”

He didn’t know if Doreen was the nosy type so he’d used this line on several of her neighbors. Only one person out of the four homes he’d visited had asked him to check their pilot light, which he’d done. He hoped Doreen would follow suit, but if she didn’t, he had a backup plan to gain entry.

“Can I see your identification?” Doreen asked.

“Of course.” Beckerman produced his PG&E picture ID badge. It was one of many forged IDs in his possession.

Doreen examined his identification through thick glasses. She handed it back and let him in.

Doreen was cautious, but not cautious enough. Although she’d checked his ID, she hadn’t noticed he wasn’t wearing a PG&E uniform. He smiled and pocketed the ID.

“Come this way,” Doreen said and let him in.

He followed her to a closet situated in a hallway between the kitchen and a guest bedroom. Eaten with arthritis, she moved at a snail’s pace. It didn’t bother him. It gave him time to scope out the house. He listened for a visitor. This wouldn’t work if someone else was there. He heard no one other than the voices on NPR spilling from a stereo in the living room. She tugged open the closet door and he dropped to his knees to examine the furnace.

“You live here alone?” he asked causally.

“Yes.”

“A big place for you to rattle around inside,” he said with a smile.

“We moved here when my husband retired from Nortel, but he died six months into his retirement.”

“That’s awful.”

Doreen squeezed out a pained smile. “This place was important to him. I didn’t want to leave.”

“Good for you,” Beckerman said and meant it.

He checked the pilot light, saw that it was burning bright, and told Doreen she was in good shape. He stood and closed the closet door.

“I was making coffee,” Doreen said. “Do you have time?”

“I always have time for coffee.”

This provided the distraction he needed and he followed her to the kitchen. He leaned against the countertop while she poured out two cups. He took the mug she held out to him and said, “Thanks, Doreen.”

He realized his error before he finished saying her name.

“How do you know my name?”

“Billing,” he said, covering for his mistake. “I get everyone’s name with the address. After you, I move on to the Bertholfs next door.”

The suspicion he’d witnessed moments earlier disappeared just as swiftly from Doreen’s expression.

“Apologies for spooking you there,” he said, putting his coffee down.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s so obvious.” Suddenly, Doreen lost interest in what she was saying. She was staring at his clothes. She had finally noticed his lack of a PG&E uniform.

He pointed behind her. “Doreen, the coffeemaker.”

She spun around on reflex. It was a cheap trick, but it worked. With her back to him, he moved in behind her. He clamped one hand over her mouth to keep a scream in and braced her against him with his other arm. She attempted to wriggle free, but he had her too well constrained.

“Please don’t struggle,” he said in a calming tone.

To his surprise, she complied and relaxed in his grasp.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and jerked Doreen’s head around until her neck snapped.

Doreen went slack. Small and slight, she was no weight at all. Beckerman scooped her up in his arms, carried her into the downstairs bathroom, and placed her in the tub. He would have liked to have wrapped Doreen in the shower curtain, but since there wasn’t one, he worked with what he had and slid the shower door closed.

He returned to the kitchen and loaded his coffee mug into the dishwasher with all the other dishes and switched the machine on. It was a simple piece of housekeeping he could afford to do. He’d sanitize the place and dispose of Doreen after completion of the assignment. He figured he had at least two days before anyone missed her. He wouldn’t need two days to do what he needed to do. It would be all over by this time tomorrow. He’d make sure of it.

With Doreen safely out the way, Beckerman planted himself in front of a window and watched Rebecca’s house.

He checked his watch. It was just after seven a.m. now. Doreen had been dead sixteen hours and he’d been up for over twenty-four. He was good for another eighteen. He swallowed the last of his final energy bar before gathering his binoculars and cell phone and replacing the armchair in its original position. He snatched up the keys hanging on a hook by the back door and slipped outside, locking it after him.

It was time.

The shattering of glass and a wailing car alarm woke everybody in the house. Hayden sat bolt upright in his bed in the guest room. Was this the sign Beckerman had told them to look out for? Or was it Tony Mason back to finish his job? Either way, Hayden was prepared. He flew out of bed, fully dressed. After he’d filled Rebecca in on Beckerman’s plan, they’d agreed not to undress for bed in case of a rude awakening. She emerged from her room as he reached the upstairs landing.

“Is this it?” Rebecca asked.

“It’s something. Let’s go.”

They pounded down the stairs. Hayden expected a run-in with Rice, but he was nowhere to be seen. He pounced on the opportunity to snatch up the drawings and flash drive. Santiago had brought them into the house the night before to go over them with Hayden in more detail. Rebecca overtook him and raced into the garage. She hurled herself behind the wheel, gunned the engine, and hit the garage door clicker.

The door rolled up to reveal Rice standing in front of his unmarked Crown Victoria parked in the street. The Ford lay slumped on two punctured tires.

