Friday, 11:36 P.M.
Pearblossom, California
It was late when Mikkelson and Dreyer found Krupchek's trailer, a thirty-foot Caravan split at the seams, waiting for them at the end of a paved road in Pearblossom, a farm community of fruit orchards and day workers in the low foothills at the base of the Antelope Valley. That was Mikkelson's notion when they finally found the damned place, that it was waiting, wide, flat, and dusty, the way a desert toad waits for a bug.
Dreyer swiveled the passenger-side floodlight and lit up the place. Somewhere under the dust, it was pale blue going to rust.
Dreyer, more cautious by nature, said, 'You think we should wait for Palmdale?'
Mikkelson, anxious to get inside, said, 'Why'd we go to the trouble of getting the warrant, if we're gonna wait? We don't have to wait. Leave the light.'
Krupchek's road ran the gut of a shallow canyon between two low ridges. No streetlights, no cable TV, no nothing out here; they had phone service and power, but that was about it; the sun went down, it was black.
Mikkelson, tall and athletic, behind the wheel because she got carsick when Dreyer drove, got out first. Dreyer, short and square, came up beside her, the rocky soil crunching. Both had their Maglites. They stood there, staring at the trailer, both a little bit nervous.
'You think anyone is home?'
'We'll find out.'
'You think that's his car?'
'We'll run the tag when we finish inside.'
An eighties-era Toyota Camry, itself dusty and speckled with rust, sat outside the darkened trailer.
They were late getting here, having gone to the Rooneys' apartment first, where they'd had to dick around with his landlord and the goofy woman who lived above them, the stupid cow asking over and over if she was going to be on the news. Mikkelson had wanted to slap her. When they had finally come up to Pearblossom, finding the trailer had been a bitch because it was dark and these little roads weren't marked, most of them, so they'd had to stop to ask directions three times. The last stop, a Mexican up from Zacatecas who worked for rich women as a stable groom, turned out to live next door. Here's the Mexican, a small man with his small wife and six or seven small children, saying that Krupchek kept to himself, never any sounds, never any trouble, had only spoken with Krupchek the one time someone had left a heart carved of bone on their step, the Mexican walking over that evening to ask if it was Krupchek, Krupchek saying no, then closing the door. No help there.
Mikkelson said, 'Let's go.'
They approached the trailer, then walked from end to end, just looking. It was like they didn't want to touch it, these creepy feelings you get.
Dreyer said, 'How do we get in? We look for a key or something?'
'I don't know.'
Here they had the warrant, but how did they get in? They hadn't thought of that.
Mikkelson rapped on the door with her Maglite, calling, 'Anyone in there? This is the police.'
She did that twice, getting no answer, then tried the door, one of those flimsy knobs that was tougher than it looked. It was locked.
'We could jimmy it, I guess.'
'Maybe we should try to find the landlord, have him open it.'
The Mexican had told them that all the land along the road was owned by a man named Brennert, who rented out the properties, mostly to migrant farmworkers.
'Shit, that'll take forever. We'll just pop the damned thing.'
Dreyer made a dogged face, unhappy.
'I don't want to pay for breaking it.'
'We've got the warrant, we're not going to have to pay.'
'You know the bastard might sue, not Krupchek but Brennert. You know how people are.'
'Oh, hell.'
Dreyer could be like that. He was terrified of getting sued. They talked about it all the time, how police officers were sued right and left these days just for doing their jobs, Dreyer hatching plans to put everything in his wife's name to protect it from the lawyers.
Mikkelson got the tire iron from their trunk, wedged it in the jamb by the knob, and popped the door. She put her back into it because these damned things were always stronger than they looked.
A smell like simmering mustard greens rolled out at them.
'Jesus, does this guy ever wash?'
Mikkelson leaned inside, feeling full of herself because this was the first time she had ever broken into a property with the full force of the law behind her and it felt pretty damned cool.
'Anyone home? Knock, knock, knock, it's your friendly neighborhood police.'
'Cut the crap.'
'Relax. There's no one in here.'
Mikkelson found the light switch and stepped inside. The interior of the trailer was dingy and cramped with tattered furniture in listless colors, stifling with accumulated heat.
Dreyer said, 'Well, okay, now what?'
But it was Dreyer who saw them first, having turned to the kitchen, Dreyer saying, 'Jesus, look at that.'
It would have been funny except there were so many of them; five or six boxes, maybe, or even ten or twelve, and Mikkelson would have laughed, making a joke, but the overwhelming sight of so many screamed insanity in a way that made her cringe. Later, the Sheriff's forensics people would count: Seven hundred sixteen Count Chocula boxes, empty, flattened, and folded, all neatly bound with cord, stacked against the walls and on the kitchen counters and in the cupboards in great teetering towers, each box mutilated in exactly the same way, a single cigarette burn, charred and black, on the point of Count Chocula's nose. They would understand the burns later, too.
Dreyer, not getting the same creepy read as Mikkelson, went for the joke.
'You think he got something good for all these box tops?'
'Put on your gloves.'
'What?'
'The gloves. Let's be careful here.'
'It's cereal, for chrissake.'
'Just put on the gloves.'
'You think he ate it?'
'What?'
'All this cereal. You think he eats it? Maybe he just scrounges for the boxes. There must be a giveaway, you know, a contest.'
The Caravan was cut into three sections, the kitchen to their right, the living room where they entered, the bedroom to their left, all of it cramped and claustrophobic, littered with free newspapers, Jack-in-the-Box wrappers, soiled clothes, and beer cans; the little kitchen with a tiny sink, an electric range, a half-size refrigerator.
Mikkelson, ignoring Dreyer's speculations, moved left to the bedroom, pulling on the vinyl disposable gloves, wondering about the smell. At the door, she lit up the bed with her Maglite, saw stained sheets in a rumpled mess, paper and clothes on the floor, and the jars.
'Dreyer. I think we should call.'
Dreyer stepped up behind, his own light beam dancing into the room.
'Shit. What is that?' Dreyer's voice was hushed.
Mikkelson stepped in, holding out her light. Gallon-sized glass jars lined the walls, jars that you get when you buy the big pickles in one of those discount stores, lining the walls, stacked to windows that were latched tight to hold out the air. Shapes floated in the jars, suspended in yellow fluid. Some of the jars were so jammed with fleshy shapes there was almost no fluid.
'Goddamn. I think it's rats.'
'Jesus.'
Mikkelson squatted for a better look, wanting to cover her mouth, maybe put on a gas mask or something so she wouldn't have to breathe the fetid air.
'Shit, it's squirrels. He's got squirrels in here.'
'Fuck this. I'm calling.'
Dreyer left, keying his radio as he fled to the safer night air.
Mikkelson backed out of the room, stood in the door, thinking what to do. She knew she should go through Krupchek's things, look for identifying information, family phone numbers, things like that which might help Talley at the scene. She went back to the kitchen, looking for the phone, figuring to find what she needed there.
Mikkelson, thoroughly creeped out, stood by the phone but stared at the oven. She had this creepy feeling, she would later say, that's all there was to it; the smell, the squirrels, all those mutilated boxes. She took a deep breath as if she were about to plunge into cold water and jerked open the oven.
More Count Chocula.
Mikkelson laughed at herself. Ha ha, like what else did she expect to find?
Tension now gone, she opened the cupboards, one after the other, all with Count Chocula, bound and burned. She returned to the phone, but hesitated again, then found herself standing at the refrigerator.
Outside, Dreyer called, 'You coming out?'
'I'm okay.'
'Wait out here. The Sheriffs are sending detectives.'
'Dreyer?'
'What?'
'You ever notice, a refrigerator is like a white coffin standing on end?'
'Jesus, would you just come out?'
The refrigerator came open without effort, empty and strangely clean against the squalor of the trailer, no soda, no beer, no leftovers, just white enamel that had been lovingly polished. This refrigerator, Mikkelson would later testify, was the cleanest thing in the trailer.
A thin metal door was set in the top of the box; the freezer. Her hand had a mind of its own, reaching out, pulling the door. Her first thought was that it was a cabbage, wrapped in foil and Saran Wrap. She stared at it, stared hard, then closed the doors, never once, not once, tempted to touch that thing in the freezer.
Mikkelson left the trailer to wait with Dreyer in the hot night air, the two of them saying nothing, waiting for the Sheriffs, Mikkelson thinking, Let them touch it.
Friday, 11:40 P.M.
Santa Clarita, California
Howell took three rooms in the Comfort Inn, all at the rear of the motel with outside entrances. Marion Clewes had the woman and the girl bound hand and foot in one room, tape over their eyes and mouths. Howell had checked to make sure they were secure, then went back to his own room even though the place smelled of cleaning products and new carpets. He didn't like being around Clewes.
