The Last Detective (17 page)

When the flags were set, Chen measured and graphed the scene. Each piece of evidence was assigned its own evidence number, then each number was located on the graph so that Chen, the police, and the prosecutors would have an accurate record of where each item was found. Everything had to be measured and the measurements recorded. It was tedious work, and Chen resented having to do it by himself. SID was sending out another criminalist—that skanky bitch Lorna Bronstein who thought she was better than everyone else—but it might be hours before she arrived.

Starkey had been helping until Cole dragged her back up the hill. Starkey was okay. Chen had known her since her days on the Bomb Squad, and kinda liked her even though she was skinny and had a face like a horse.

Chen was thinking about asking her out.

John Chen thought about sex a lot, and not just with Starkey. In fact, he thought about it at home, at the labs, and while driving; he rated every woman he saw as to sexual desirability, immediately dismissing any who fell below his admittedly diminishing standards (beggars can't be choosers) as “hogs.” Didn't matter where he was, either: He thought about sex at homicides, suicides, shootings, stabbings, assaults, vehicular manslaughter investigations, and in the morgue; he woke every morning obsessing about sex, then added his log to the fire (so to speak) by watching that hot little number Katie Couric flashing her business on the
Today
show. Then he'd head off to work where armies of man-killer love muffins fanned the flames. The city was
filled
with them: Hard-bodied housewives and nymphomaniac actresses cruised the freeways in a never-ending search for man meat, and John Chen was the ONE guy in L.A. who missed out! Sure, his silver Boxster drew looks (he had bought it for just that reason and dubbed it his 'tangmobile), but every time some hottie looked past the sleek German lines of his Black Forest Love Rocket and saw
his
six foot three, hundred-thirty pound, four-eyed geeky ass, she quickly looked away. It was enough to give a guy issues.

John spent so much time fantasizing about sex that he sometimes thought that he should see a shrink, but, you know, it was better than thinking about death.

Starkey wasn't exactly in his top ten “Must Do” list, but she wasn't a hog. He once asked if she wanted to go for a ride in his Porsche, but Starkey said only if she could drive. Like that would ever happen.

John was having second thoughts. Maybe letting her drive wouldn't be so bad.

Chen was giving it serious consideration when Starkey shouted for him to haul his ass up right away.

“Hurry,” she shouted. “C'mon, John, get up here!”

Bitch. Always in the driver's seat.

When Chen reached them, he found Starkey and Cole hovering over a clump of weeds like a couple of kids over buried treasure. A short squat Latina who had to be pushing retirement was with them. Chen immediately dismissed her. Hog.

“What are you screaming about? I got a lot to do.”

Starkey said, “Stop with the tone and look at this.”

Cole squatted to show him something in the weeds.

“Starkey found a cigar wrapper. We think it's his.”

Chen took off his glasses for a closer inspection. Humiliating, but necessary: Chen looked like a world-class geek with his nose only inches from the ground, but he wanted to see the wrapper clearly. It appeared to have been folded twice, and still contained a red and gold cigar band. The plastic evidenced slight weathering, but the band had not yet lost its brilliance, indicating that it had been here no more than a few days; red dyes faded fast. The plastic appeared to be smudged under a light layer of dust.

As Chen considered the smudges, Starkey related that Mrs. Luna had seen the suspect manipulate a cigar, though she had not seen him remove the wrapper or toss it away.

Chen pretended to listen, but mostly he fumed at how Starkey kept smiling at Cole and punching him on the shoulder.

Chen grumbled in his best sullen voice.

“Okay, I'll log it. Lemme get the kit.”

“Log it, yeah, but we're bringing this straight to Glendale. I want you to check it for prints.”

Chen wondered if she was drinking again.

“Now?”

“Yeah, right now.”

“Bronstein's on her way.”

“I don't want to wait for fuckin' Bronstein. We've got something here, John. Let's run it to Glendale and fish for a hit!”

Chen glanced at Cole for help, but Cole had the frayed eyes of a psychokiller. Maybe both of them were drunk.

“You know we can't leave the scene. C'mon, Starkey—if we leave, we break the chain of custody with all the evidence down below. It won't be good in court.”

“I'll take that chance.”

“It's not worth taking. I mean, if she
saw
the guy drop a wrapper that might be one thing, but we don't even know this is his. It could belong to anyone.”

Starkey pulled Chen aside so that Mrs. Luna couldn't hear. Cole tagged along like Starkey's lapdog. They were probably already doing each other.

Starkey lowered her voice.

“We won't know that until we run the prints.”

“We might not find prints. All I see are smudges. Smudges aren't the same as prints.”

Chen hated that he sounded so whiny, but she wouldn't let it go. Leaving the scene unattended was a direct violation of SID and LAPD policy.

She said, “Nothing down that hill even comes close to this. It might not be his, John; maybe it isn't. But even if all you find is a few points, we might be able to name him, and that puts us closer to finding the boy.”

“It puts me closer to getting fired, is what it does.”