“I think that’s our sign,” Hayden said.

Rebecca jammed the selector into reverse and peeled out of the garage. Rice whirled around from his stricken car. Confusion turned into panic as Rebecca’s VW launched itself off the driveway and slithered to an untidy halt on the street. The deputy rushed forward. He stopped in the middle of the street with his arms spread to block their path. Rebecca hesitated for a second.

“Go,” Hayden said. “He’ll get out of the way.”

Rebecca stamped on the gas and pointed the car at the deputy. Rice stood his ground.

“He’ll get out of the way.” This time, Hayden didn’t sound as confident.

Rebecca jerked the car to one side to avoid hitting the deputy, but Rice lunged to block. Space between the VW’s hood and Rice’s body shrank. He wasn’t going to get out of the way.

Rebecca stamped on the brakes.

Rice, the human roadblock, inched toward them. “Turn off the engine and get out of the vehicle.”

Hayden turned to Rebecca. “If we want answers, we’ve got to go.”

“I know,” she snapped.

Rice repeated his instruction. His hand went to his pistol on his hip.

“There’s no way around him,” Rebecca said.

“Just try not to hit him too hard.”

Rebecca jumped off the brake and onto the gas. The VW lurched forward. A look of pure shock overwhelmed Rice’s expression. He jerked his gun out, but he didn’t get to aim it. Rebecca swerved to avoid the deputy, but she clipped him. The VW’s hood scooped him up and tossed him aside. He struck the asphalt on his back.

“Is he OK?” Rebecca asked, her voice tight with fear.

Hayden looked. Rice tried standing, but fell on his butt. He aimed his weapon but didn’t fire.

“He’s OK.”

Rebecca released a long-held breath.

As Rebecca accelerated hard through the narrow street, Hayden cast another look at Rice. He was on his feet and hobbling toward his car.

“I think Rice has more to fear from Santiago than us.”

Rice watched Rebecca’s VW reach the end of the street and disappear along with his career in law enforcement. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen for a dumb diversion gag. Worse still, he couldn’t believe Rebecca had just run him down. He stared at the gun in his hand. He could improve department arrest figures by shooting himself.

You’re an idiot, Mark.

As Rice’s pity party ebbed, the pain in his hip increased. He hobbled over to his stricken vehicle and leaned against it to take the weight off his throbbing hip. He jerked his cell phone off his belt to call Santiago with the good news. He could only imagine the chewing out he’d be getting. A green Toyota Camry screeched to a halt next to him. The passenger door flew open and Santiago leaned across the seat. “Get in the damn car.”

Rice jumped in and Santiago stamped on the gas. The force of the car’s acceleration slammed Rice’s door shut without his help. Santiago threw the car into a one-eighty.

“I’m sorry, sir. I screwed up.”

“No, you didn’t. I expected this.”

“What?”

“I knew someone would come for these two. They’re too valuable.”

Santiago yanked the wheel hard to the left and the car barreled onto the next street. The tires slithered as they tried to find a grip. Rebecca’s VW was small in the distance.

“Hayden mentioned a dark blue Dodge Charger following them. It was parked at the end of Hayden’s street. No one was in it, so the driver had to be inside Hayden’s place. And Hayden is no Oscar winner. When he left his house yesterday, he couldn’t have looked any guiltier if he tried.” Santiago thumped his steering wheel with his fist. “Shit. I really thought I’d gotten through to them.”

Santiago came up on another turn. Rice held on to the handle above the door. “Where have you been hiding?”

“After I left, I went around the block, came back, and parked at the end of the street.”

“I wish you’d told me all this.”

“What? And rely on you giving the performance of a lifetime? No way.” Santiago grinned. “Smile, Deputy Rice. You’re part of the chase now.”

Santiago got within a safe tailing distance and backed off.

“Are we going to intercept them?” Rice asked.

“No. Someone went to a lot of trouble to spring them. I want to see who that someone is and what they want from them.”

Santiago and Rice trailed Hayden and Rebecca onto I-580 and across the Richmond–San Rafael Bridge to join I-80. For a moment, it appeared they were taking a long-winded route back into San Francisco, until Rebecca’s VW peeled off the freeway in the direction of Alameda. They trailed them into the city, through the Webster Tube, under the Oakland Inner Harbor. When Rebecca turned toward the former Alameda Naval Air Station, it became obvious where they were going. They followed her to the USS
Hornet
. The World War II aircraft carrier was now a floating museum.

“What are they going to do at the
Hornet
?” Rice asked.

“We’re going to find out.”

Santiago pulled up short on the street while Rebecca parked her VW in the museum’s vast parking lot, close to the ship. She and Hayden jogged across the road toward the USS
Hornet
’s pier. The museum wasn’t open, but the carrier wasn’t their destination; a black Cadillac parked in front of the pier’s entrance was.