Howell was sitting on his bed when he received the call from Ken Seymore, his heart trying to jump out of his nose as he heard that Walter Smith had been removed from the house.
'Did the cops go in? What the fuck is happenin' out there?'
'No one went in, it was just Smith coming out.'
'He just walked out?'
'They carried him. He's fucked up. One of the pricks in there must've beaten him. They took him out in an ambulance.'
Howell sat silent for a moment, thinking. Smith out while his kids were still inside was a problem. Smith in the hospital where they'd pop him full of dope, get him high, that was a problem, too.
'Did anything else come out of that house?'
'Nothing they're telling the news pool.'
Howell hung up and immediately phoned information for the Canyon Country Hospital's phone number and address, then called the hospital for directions off the freeway. He found the location in his Thomas Guide to double-check the directions, then he used his cell phone to call Palm Springs.
Phil Tuzee answered. Howell filled him in, then waited as Tuzee talked it over with the others. It was Sonny Benza who came back on the line.
'This is fuckin' bad, Glen.'
'I know.'
'He have the disks on him?'
'I don't know, Sonny. I just heard about this two minutes ago. It just happened. I'm going to send someone over.'
'Find out if he has the disks and see if he's been talking to anyone. That won't be good if he's talking. His kids are still in that house?'
'Yeah.'
'Sonofabitch.'
Howell knew they were all thinking the same thing; a man desperate to save his kids might say anything. Howell tried to sound hopeful.
'They say he's fucked up pretty bad. I don't know that for sure, Sonny, but if he's unconscious he can't be talking. The press pool out there is talking a concussion with possible brain injury. They make it sound like the guy's in a coma.'
'Listen, don't tell me anything you don't know for sure. I wipe my ass with rumors. You just hold your shit tight out there and take care of this.'
'It's tight.'
'That's why those pricks let him out, he's hurt? Maybe we'll get lucky and the fucker will die.'
'Talley talked them into letting him out.'
'You know something, Glen? That doesn't sound like your shit is tight. That sounds like the fuckin' wheels are comin' off. Do I have to come out there myself?'
'No way, Sonny. I got it.'
'I want those goddamned disks.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I don't want Smith talking, not to anyone, you understand?'
'I understand.'
'You know what I'm saying?'
'I know.'
'Okay.'
Benza hung up. It was their call; they had made it. Howell picked up the hotel phone and called two rooms down.
'Come over here. I got something for you to do.'
Friday, 11:52 P.M.
Talley checked the time, then took out the Watchman's Nokia and checked its charge. Crazy thoughts of holding a gun to the doctor's head flashed like pinwheels through his mind. Smith knew who was behind this. Smith knew who had his family. Talley paced the mouth of the cul-de-sac, his thoughts kaleidoscoping between Amanda and Jane, and Dennis Rooney. Maddox and Ellison had the phone again, but Dennis refused to answer their calls and had taken his own phone off the hook. Talley sensed that Dennis was working through something, but Talley didn't know what.
When the phone rang Talley again thought it was the Nokia, but it was his private line.
Larry Anders said, 'Chief? Can you talk?'
Anders's voice was low, as if he were trying to keep his words private. Talley lowered his own voice even though no one was near.
'Go, Larry.'
'I'm with Cooper here in the city planner's office. Man, that guy was pissed. He didn't want to get up.'
Talley took out his notepad.
'First tell me about the cell number. You run that yet?'
'I had to get a telephone for that. It's unlisted, so the cell company didn't want to release.'
'Telephone' meant that Anders had to get a telephonic search warrant.
'Okay.'
'The number is registered to Rohiprani Bakmanifelsu and Associates. It's a jewelry company in Beverly Hills. You want me to try to contact them?'
'Forget it. It's a dead end.'
Talley knew without hearing more that the cell number had been cloned and stolen. Since Bakmanifelsu hadn't yet deactivated it, he hadn't yet discovered the pirated activity on his account; the number had probably been cloned within his past billing period.
'What about the Mustang?'
'There's nothing, Chief. I ran wants for the past two model years. We got sixteen hits for cars that were still unrecovered, but nothing green came up.'
'Were any of them stolen today?'
'No, sir. Not even in the past month.'
Talley let it go.
'Okay. What about the building permits?'
'We can't find any of that, but we might not need'm. The planner knew the developer who opened York Estates, a man named Clive Briggs. It used to be nothing but avocado orchards out there.'
'Okay.'
'I just got off the phone with him. He says that the contractor who built the Smiths' house is probably at Terminal Island.'
Terminal Island was the federal prison in San Pedro.
'What do you mean, probably?'
'Briggs didn't know for sure, but he remembered the contractor. The guy's name was Lloyd Cunz. Briggs remembers because he liked the guy's work so much that he tried to hire him for another development he had goin', but Cunz turned him down. He was based in Palm Springs, he said, and they didn't want to take any more long-range jobs.'
'The contractor came all the way from Palm Springs?'
'Not just the contractor. He brought his crew: The carpenters, the cement people, plumbers, electricians, everybody. He didn't hire anyone locally. He said it was to keep up the quality of the work. Three or four years later, Briggs tried to hire Cunz again and learned that he'd been indicted on racketeering and hijacking charges. He was out of business.'
Talley knew that a builder wouldn't bring an entire construction crew that far unless he was building something he didn't want the locals to know about. Talley already had a sense of where this was going. Organized crime.
'Did you run Cunz through the computer yet?'
'Well, I'm still here at the planner.'
'When you get back to the office, run him and see what you get.'
'You're thinking these guys are in organized crime, aren't you?'
'Yeah, Larry. That's what I'm thinking. Let me know what you find.'
'I won't tell anyone.'
'No. Don't.'
Talley closed his phone and stared at the cul-de-sac. Walter Smith was almost certainly a member of organized crime. The Watchman was probably his partner, and the disks probably contained evidence that could put them away. The pressure he felt was like an inflating balloon in his head and chest. Talley knew that he was losing control of the scene, and of the events that would soon happen. When the Watchman's phony FBI agents arrived, he would have even less control, and that would put the people in the house in even greater jeopardy. The Watchman didn't care who died; he just wanted the disks.
Talley wanted the disks, too. He wanted to know what was on them. These people would never have taken Talley's family if the disks in Smith's house didn't pose a terrible threat to them. They feared those disks being discovered more than they feared the investigation that would come from having kidnapped Talley's family. They figured they could survive the investigation, but they knew the disks would make them fall. That meant the disks named names.
Talley believed that he and his family would not survive the night. The men in the car, they could not afford to trust that the police couldn't build a case against them for what was happening here. They would not take that chance. Talley was absolutely certain that as soon as the Watchman had the disks, he would murder all three of them. Talley wanted the disks first. He thought he knew how to get them.
Talley trotted into the cul-de-sac to join Maddox and Ellison at their car.
'He answer your calls yet?'
Ellison sipped black coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
'Negative. Phone company says he's still got it unplugged.'
'You guys have a P.A. in this car?'
'No. What're you thinking?'
Talley duck-walked to the lone Bristo car that remained in the street. He grabbed the mike, then flipped on the public address system. Maddox had followed him over, curious.
'What are you doing?'
'Sending a message.'
Talley keyed the mike.
'This is Talley. I need you to call me.'
His voice echoed over the neighborhood. The officers around the perimeter glanced at him.
'If it's safe, call me.'
Talley didn't expect Rooney to call. He wasn't talking to Rooney.
Rooney's voice answered from the house.
'Fuck you!'
Ellison laughed.
'It was a good try.'
Maddox said, 'What was that about being safe?'
Talley didn't answer. He tossed the microphone into the car, then crept to the far side of the cul-de-sac, where he sat on the curb behind the patrol cars. He wanted the boy. He hoped that Thomas would understand that Talley had been asking him to call.
His phone rang almost at once.
'Talley.'
It was Sarah, sounding excited.
'Chief, it's the little boy again.'
Talley's heart raced. If Smith couldn't tell him who had his family, maybe the disks could.
'Thomas? You okay, son?'
The boy sounded calm.
'I wasn't sure you were talking to me. Is my daddy okay?'
This time Thomas sounded even more hushed than before/his voice a whisper. Talley turned up the volume on his phone, but still could barely hear him.
'He's in the hospital over in Canyon Country. What about you and your sister? Are you all right?'
'Yeah. She's not in her room anymore. They took her downstairs. I thought they were doing something bad to her, but they didn't know how to use the microwave.'
'Are you in any danger right now?'
'Uh-uh.'