Chen was worried. Starkey had done her damnedest to destroy herself and her career after she was blown up in the trailer park; she had been dumped by the Bomb Squad and then by CCS, so now she was stuck in a dead-end Juvenile desk. Maybe she was trying to kill herself again. Maybe she wanted to be fired. Chen edged closer to sniff her breath. Starkey pushed him back.

“Goddamnit, I'm not drinking.”

Cole said, “John.”

Chen scowled—here it came: Cole would probably threaten to kick his ass, him and his partner, Pike. Chen was certain that Cole was fucking her. Pike was probably fucking her, too.

Chen said, “I'm not doing it.”

Cole said, “If the wrapper helps us, we'll tell them that you found it.”

Starkey glanced at Cole, then nodded.

“Sure, if John wants the credit, it's his. This could be the breakthrough moment, man; guaranteed face-time on the evening news.”

Chen thought about it. He had done pretty well with tips from Pike and Cole in the past. He had gotten a promotion and the 'tangmobile out of it, and had almost gotten laid. Almost. Chen glanced at Mrs. Luna to see if she could hear any of this, but she was safely away.

He said, “You cool with losing the evidence down below?”

Starkey's pager buzzed, but she ignored it.

“All I care about is finding this boy. Nothing down there matters if it helps us too late.”

Cole stared at her for the longest time, then turned back to Chen.

He said, “Help us, John.”

Chen thought it through: Yeah, it was a long shot, but nothing under the oak tree would or could give them an immediate ID on the perp, and this might. The odds weren't likely, but hope lived in possibilities. John, for instance, hoped to make the evening news. Helping to find the kid wouldn't be so bad, either.

Starkey's pager buzzed again. She turned it off.

Chen made up his mind.

“I'll get my stuff.”

Starkey smiled wider than Chen had ever seen, then put her hand on Cole's shoulder. She left it. Chen hurried down the hill for his evidence kit, thinking that if Starkey drooled on Cole any more, she'd drown him with spit.

15
            

Witness to an Incident

When they brought Ben inside after they caught him on the side of the house the night before, Mike took a cell phone from a green duffel bag, then went into another part of the house. Eric and Mazi made Ben sit on the floor in the living room. When Mike came back, he held the phone a few inches from Ben's mouth. Ben sensed that someone was probably on the other end of the line, listening.

Mike said, “Say your name and address.”

Ben shouted as loud as he could.

“HELP! HELP ME—!”

Eric clamped a hand over his mouth. Ben was terrified that they would hurt him because he had called for help, but Mike only turned off the phone and laughed.

“Man, that was perfect.”

Eric squeezed Ben's face hard. Eric was still pissed off because Ben got him in trouble by almost getting away, so his face was flushed as red as his hair.

“Stop shouting or I'll cut off your fucking head.”

Mike said, “You with the heads. He did great, yelling for help like that. Stop squeezing his face.”

“You want the fuckin' neighbors to hear?”

Mike tucked the phone back into the duffel, then took out a cigar. He peeled off the wrapper as he considered Ben.

“He won't yell anymore, will you, Ben?”

Ben stopped squirming. He was scared, but he shook his head, no. Eric let go.

Ben said, “Who was that on the phone?”

Mike glanced at Eric, ignoring him.

“Put him in the room. If he starts screaming, put him back in the box.”

Ben said, “I won't scream. Who was that? Was that my mama?”

Mike didn't tell him or answer any of his other questions. Eric locked him in an empty bedroom with giant sheets of plywood nailed over the windows, and told him to get some sleep, but Ben couldn't. He tried to pull the plywood off the windows, but it was nailed too tight. He spent the rest of the night huddled at the door, trying to hear them through the crack. Sometime during the middle of the night he heard Eric and Mazi laughing. He listened harder, hoping to find out what they were going to do with him, but they never once mentioned him. They talked about Africa and Afghanistan, and how they had chopped off some guy's legs. Ben stopped listening and hid in the closet the rest of the night.

Late the next morning, Eric opened the door.

“Let's go. We're bringing you home.”

Just like that, they were letting him go. Ben didn't trust that Eric was telling the truth, but he wanted to go home so badly that he pretended it was real. Eric made him go to the bathroom, then marched him through the house to the garage. Eric was wearing a baggy plaid shirt with its tail hanging out. When he reached to open the door to the garage, his shirt pulled tight and Ben saw a pistol outlined at the small of his back. Eric hadn't been wearing the gun yesterday.

The garage was heavy with the smell of paint. They had painted the van brown and covered the writing on its sides. Mazi was waiting behind the wheel. Mike was already gone. Eric led Ben to the rear of the van.

Eric said, “Me and you are gonna ride in back. Here's the deal on that: I won't tie you up if you sit still and keep your mouth shut. If we stop at a red light or somethin' and you start screaming, I'll shut you up good, then it's the bag. We clear on that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm not fuckin' with you. Somethin' happens like we get pulled over by the cops, you smile and pretend like you're having a great time. You come through on that, we'll bring you home. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ben would have said anything; he just wanted to go home.