Talley stared out of the cul-de-sac. The Sheriff's tactical units were in their positions behind the radio cars. Hicks and Martin would be in the command van, waiting for something to happen. Talley remembered his first day with SWAT, how a sergeant-supervisor told him that SWAT stood for Sit, Wait, and Talk. Talley's eyes welled as he fought to control his fear. He put his thoughts on the children in the house. If Talley thought either Thomas or Jennifer was in immediate mortal danger, he would launch the breach. He would launch without hesitation. He believed that they were not.
'How's your battery on that cell phone?'
'Ah, it's showing half a charge, maybe a little less. I turn it off when I'm not using it.'
'Good. Can you plug it into a charger when you're not using it?'
'Uh-uh. All the chargers are downstairs. My mom does that 'cause everyone else forgets.'
Talley worried that if the boy's battery failed, they would lose communication, but all he could do was press ahead and move fast.
'Okay, Thomas, turn it off when we're not talking and conserve as much power as possible, okay?'
'Okay.'
'Your dad has business partners. Do you know who they are?'
'Uh-uh.'
'He ever mention names?'
'I don't remember.'
'Was he working in his office today?'
'Uh-huh. He was trying to finish something because a client was coming to pick it up.'
Talley had trouble taking it to the next level, but he knew that this boy was his wife's and daughter's only chance.
'Thomas, I need your help with something. It might be easy or it might be dangerous. If you think those guys in there could find out and hurt you, then I don't want you to do it, okay?'
'Sure!'
The boy was excited. He was a boy. He didn't understand risk.
'Your dad has a couple of computer disks. I'm not sure, but they're probably on his desk or in his briefcase. He was probably working with them today. They're called Zip disks. You know what that is?'
Thomas made a derisive snort.
'I've had a Zip drive for years, Chief. Jeez. Zip disks are big and thick. They hold more information than regular disks.'
'These disks are labeled disk one and disk two. When you're downstairs in the office again, could you get to your dad's desk? Could you find those disks and try to see whose files they are?'
'No, they wouldn't let me go to the desk. Dennis makes me sit on the floor.'
The slim hope that Talley had felt only moments before withered. Then Thomas went on.
'But I might be able to sneak into the office if they're not around. Then I could just swipe the disks and open them on my computer up here in my room.'
'I thought they locked you in your room.'
'They do, but I can get out.'
'You can?'
Talley listened as Thomas described being able to move through the crawl space in the eaves and attic, and how he was able to emerge in different parts of the house through access hatches.
'Thomas, could you get to his office that way, through the crawl space?'
'Not into his office, but I can get into the den. There's a service door in the wine cellar behind the bar. It's right across from my dad's office. My mom says she can always tell when he sneaks across one time too many.'
Talley's hope surfaced again, but it was dampened by the knowledge that he could not allow this child to risk his life.
'That sounds too dangerous.'
'It won't be if they don't see me. Mars spends most of his time in the office, but Kevin is back by the French doors. Dennis walks around a lot. He stays in the safety room sometimes, the one where all the monitors are. But once I'm in the den, all I have to do is sneak across the entry and go to my dad's desk. That wouldn't take any time at all.'
Talley thought it through, trying not to let the need he felt cloud his judgment. He would have to get all three subjects away from that area of the house. He would have to blind the cameras in case one or all of the subjects were in the safety room with the monitors.
'If I could get Rooney and the others away from the office, do you think you could get the disks without being caught?'
'No problemo.'
'Could you do it in the dark?'
'I do stuff like that almost every night.'
Thomas laughed when he said it. Talley didn't laugh. He was supposed to help this child; now he wanted this child to help him. He felt as much a hostage as Thomas or Jane, and hoped that he could forgive himself for what he was about to do.
'All right, son. Let's figure this out.'
The night air was so clear that the houses and cars and cops in the street all seemed etched in glass. House lights, street lamps, and the red flares of cigarettes were hard sharp points of glare; overhead, the helicopters floated against the star field like nighthawks balanced on the sky, waiting for something to die. Talley checked his watch and knew the Watchman would call again soon. Thomas was still up in his room and the sister was still cooking, but that could change at any moment. Talley didn't have much time.
Talley found Jorgenson and brought him to the Department of Water and Power truck. The DWP technician, a young guy with a shaved head and a braided chin beard, was stretched across the bench seat of his truck, sleeping. Talley shook his foot.
'Can you cut the power to the house?'
The service tech rubbed at his face, blotchy with sleep.
'I could do that, yeah. Good to go.'
'Not now. You turn it off, that means all the power in the house goes off, not just in part of the house?'
Talley couldn't afford a mistake, and neither could Thomas.
The tech slid out of his truck. The manhole was open. A short aluminum fence circled it as a warning.
'Not just the one house, the entire cul-de-sac. I control the branch line from here. I cut the juice, it's all going dead. If I set up there in the cul-de-sac I could cut it just to a single house, but they told me out here.'
'Out here is fine. How long does that take, to cut the power?'
'On-off, like flipping a switch.'
'The phones won't be affected?'
'I got nothin' to do with that.'
Talley left Jorgenson with the technician, then radioed Martin to have Hicks and Maddox meet him at the command van. Martin answered stiffly.
'Listen, I appreciate that you talked Rooney into releasing Mr. Smith, but then you walked away without a word. You want command, you have to stay available. We might have needed to clear an action, but you weren't here.'
Talley felt defensive, but also resentful that she was calling him on this and wasting time.
'I didn't walk away. I was with Maddox and Ellison, and then I made some calls.'
He didn't tell her that he had spoken with Thomas.
'You have command of this action, but please don't try any more stunts without including me in the loop. If you want my cooperation, then you have to keep me informed.'
'What are you talking about?'
'I heard you on the public address, ordering Rooney to call you. That's why we have negotiators.'
'Maddox was right beside me.'
'He claims you did that without consulting him.'
'Can we talk about this later, Captain? Right now I want to deal with Rooney.'
Martin agreed to have Hicks and Maddox meet him in the command van. When Talley arrived, he still did not tell them that he had spoken with Thomas again, nor the true reasons for everything he was about to do.
'We know that Rooney is sensitive to the perimeter. I want to cut the power to the house, then shake him up with a Starflash to make him start talking.'
A Starflash was a shotgun-fired grenade built of seven to twelve submunitions that exploded like a string of powerful firecrackers. It was used to disorient armed subjects during a breach.
Hicks crossed his arms.
'You're going to fire into the house with the gas in there?'
'No, outside. We need to get his attention. The last time I pushed the perimeter, we didn't have to call him because he called us.'
Martin glanced at Maddox. Maddox nodded. So did Hicks.
Martin shrugged, then looked back at Talley.
'I guess you're in command.'
They were on.
Thomas listened at his door. The hall was quiet. He edged back along the walls to his closet, and then into the crawl space. He stopped to listen at each vent. Jennifer was still in the kitchen, but he couldn't hear anyone else. All he needed was a laugh or cough or sneeze to fix their locations, but he heard nothing.
Thomas's house was shaped like a short, wide U with the wide base of it facing the cul-de-sac and the stubby arms reaching toward the pool. Most of the crawl space followed the inside of the U except for a branch into a dead space above the wine cellar. Thomas had always thought it weird that they called it a cellar when it was just a little room behind the bar in the den.
It wasn't easy to reach. The wine cellar had its own air-conditioning system, a single compressor that hung in the dead space, suspended from the rafters by four chains and filling the crawl space with its width. Thomas had to wiggle under the compressor to reach the hatch on the far side; there was no way around. Thomas had squeezed under it before, but not often, and he was smaller then. He lay on his back and inched under. Flat like that, his nose still scraped the compressor's smooth flat bottom. It smelled damp.
When he reached the hatch side of the compressor he was wet with sweat. The dust that covered him turned to slick mud. It had taken a lot longer to get under it than he thought.
Thomas listened at the access hatch. After a few seconds, he slowly lifted the hatch. The wine cellar was empty and dark. It was a long narrow room lined with floor-to-ceiling wine racks, kept at a chilly fifty-two degrees. Thomas clicked on his flashlight, wedged it in the rack against one of the bottles, then turned himself around to dangle his feet and feel for footing. In a few moments he had reached the floor.
He eased open the door. The den beyond was bright with light. He could hear the TV in his father's office across the hall and Jennifer in the kitchen. He heard a male voice, but he couldn't tell if it was Dennis or Mars; he was pretty sure it wasn't Kevin.
The den was a cozy, wood-paneled room that his father used for business meetings and smoking cigars. Two dark leather couches faced each other across a coffee table, and the shelves were filled with books that his dad liked to read for fun, old books about hunting in Africa and science fiction novels that his father told him were worth a lot of money to collectors. A bar lined by four leather stools filled one side of the room. It was the one room in the house where Thomas's mom let his father smoke, though she made him close the doors when he had the stogies fired up. Thomas's father liked calling them 'stogies.' It made him smile.
All Thomas had to do to reach the office was cross the den to the double doors, then run across the hall. To his right would be the front door; to his left, the entry hall that led to the kitchen and back of the house.
Thomas took out his cell phone and turned it on.
He called Chief Talley.
Talley checked his radio.
'Jorgenson?'
'Here, Chief.'
'Stand by.'
Talley was at the rear of Smith's property with a Sheriff's tac officer named Hobbs. Hobbs had a Remington Model 700 sniper rifle fitted with a night-vision scope. The chamber was clear and the magazine empty. Talley carried a shotgun fixed with the Starflash grenade.
'Let me see.'
Talley took the rifle from Hobbs and focused the scope on the French doors. He had been peering over the top of the wall for almost six minutes, waiting for Thomas to call. Jennifer and Krupchek were in the kitchen. He thought Kevin was in the family room, but he wasn't sure. Dennis passed through the kitchen twice. He had exited toward the master bedroom three minutes earlier and had not returned. Talley thought he was probably in the safety room, watching the perimeter on the monitors.
Talley's phone rang. He was expecting it, but he wasn't ready for it. He jumped, startled.
Hobbs whispered, 'Easy.'
Talley handed the rifle back to Hobbs, then answered, his voice low.
'Talley.'
Thomas whispered back at him.
'Hi, Chief. I'm in the den.'
Talley watched the shadows play on the French doors.
'Okay, bud. You ready? Just like we said?'
'Yeah. I won't get caught.'
'If there's any chance – any! – you get back up to your room.'
Talley felt like a liar even saying it. The whole thing was a chance.
'Here we go.'
Talley keyed his shoulder mike.
'Kill the lights.'
The house plunged into darkness.
Dennis sat at Walter Smith's desk, watching television. Kevin was back by the French doors, and Mars had the girl in the kitchen. All but two of the local stations had resumed regular programming, breaking in every few minutes with an aerial shot of York Estates, but the national cable channels didn't bother. Dennis felt slighted. He watched MTV with the sound low, black guys with blond hair pretending to be gangsters. He pointed his pistol at them, try this, motherfuckers.
Dennis had progressed from vodka on the rocks to vodka from the bottle, racking his brain for a way he could escape with the money. He was pissed off and frustrated, and grew scared that Kevin was right: That he wouldn't be able to get away with the cash, and that he would go back to being just another shitbag in a cell. Dennis took another hit of the vodka, thinking that he'd rather be dead. Maybe he should just run. Stuff his pockets with as much cash as possible, torch the friggin' house like Mars said, then duck through the little window into the oleander and run like a bat out of hell. They would probably machine-gun him before he got ten feet, but what the hell, it was better than being a turd.
'Shit.'
Dennis left the office, went back to the bedroom, and put the suitcase on the bed. He stared at the cash. He touched the worn bills, silky smooth and soft. He wanted it so badly that his body trembled. Cars, women, clothes, dope, copper bars, Rolex watches, fine food, boats, homes, freedom, happiness. Everybody wanted to be rich. Didn't matter who you were or where you came from or how much money you had; everyone wanted more. It was the American Dream. Money.
The notion came to Dennis like a rush of Ecstasy as he stared at the money: Cops are poor. Cops wanted to be rich like everyone else. Maybe he could split the loot with Talley, trade cash for safe passage to Mexico, work out a scam so that the other cops wouldn't know, something like pretending to swap the hostages for Talley so that the two of them could drive down to TJ together, laughing all the way because the other cops wouldn't dare try to assassinate him if they thought Talley's life hung in the balance. He would even toss in Kevin and Mars; let'm have someone to swing for the Chinaman. Dennis grew excited as he spun through the possibilities. Everyone knew that cops didn't make shit for a living. How far would Talley go for a hundred thousand dollars? Two hundred thousand? A half a million?
Dennis decided to call Talley right away. He was halfway back to the office, thinking how best to persuade Talley that he could be a wealthy man, when the house died. The lights went out, the TV stopped, the background hum that fills all living homes vanished.
Kevin shouted from the other side of the house.
'Dennis? What happened?'
'It's the cops! Get those fuckin' kids!'
Blind in the darkness, Dennis rushed forward, following the wall. He expected to hear the doors crashing open at any second, and knew his only chance was to reach the girl or her fat brother.
'Kevin! Mars! Get those kids!'
Milky light from the French doors filled the family room. Kevin was behind the sofa; Mars was in the kitchen, holding the girl by her hair. Mars was smiling, the crazy bastard. Like this was fun.
'Told you they'd cut the power.'
Talley's amplified voice echoed through the house, not from the street this time, but from the backyard.
'Dennis? Dennis Rooney?'
Dennis wondered why Talley was behind the house.
'Dennis, it's time to talk.'
Then the backyard erupted: Explosions jumped and careened over the surface of the water like automatic gunfire. Star-bright flashes lit the backyard like a Chinese New Year parade. The world was going to hell.
Dennis threw himself behind the kitchen counter, waiting for it to end.
Thomas pushed out of the wine cellar as soon as the lights went off, slipped around the end of the bar, and scurried to the double doors. Dennis and Kevin were shouting, their voices coming from the family room. He knew he wouldn't have much time.
Thomas got down on his hands and knees, and peeked through the doorway. Across the hall, his father's office flickered with light from the candles. Thomas leaned farther out into the entry to see if anyone was coming. The hall was empty.
No guts, no glory.
Thomas ran across the hall into his father's office just as Chief Talley's voice boomed through the house. He knew that something loud was going to go off, so he tried to ignore all that. He concentrated on listening for footsteps.
Thomas went directly to the computer on his father's desk. He had brought his flashlight, but the candles gave enough light so that he didn't need it. The desk was scattered with papers, but he didn't see any disks. He checked the computer's Zip drive. It was empty. He lifted the papers around the computer and keyboard, but he didn't see any disks there, either.
A series of explosions cut through the house like a giant string of firecrackers. Thomas thought Dennis was shooting. Kevin shouted something, but Thomas didn't understand him. He was scared that they were on their way. He ran to the door to go back into the den, but stopped at the hall, listening. His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear, but he didn't think they were coming.
Chief Talley had told him not to spend more than a minute or two. He didn't have much time. He had used too much already.
Thomas looked across the entry hall to the safety of the den, then glanced back at the desk. A picture flashed in Thomas's memory: Earlier that day, after all the shooting, his father had tried to talk Dennis into getting a lawyer and giving up; he had gone to his desk, placed the disks in a black case, and put the case into the drawer. The disks were in the drawer!
Thomas went back to the desk.
The back of the house exploded with noise and light as if the Marines were hitting the beach. Dennis saw cops at the wall, lit by the glare from their lights, but they didn't rush the house.
Dennis thought, What the fuck?
Talley's voice echoed from the backyard.
'It's time to talk, Dennis. Me and you. Face-to-face. I want you to come out, just you, I'll meet you and we'll talk.'
Kevin scrambled into the kitchen on all fours, fast, like a cartoon.
'What are they doing? What's going on?'
Dennis didn't know. He was confused and suspicious, and then suddenly very afraid.
'Mars! Those fuckers are trying to blindside us! See what they're doing in front!'
Dennis grabbed the girl from Mars, who lurched to his feet and went down the hall.
The black leather case was a soft black leather folder about the size of a compact disk. The candlelight behind the desk was too dim to see into the drawer, so Thomas turned on his flashlight, cupping the lens to hide most of the light.
The case was in the top drawer.
It opened like a book. Each side had pockets to hold disks. Two disks were in the right pockets, labeled just as Chief Talley had described, disk one and disk two. Thomas was closing the drawer when he heard footsteps coming fast down the hall.
Thomas wanted to run, but it was too late.
The footsteps came fast!
They were coming to the office!
They were at the door!
Thomas turned off his flashlight and ducked under the desk. He pulled himself into a tight ball, hugging his knees, and he tried not to breathe.
Someone was in the room.
His father's desk was a great oak monster, heavy and ancient and as big as a boat (his dad jokingly called it the Lexington, after the aircraft carrier). It sat on curvy legs that left a small gap between the desk and the floor. Thomas saw feet. He thought it was Mars, but he couldn't be sure.
The feet went to the window.
Thomas heard the shutters snap open. Light from outside poured into the room. The shutters snapped closed.
The feet stayed at the shutters. Thomas imagined he must be peeking through the cracks.
Dennis shouted from the back of the house.
'What in hell's going on out there?'
It was Mars in the room. He stood at the shutters without moving.
'Goddamnit, Mars!'
The feet stepped away from the window, but Mars didn't leave. The feet turned toward the desk. Thomas tried to squeeze himself smaller. He hugged his legs so tight that his arms hurt.