Eric lifted him into the back of the van, then pulled the door. The garage door clambered open as Mazi started the engine. Eric spoke into a cell phone.

“We're go.”

They backed out into the street, then drove down the hill. The van was a big windowless cavern with two seats up front and nothing in back except a spare tire, a roll of duct tape, and some rags. Eric sat on the tire with the phone in his lap, and made Ben sit next to him. Ben could see the street past Mazi and Eric, but not much else. Ben wondered if what they had said last night was true, about cutting off legs.

“Where are we going?”

“We're taking you home. We gotta see a man, first, but then you'll go home.”

Ben sensed that Eric was telling him that he was going home so that he would behave. Ben glanced at the van's doors, deciding that he would run if he got the chance. When he turned forward again, Mazi was watching him through the mirror. Mazi's eyes went to Eric.

“He go-eeng tu run.”

“Fuckit. He's cool.”

“Ewe fuhk up ah-gain, Mike weel keel ewe.”

“These D-boys take everything too serious. Everything's a fuckin' opera. The kid's cool. Kid, you cool?”

Ben wondered what a D-boy was and if Eric was talking about Mike.

“Uh-huh.”

Mazi's eyes lingered on Ben a moment longer, then returned to the road.

They wound their way out of the hills along a residential street that Ben didn't recognize, then climbed onto the freeway. It was a bright clear day and the traffic moved well. Ben saw the Capitol Records Building and then the Hollywood Sign.

“This isn't the way to my house.”

“Told you. We gotta see someone first.”

Ben snuck another glance at the doors. Handles were set into each door, but Ben didn't see anything that looked like a lock. Ben checked to see if Mazi was watching him, but now Mazi was watching the road.

The downtown skyscrapers grew in the windshield like giraffes huddled together on an African plain. Mazi lifted his hand with the fingers spread wide. Eric picked up the phone.

“Five out.”

They left the freeway, slowing as they curved down the ramp. Ben looked at the doors again. They would probably stop at a traffic light or stop sign at the bottom of the ramp. If Ben made it out of the van, the people in the other cars would see him. He didn't think that Eric would shoot him. Eric would chase him, but even if Eric caught him, the other people would call the police. Ben was scared, but he told himself to do it. All he had to do was pull the handle and shove open the door.

The van slowed as it reached the bottom of the ramp. Ben edged toward the door.

Eric said, “Easy.”

Eric and Mazi were watching him. Eric took Ben's arm.

“We're not stupid, kid. That African up there, he can read your mind.”

Mazi looked back at the road.

They turned between a row of faded warehouses, then over a little bridge along more buildings with lots of spray-paint art and chain-link fences. Ben couldn't see much past Mazi, but the buildings looked abandoned and empty. The van stopped.

Eric spoke into the phone.

“The Eagle has landed.”

Eric listened for a moment, then put away the phone. He pulled Ben toward the doors.

“I'm gonna open the doors, but we're not getting out, so don't go nuts.”

“You said I was going home.”

Eric's grip tightened.

“You are, but first we're gonna do this. When I open the doors, you're gonna see a couple of cars. Mike's here with another guy. Don't start screaming or trying to get out, 'cause I'll fuckin' knock you out. The other guy just wants to see you're okay. If you're cool, we'll give you to him and he'll take you home. You good with that?”

“Yes! I wanna go home!”

“Okay, here we go.”

Eric pushed open the door.

Ben squinted at the suddenly bright light, but he stayed quiet and didn't move. Mike was with a large thick man that Ben didn't know in front of two parked cars less than ten feet away. The man looked into Ben's eyes, and nodded, the nod saying, you're going to be okay. Mike was talking to someone else on his phone.

Mike said, “Okay, here he is.”

Mike held the phone to the other man's ear so that the other man could talk while Mike still held the phone.

The other man said, “I see him. He's upright and alert. He looks okay.”

Mike took back the phone.

“You heard that?”

Mike listened, then spoke into the phone again.

“Now I want you to hear something else.”

Mike moved so quickly that Ben didn't understand what was happening even as Mike put a gun to the big man's head and fired one time. Ben jumped at the unexpected explosion. The big man crumpled sideways onto the car, then tumbled off. Mike held the phone near the gun and shot him a second time. Ben moaned from a terrible pressure in his chest, and Eric held him close.

Mike spoke into the phone again.

“You hear that, too? That was me killing the asshole you sent. No negotiations, no second chances—the clock is running.”

Mike turned off his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He came to the van. Ben tried to twist away, but Eric held tight.

“He cool?”

“He's cool. Fuck, dude, that was harsh. You mean business.”

“They understand that now.”

Mike stroked Ben's head with an unexpected kindness. Ben stared at the body as it sank in a growing red pool.

Mike said, “You're okay, son.”

Mike pulled off Ben's left shoe. Eric carried Ben out of the van past the body and put him into Mike's backseat. Eric got in with him. Mazi was already behind the wheel. They drove away, leaving Mike with the body.