The feet took a step toward the desk.
'Mars! What the fuck are they doin'?'
The feet walked to the end of the desk. Thomas tried to close his eyes; he tried to look away, but he couldn't. He watched the feet as if they were snakes.
'Mars!'
The feet turned and left. Thomas followed them with his ears, down the hall, away, gone.
Thomas scrambled from under the desk and went to the door. He peeked down the hall, then ran across to the den.
He heard Chief Talley talking over the public address system as he pushed into the wine cellar, climbed the racks, and found the safety of the crawl space.
Talley knew that Rooney and the others would be panicked. They would believe that Talley had launched a breach and Dennis or one of the others would probably run to the front of the house to see what the Sheriffs were doing. Talley had to keep their attention focused here at the back of the house. On him.
'Is he still in the kitchen?'
Hobbs was peering through the night-vision scope.
'Yeah, him and the girl. He's trying to see us, but he can't see past the lights. The big one went down the hall. I don't see the brother.'
Talley keyed the portable P.A.
'We are not breaching the house, Dennis. We need to talk. Me and you. Face-to-face. I'm coming out to the pool.'
Martin and Hicks hustled toward him through the shadows. Martin wasn't happy.
'What face-to-face? We didn't discuss that.'
'I'm going out.'
Talley dropped the P.A. and heaved himself over the wall before she could say anything more. He wanted to draw Rooney's attention away from the front of the house even if it meant offering himself up to do it.
Martin's voice followed him over the wall.
'Damnit, Talley, all you'll do is make yourself a target.'
Talley walked to the edge of the pool and raised his voice.
'I'm unarmed. I'm not going to strip for you this time, so take my word for it. I'm unarmed, and I'm coming alone.'
Talley held his hands out from his sides, open palms forward, and walked toward the house along the side of the pool. A dark raft floated effortlessly on the water. A towel was spread on the deck, the radio that had played earlier silent, its batteries dead.
He reached the end of the pool nearest the house and stopped. A flashlight lay on the kitchen floor, its beam cutting a white slash that bounced off the counters. Talley raised his hands higher. Again, the bright lights behind him cast his shadow toward the house. It looked like a crucifix.
'Come out, Dennis. Talk to me.'
Dennis shouted from the house, his voice muffled through the closed French doors.
'You're fucking crazy!'
'No, Dennis. I'm tired.'
Talley walked closer.
'No one's going to hurt you. Not unless you hurt those kids.'
Talley stopped outside the French doors. He could see Dennis and Jennifer plainly now. Dennis held the girl with one hand, a pistol with the other. A shadow moved to Talley's left, deep in the family room, and Talley saw a slender figure. Kevin. He looked like a child. On the other side of the kitchen, opposite the family room, a hall disappeared into the house. Talley saw a flickering glow from a door. A large shape blocked the light, growing in the shadows. That would be Krupchek. Talley felt a well of relief; wherever the boy was, they didn't have him. He had to keep them focused. He spread his hands wider. He went closer.
'I'm standing here, Dennis. I'm looking at you. Come out and let's talk.'
Talley heard them talking, Dennis calling Kevin into the kitchen. Krupchek stood at the mouth of the hall now, floating in the darkness. He held something in his hands, a flashlight, a gun, Talley couldn't tell.
Dennis got to his feet and came to the French doors. He looked out past Talley, then tried to see the sides of the house, probably thinking he would be rushed if he opened the doors. Talley spoke calmly.
'No one here but me, Dennis. You have my word.'
Dennis placed his gun on the floor, then pushed open the door and stepped out. Talley knew that people always looked heavier in pictures, but Rooney was shorter and thinner than Talley would have guessed from the videotape, and younger.
Talley smiled, but Rooney didn't smile back.
'How ya doin', Dennis?'
'Had better days.'
'This has been a long one, I'll hand you that.'
Dennis tipped his head toward the far wall.
'You got a sniper out there, gonna shoot me?'
'If you tried to grab me, they probably would. Otherwise, no. We could have shot you from the wall if we wanted to do that.'
Dennis seemed to accept that.
'Can I come out there, closer to you?'
'Sure. It's all right.'
Dennis stepped away from the door and joined Talley out by the foot of the pool. Dennis took a deep breath, looking up at the stars as he let it out.
'Good to be outside.'
'I guess.'
Talley said, 'I'm going to lower my arms, okay?'
'Sure.'
Talley could see Kevin still with the girl in the kitchen and Krupchek still in the hall. The boy was inside somewhere, getting the disks. Talley hoped it wouldn't take long.
Talley said, 'We've been at this a long time now. What are you waiting for?'
'Would you be in a hurry to go to prison for the rest of your life?'
'I'd be doing everything I can to get the best deal possible. I'd let these people go, I'd cooperate, I'd let a lawyer do my talking. I'd be smart enough to realize that I'm surrounded by police officers and I'm not getting out of here except through their good graces.'
'I want that helicopter.'
Talley shook his head.
'It's what I said before, where's it going to land? I can't give you a helicopter. That's not going to happen.'
'Then a car. I want a car to take me to Mexico, a car and an escort and a free pass south of the border.'
'We've been through that.'
Rooney seemed to be working himself up to something. He waved his arm in a flash of anger.
'Then what fuckin' good are you?'
'I'm trying to save your life.'
Dennis glanced back into the house. Talley watched him, thinking that Rooney showed the day's strain. Finally, Rooney faced him again and lowered his voice still more.
'Are you a rich man?'
Talley didn't answer. He didn't know where Rooney was taking this. He had learned to let them get wherever they were going on their own.
Rooney patted his pocket.
'Can I reach in here, show you something?'
Talley nodded.
Rooney stepped closer. Talley couldn't make out what Rooney took from his pocket at first, but then he saw that it was money. Rooney seemed to be trying to shield it so that only Talley could see.
'That's fifty one-hundred-dollar bills, Chief. Five thousand dollars. I got a whole suitcase of this stuff in the house.'
Rooney pushed the bills back into his pocket.
'How much would it be worth to you, getting me out of here? A hundred thousand dollars? You could drive me down to Mexico, just me and you, no one the wiser, just tell the others that was the deal we made without mentioning any money. I wouldn't tell. They got money in this house, Chief. More money than you've ever seen in your life. We could carve it up.'
Talley shook his head.
'You picked a bad house to hole up in, Dennis.'
'Two hundred thousand, cash, hundred-dollar bills, right in your pocket, no one needs to know.'
Talley didn't answer. He wondered about Smith, what he did here in the middle of nowhere, here in the safe, anonymous community of Bristo Camino, with so much cash and information in his house that this kid was willing to die for it and the men in the car were willing to kill for it. Do you ever really know your neighbors?
'Give up, Dennis.'
Rooney wet his lips. His eyes flicked past Talley again, then back.
'You tryin' to drive up the price? Okay, three hundred. Three hundred thousand dollars. Could you ever earn that much? You can have Mars and Kevin. Fuckin' bust them. Make that part of the deal.'
'You don't know what you're dealing with. You can't buy your way out of this.'
'Everybody wants money! Everybody! I'm not giving this up!'
Talley stared at him, wondering how far to go. If Rooney quit now, Amanda and Jane might pay for it. But if Rooney quit now, walked out right now, Talley would have the disks. Once the Watchman's people arrived, Talley might not have the chance.
'This house isn't what you think it is. You believe some guy has this kind of cash just laying around in his house?'
'There's a million bucks in there, maybe two million! I'll give you half!'
'The man you sent to the hospital, Walter Smith, he's a criminal. That money belongs to him.'
Rooney laughed.
'You're lying. What a crock of shit.'
'He has partners, Dennis. This is their house, and they want it. The way I'm offering is the only way out for you.'
Rooney stared at him, then rubbed at his face.
'Fuck you, Talley. Just fuck you. You think I'm an idiot.'
'I'm telling you the truth. Give up. Work with me here, and at least you'll have your life.'
Rooney sighed, and Talley could see the sadness settle over him like a cloak.
'And what's that worth?'
'Whatever you make of it.'
'I'll go back in now. I'll think about it and give you my answer tomorrow.'
Talley knew that Dennis was lying. Talley had a sense for when they would give up and when they wouldn't, and Rooney had hold of something he couldn't turn loose.
'Please, Dennis.'
'Fuck off.'
Rooney backed to the door, then stepped inside and pulled it closed. The darkness inside swallowed him like dirty water.
Talley turned back to the officers lining the wall and walked away, praying that Thomas had the disks and was safe. Rooney wasn't the only one holding onto something he couldn't turn loose.
Saturday, 12:04 A.M.
Thomas dripped with sweat. His knees were cut from the rafters, and, where streaks of sweat washed the cuts, they burned. Thomas didn't care. He was excited and happy – dude, he was pumped!; this was the best sneak ever, better than any he'd made with Duane Fergus!
With the power off, Thomas didn't have to worry about being seen on the monitors. He pushed through the hatch into his closet, and crossed the room to his computer. He took the computer apart and lugged it to the floor at the foot of his bed so that he wouldn't be seen by the camera when the power returned. His hands were so sweaty that he almost dropped the screen and caught it on his knee.
The lights came on without warning. Thomas worried that the turds would probably come upstairs to check on him, so he hurried to load the first disk.
The file icon that appeared was unnamed. He double-clicked on the icon to open it. A list of corporate names appeared that Thomas didn't know anything about. He opened a random file, but saw only tables and numbers. Thomas felt a stab of fear that he had snatched the wrong disks even though these were the only disks. Nothing that he saw made sense to him, but these were the disks Chief Talley wanted, so maybe the Chief would understand.
Thomas stopped in his work to listen for squeaks. The hall was quiet.
Thomas turned on his phone again, but this time the power indicator showed that less than half the power remained. He was down to almost a quarter of a charge.
Thomas pushed his redial button to call Chief Talley.
Talley climbed back over the wall where Martin and Hicks were waiting for him. Martin was angry.
'That was really dumb. What do you think you accomplished?'
Talley hurried away without answering her. He didn't want her around when Thomas called. He radioed Maddox to recount his conversation with Rooney as he walked around the side of the neighbor's house, and kept it short. He left out that Rooney had told him about the enormous store of cash in the house, as that would raise too many questions, and felt terrible about it. Talley was a negotiator. Another negotiator was depending on him, and Talley was lying by omission. Maybe that was why he kept the call short; he couldn't stand himself for doing it.
His phone rang as he reached the cul-de-sac. He hurried into a neighboring drive, out of sight of the house, and stood by himself.
'I got'm!'
Talley forced himself to stay calm. He didn't have anything yet.
'Good work, son. You're back in your room now, right? You're safe?'
'That big guy, Mars, he almost caught me, but I hid. What was that thing you blew up in the backyard? That was so cool!'
'Thomas, when we're done with this, I'll let you blow up one of those things yourself, you want. But not now, okay? I need to know what's on those disks.'
'Numbers. I think it's somebody's taxes.'
'You've opened them?'
'I told you I could.'
Martin and Hicks came out of the neighboring drive and joined the other officers behind the police vehicles that filled the cul-de-sac, Martin working her way to Maddox. Talley moved farther away.
'You sure did, Thomas. Are those disks labeled?'
'Uh-huh. Just like you said, disk one and disk two.'
Tell me what you got when you opened them.'
'I got one open right now.'
'Okay, tell me what you see.'
Talley patted himself down for his pad and pen in case he had to write.
Thomas described a list of files named for companies that Talley didn't recognize, anonymous names like Southgate Holdings and Desert Entertainment. Then Thomas mentioned two more companies: Palm Springs Ventures and The Springs Winery. There was the Palm Springs connection: Smith's home had been built by a Palm Springs contractor. Talley had Thomas open the Palm Springs Ventures file, but from Thomas's descriptions it sounded like a balance sheet or some kind of profit-and-loss statement without identifying the individuals involved. Talley scratched down the names on his pad.
'Open the files and see if there are any names.'
After a second, Thomas said, 'All I see is numbers. It's money.'
'Okay. Open the other disk. Tell me what that one says.'
Even the few seconds that it took Thomas to change the disks seemed to take forever, Talley sweating every moment of it that the boy would be discovered. But then Thomas read off file names and Talley knew that this was the one: Black, White, Up Money, Down Money, Transfers, Source, Cash Receipts, and others. Thomas was still reading file names when Talley stopped him.
'That's enough. The file named Black. Open that one.'
'It's more files.'
'Named what?'
'I think it's states. CA, AZ, NV, FL. Is NV Nevada?'
'Yeah, that's Nevada. Open California.'
Thomas described a long table that went on for pages listing names that Talley didn't recognize, along with dates and payments received. Talley grew antsy. This was taking too much time.
'Read off more of the file names.'
Thomas read off six or seven more names when Talley stopped him again.
'Open that one. Corporate Taxes.'
'Now there's more numbers, but I think they're years. Ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, like that.'
'Open this year.'
'It's a tax form that my dad makes up to send to the government.'
'Up at the top of the page, does it say whose tax it is, maybe a company name?'
The boy didn't answer.
'Thomas?'
'I'm looking.'
Talley glanced toward the cul-de-sac. Martin was watching him. She held his eye for a moment, then said something to Hicks and came toward him, hunched over to stay under cover of the cars.
'It says Family Enterprises.'
'But there's no one's name?'
'Uh-uh.'
Talley wanted to look at the disks himself; if he could see them he knew he could find what he needed instead of depending on a ten-year-old boy.
'Look for something like Officers or Executive Compensation, something like that.'
Martin had cleared the line of police vehicles and was out of the line of fire from the house. She straightened and came toward him. He held up his hand to warn her off, but she frowned and kept coming.
Martin said, 'I want to talk to you.'
'In a minute.'
'It's important.'
Talley moved away from her, annoyed.
'When I'm off the phone.'
His tone stopped her. Martin's eyes hardened angrily, but she kept her distance.
Thomas said, 'Here it is.'
'You found the name?'
'Yeah, there's a place called Compensation to Officers, but there's only one guy listed.'
'Who?'
'Charles G. Benza.'
Talley stared at the ground. The cool night air suddenly felt close. Talley looked at the house, then glanced at Martin. Talley had been wrong. Walter Smith wasn't a mobster with something valuable in his house. The boy's father kept Sonny Benza's books. That's what it had to be: Smith was Benza's accountant, and he had Benza's financial records. It was all right there in Smith's house, enough to put Benza away and his organization out of business. Right here in Bristo Camino.
Talley sighed deeply, the breath venting from his core in a way that seemed to carry his strength with it. This was why people were willing to kidnap and murder. Smith could put them out of business. Smith knew their secrets and could put them away. The mob. The men in the car were the mob. The head of the largest crime family on the West Coast had Jane and Amanda.
Thomas's voice suddenly came fast and thin.
'Someone's coming. I gotta go.'
The line went dead.
Martin put her hands on her hips.
'Are you going to talk to me now?'
'No.'
Talley ran for his car. If the disks could put Benza away, so could Walter Smith. He radioed Metzger at the hospital as he ran.
Thomas heard the nail being pried from his door. He jerked the computer's plug from the wall, then vaulted onto his bed, shoving the cell phone under the covers as the door opened. Kevin stepped inside, carrying a paper plate with two slices of pizza and a Diet Coke.
'I brought you something to eat.'
Thomas pushed his hands between his crossed legs, trying to hide the fact that he wasn't tied, but the tape he'd stripped from his wrists was in plain sight on the floor. Kevin stopped when he saw it, then glared.
'You little shit. I oughta kick your ass.'
'It hurt my wrists.'
'Fuck it, I don't guess it matters anyway.'
Thomas was relieved that he didn't seem too upset. Kevin handed over the pizza and soda, then checked the nails that held the windows closed. Thomas worried that he would notice that the computer was in a different spot, but Kevin seemed inside himself.
Kevin made sure that the windows were secure, then leaned against the wall as if he needed the support to keep his feet. His eyes seemed to find everything in the room, every toy and book, every piece of furniture, the clothes strewn in the corner, the posters on the walls, the smashed phone thrown on the floor, the TV, the CD player, even the computer against the wall, all with an expression that seemed empty.
Kevin's gaze finally settled on Thomas.
'You're fucking lucky.'
Kevin pushed off the wall and went to the door.
Thomas said, 'When are you leaving my house?'
'Never.'
Kevin left without looking back and pulled the door closed.
Thomas waited.
The nail was hammered back into the doorjamb. The floor squeaked as Kevin moved away.
Thomas tried to count to one hundred, but stopped at fifty and once more made his way to the closet. He wanted to know what they were planning. He also wanted the gun.
Saturday, 12:02 A.M.
Canyon Country, California
The Canyon Country Hospital sat between two mountain ridges in a pool of blue light. It was modern and low, not more than three stories at its tallest, and sprawled across the parking lot. Marion thought it looked like one of those overnight dot-com think tanks you see in the middle of nowhere, sprung up overnight at a freeway off-ramp, all earth-colored stone and mirrored glass.
Marion cruised around the hospital, finding the emergency room entrance at the rear. Friday night, a little after midnight, and the place was virtually deserted. Marion knew hospitals that saw so much action on Friday nights they ran double ER staffs and you could hear screams from a block away. The Santa Clarita Valley must be a very nice place to live, he thought. He was liking everything he found about it.
The small parking area outside the ER showed only three cars and a couple of ambulances, but four news vehicles were parked off to the side. Marion expected this, so he wasn't put off. He parked close to the entrance with the nose of his car facing the drive, then went into the hospital.
The newspeople were clumped together at the admitting desk, talking to a harried woman in a white coat. Marion listened enough to gather that she was the senior emergency room physician, Dr. Reese, and that tests were currently being run on Walter Smith. Two young nurses, both pretty with dark Toltec eyes, stood behind the admitting counter, watching with interest. Marion thought that this was probably very exciting for them, having the newspeople here.
Marion went to a coffee machine in the small waiting area and bought a cup of black coffee. A female police officer sat watching the interview. A young Latino man sat across from her, rocking a small baby while an older child slept half in his lap, half on the seat next to him. The man looked frightened in a way that let Marion think that his wife was probably the reason they were here. Marion's heart went out to him.
'It's like they've forgotten you, isn't it?'
The man glanced up without comprehension. Marion smiled, thinking he probably didn't speak English.
'That's so sad,' he said.
Marion turned away and went back to the admitting area. A gate opened to a short hall, beyond which was a kind of communal room with several beds partitioned by blue curtains, and another hall with swinging doors at the end. Marion waited at the gate until an orderly appeared, then he smiled shyly.
'Excuse me. Dr. Reese said someone would help me.'
The orderly glanced at Reese, who was still busy with the reporters across the room.
'I'm Walter Smith's next-door neighbor. They told me to pick up his clothes and personal effects.'
'That the guy who was the hostage?'
'Oh, yes. Isn't that terrible?'
'Man, the stuff that happens, huh?'
'You never know. We're worried sick. Those children are still in there.'
'Man.'
'I'm supposed to bring his things home.'
'Okay, let me see what I can do.'
'How's he doing?'
'The doctor's checking the CT results now. They should know soon.'
Marion watched as the orderly disappeared into one of the doors farther up the hall, then he stepped through the gate and walked up the hall just far enough so that the nurses at the admitting desk could no longer see him. He waited there until the orderly returned with a green paper bag.
'Here you go. They had to cut his clothes off, but there isn't anything we can do about that.'
Marion took the bag. He could feel shoes in the bottom.
'Do I have to sign?'
'No, that's all right. We're not that formal around here. I used to work for County-USC man, you had to sign for everything. Here, it's not like that. These small towns are great.'
'Listen, thank you. Is there another way out of here? I don't want to leave past the reporters. They were asking so many questions before.'
The orderly pointed to the swinging doors at the far end of the hall.
'Through there, then take a left. You'll see a red exit sign at the end. That'll bring you out the front.'
'Thanks again.'
Marion put the bag on the floor to go through Smith's things. He did it right there. The bag contained jeans, a belt, a black leather wallet, white Calvin Klein briefs, a Polo shirt, gray socks, black Reebok tennis shoes, and a Seiko wristwatch. The clothes had all been split along the centerline. Marion felt the pants pockets, but found only a white handkerchief. There were no computer disks. Mr. Howell would be disappointed.
Marion tucked the bag under his arm and walked down the hall past the beds in the communal room. The beds were empty. Marion wondered about the Latino man's wife, but stopped thinking about it when he found Smith in a room at the end of the hall. Smith's left temple was covered in a fresh white bandage, and an oxygen cannula was clipped to his nose. Two nurses, one red-haired and one dark, were setting up monitor machines that Marion took to be an EEG and an EKG. That the nurses were only now setting up the monitors told Marion that the tests had just finished but the doctors were still waiting for results. That gave him time. When the doctors knew Smith's true condition, they would either proceed with some additional intervention or move Smith into the main body of the hospital. A room there would make things easier, but surgery would make Marion's job impossible. He decided not to take the chance.
Marion found a quiet spot farther down the hall where a gurney was resting against the wall. He put the bag on the gurney, then put a syringe pack and a glass vial of a drug called lidocaine into the bag. Both the syringe and the lidocaine were Marion's, brought in from the car.
A tall young man pushed an empty wheelchair around a corner. He looked sleepy.
Marion smiled pleasantly.
'I used to tell myself I would get used to these hours, but you never do.'
The man smiled back, sharing the tragedy of late hours.
'You're telling me.'
When the man was gone, Marion worked inside the bag so no one could see. He tore open the syringe pack, twisted off the needle guard, and pierced the top of the vial. He drew deep at the lidocaine, filling the syringe. Lidocaine was one of his favorite drugs. When injected into a person with a normal healthy heart, it induced heart failure. Marion placed the syringe on top of Smith's torn clothes so that it would be easy to reach, then closed the bag and waited.
After a few minutes, the dark-haired nurse left Smith's room. Shortly after that, the second nurse left.
Marion let himself into the room. He knew that he didn't have much time, but he didn't need much. He put the bag on the bed. Smith's eyes fluttered, opening partway, then closing, as if he was struggling to wake. Marion slapped him.
'Wake up.'
Marion slapped him again.
'Walter?'
Smith's eyes opened, not quite making it all the way. Marion wasn't sure if Smith could see him or not. Marion slapped him a third time, leaving a bright red mark on his cheek.
'Are the disks still in your house?'
Smith made a murmuring sound that Marion could not understand. Marion gripped his face again and shook it violently.
'Speak to me, Walter. Have you told anyone who you are?'
Smith's eyes fluttered again, then focused. The eyes tracked to Marion.
'Walter?'
The eyes dulled and once more closed.
'Okay, Walter. If that's the way you want it.'
Marion decided it was time. He felt confident that he could report that the disks were still in the house and that Smith hadn't been able to speak since his release from the house. The people in Palm Springs would be pleased. They would also be pleased that Walter Smith was dead.
'This won't hurt, Walter. I promise.'
Marion smiled, and suppressed a laugh.
'Well, that's not exactly true. Heart attacks hurt like a motherfucker.'
Marion opened the bag and reached in for the syringe.
'What are you doing?'
The red-haired nurse stood in the door. She stared at Marion, clearly suspicious, then came directly to the bed.
'You're not supposed to be in here.'
Marion smiled at her. She was a small woman with a thin neck. His hands still in the bag, Marion let go of the syringe and lifted the clothes so that the syringe would fall to the bottom. He never took his eyes from the nurse or stopped smiling. Marion had a fine smile. Sweet, his mother always said.
'I know. I came for his belongings, but I got the idea of leaving something from home, you know, like a good-luck piece, and there was no one to ask.'
Marion took out the wallet and opened it. He took out a worn picture of Walter with his wife and children. He showed it to the nurse.
'Could I leave it? Please? I'm sure it will help him.'
'It might get lost.'
Marion looked past her. No one was in the hall. He glanced at the far side of the room. Another door; maybe to a bathroom, maybe a closet or a hall. He could cover her mouth, lift her, it would only take seconds.
'I know, but…'
'Well, just tuck it under the pillow, then. You're not supposed to be here.'
The dark-haired nurse stepped through the door and went to one of the monitors. Marion closed the bag.
The red-haired nurse said, 'Is it okay if he leaves this picture? It belongs to Mr. Smith.'
'No. It'll get lost and someone will bitch. That always happens.'
Marion put the picture into his pocket and smiled at the red-haired nurse.
'Well, thanks anyway.'
Marion was patient. He was content to wait until Smith was once more alone, but he heard sirens as he walked back to the admitting room where he saw the female police officer outside the entrance. Marion thought that she was talking to herself, but then realized she was talking into her radio. The sirens grew closer. The reporters trickled outside, joining her, asking questions, but she suddenly broke away from them and ran back into the hospital. Marion decided not to wait.
Marion went out to his car, feeling dispirited by the way things had worked out. Palm Springs was not going to like his report after all, but there was nothing to be done about it. Not yet.
Then two police cars arrived. Marion watched the officers run through the shouting reporters into the hospital, and then he phoned Glen Howell.
Running for his car, Talley radioed Metzger at the hospital. He told her that there had been a threat to Smith's life, and to put her ass outside Smith's door. He grabbed Jorgenson and Campbell from Mrs. Peña's home and told them to follow him.
Talley rolled code three, full lights and siren. He knew that Benza's people would learn what he was doing, and that this might jeopardize himself and his family, but he couldn't let them simply kill the man. He didn't know what else to do.
When they reached the hospital, Talley saw the knot of reporters coming toward him from the entrance. Talley hurried out of his car to meet Jorgenson and Campbell.
'Don't say a word. Everything is no comment. You got that?'
Their eyes were confused and overwhelmed as the reporters surrounded them.
'Let's get in there.'
As they entered the hospital, Talley glanced from face to face, from hands to bodies, hoping for a glimpse of a deep tan, a heavy Rolex watch, and for clothes similar to those worn by the men and woman he had seen in his parking lot. Everyone was a suspect. Everyone was a potential killer. Anyone could lead him back to his Amanda and Jane.
The hospital security chief, an overweight man named Jobs, met them at the admitting desk with Klaus and the ER supervisor, an older woman who introduced herself as Dr. Reese. Talley asked that they speak somewhere more private, and followed them past the admitting desk through a gate and around a corner into a hall. Talley saw Metzger standing outside a door not far away. Talley went directly to her, telling Reese and the others to wait.
'Is everything okay?'
'Yeah. It's fine. What's going on?'
Talley stood in the door. Smith was alone in the room. His head lolled to the side, then righted. Talley glanced back at Metzger.
'I'll be right back.'
Talley told Jorgenson and Campbell to wait with Metzger, then explained to the doctors.
'We have reason to believe that there could be an attempt made on Mr. Smith's life. I'm going to post a guard outside his room and have police here on the premises.'
Klaus made his face into a pinched, sulky frown.
'An attempt on his life? Like what you did in the ambulance?'
Reese ignored him.
'We work at an ER pace here, Sheriff. Things move quickly. I can't have that disrupted.'
'I'm the chief of police in Bristo. I'm not a sheriff.'
'I understand. Are my staff in danger?'
'Not with my officers here, no, ma'am.'
Klaus said, 'This is bullshit. Who would want to kill this guy?'
Talley didn't want to lie. He was tired of lying. He shrugged.
'We have to take the threat seriously.'
Jobs, the security chief, nodded.
'The world is filled with nuts.'
Talley worked it out that his officers would remain the primary guard outside Smith's room with Jobs's security personnel as supplement; if Smith was moved to another part of the hospital, the Bristo police would accompany him. They were still talking about it when Metzger called from her post.
'Hey. He's waking up.'
Klaus pushed past them and hurried into the room, Talley following. Smith's eyes were open and focused, though still vague. He mumbled something, then spoke again, more clearly.
'Where am I?'
The words were slurred, but Talley understood them.
Klaus drew out the penlight, peeled open Smith's eyes, then passed the light, first over one, then the other.
'My name is Klaus. I'm a doctor at Canyon Country Hospital. That's where you are. Do you know your name?'
It took Smith a few moments to answer, as if it took him a while to understand the question, then figure out the answer. He wet his lips.
'Smith. Walter Smith. What's wrong?'
Klaus glanced at the monitors.
'Don't you know?'
Smith seemed to think again, but then his eyes widened and he tried to sit up. Klaus pushed him down.
'Easy. Stay down or you'll faint.'
'Where are my children?'
Klaus glanced at Talley.
Talley said, 'They're still in the house.'
Smith's eyes tracked vaguely over. Talley lifted his sweatshirt so that Smith could see his badge.
'I'm Jeff Talley, the Bristo chief of police. Do you know what happened to you?'
'People came into my house. Three men. What about my children?'
'They're still in the house. So far as we know, they're okay. We're trying to get them out.'
Klaus grudged a nod.
'Chief Talley is the one who got you out.' Smith looked up at him.
'Thank you.'
His voice was soft and fading. Smith settled back, his eyes closed. Talley thought they were losing him again.
Klaus didn't like what he saw on the monitors. His face pulled into the pinched frown again.
'I don't want him to overdo it.'
Talley brought Klaus aside and lowered his voice.
'I should have a word with him now. About what we talked about.'
'I don't see as it would do any good. It will only upset him.'
Talley stared at Smith, knowing he could punch the right button because he could read Klaus as easily as he read a subject behind a barricade.
'He has a right to know, Doctor. You know he does. I'll only be a moment. Now, please.'
Klaus scowled some more, but he left.
'Smith.'
Smith opened his eyes, not quite as wide as before. Talley watched as they flagged closed. He bent close.
'I know who you are.'
The eyes opened again.
'Sonny Benza has my wife and daughter.'
Smith stared up at him, as blank as a plate, showing no surprise or shock, revealing nothing. But Talley knew. He could sense it.
'He wants his financial records. He's taken my wife and daughter to make sure I cooperate. I need your help, Smith. I need to know where he has them. I need to know how to get to him.'
Something wet dripped on Smith's shoulder. Talley's eyes blurred, and he realized that he was crying.
'Help me.'
Smith wet his lips. He shook his head.
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
The eyes closed.
Talley leaned closer, his voice raspy.
'He's going to kill you, you sonofabitch.'
Klaus came back into the room.
'That's enough.'
'Let me speak to him a few more minutes.'
'I said, That's enough.'
Talley posted the guards, then left. He drove again with the windows down, frustrated and angry. He punched at the steering wheel and shouted. He wanted to race back to the house; he didn't want to go back to the house. He wanted to crash through doors and keep crashing until he found Amanda and Jane. It was impotent rage. He pulled the Nokia from his pocket and set it on the seat. He knew it would ring. He knew the Watchman would call. He had no other choice.
It rang.
Talley swerved to the shoulder of the road. He was in the middle of nowhere, on the stretch of highway between Canyon Country and Bristo, nothing but rocks and road and truckers trying to make it to Palmdale before dawn. Talley skidded to a stop and answered the call, the Watchman shouting before Talley spoke.
'You fucked up, you dumb fucking cop, you fucked up bad!'
Talley was shouting back, shouting over the Watchman's words.
'No, YOU fucked up, you sonofabitch! Do you think I'm going to let you just murder someone?!'
'You wanna hear them scream? That it? You want a blowtorch on your daughter's pretty face?!'
Talley punched the dash over and over, never felt the blows.
'I got YOU, you motherfucker! I got YOU! You touch them, you harm one fucking hair, and I'll go in that house right fucking now, I'll get those disks, and I'll see what's on them. You want them in the newspaper? You want the real FBI to have'm? I don't think you want that, you COCKSUCKINGMOTHERFUCKER! And I've got Smith! Don't you fucking forget that! I've got Smith!'
Talley's hands shook with rage. It was the way he felt in the minutes after a SWAT entry when shots had been fired, his blood running so hot that only more blood could cool it.
When the Watchman spoke again, his voice was measured.
'I guess we each have something the other wants.'
Talley forced himself to be calm. He had bought himself time.
'Remember that. You fucking remember that.'
'All right. You have a guard on Smith. Fair enough. We'll deal with Smith when we deal with Smith. Right now we want our property.'
'Not one fucking hair. One hair and you bastards are mine.'
'We're off that, Talley. Move on. You still have to make sure that I get those disks. If I don't, more than hair will be harmed.'
'So what's next?'
'My people are good to go. You know who I mean?'
'The FBI.'
'Six in two vans. If there's any fuckup, if you do anything other than what I tell you to do, you'll get your family back in the mail.'
'I'm doing what I can, goddamnit. Tell me what you want.'
'Whatever they say they need, you give it to them. Whatever they want you to do, you do it. Remember, Talley, I get those disks, you get your family.'
'Jesus, man, we can't have an assassination squad out here. The neighborhood is full of professional police officers. They're not stupid.'
'I'm not stupid, either, Talley. My guys know how to walk the walk and talk the talk. They will behave in a professional manner. Use the Sheriffs for your perimeter, but have their tactical team stand down. My guy, the team leader, he'll cover that with the Sheriffs. They were in the area on a joint training mission with the Customs Service and the U.S. Marshals. They called you, offered their assistance, and you accepted.'
Talley knew that Martin would never buy that. He saw the whole thing blowing up in his face.
'No one will believe that. Why would I accept with the Sheriffs already here?'
'Because the Feds told you that Walter Smith is part of their witness protection program.'
'Is he?'
'Don't be stupid, Talley. My man will cover it with the Sheriffs when he gets there. He knows what to say so they'll go along. Do you want to hear your wife again?'
'Yes.'
The line was empty for a time, then Talley heard voices, and then Jane screamed.
'Jane?!'
Talley clutched the phone with both hands. He shouted, forgetting where he was, what he was doing.
'JANE!'
The Watchman came back on the line.
'You heard her, Talley. Now take care of my people and get them set up.'
The line went dead. Talley was left shaking and sweating. He pressed star 69, trying to call back, but nothing happened. Jane was gone. The Watchman was gone. Talley shook so badly he felt drunk. He got himself together. He put away the phone. He drove back to the house.
Saturday, 12:03 A. M.
When Dennis went back into the house, Mars didn't say anything, but Kevin started on him right away.
'What did he say? Did he offer a deal?'
Dennis felt dull; not desperate anymore, or even very frightened. He was confused. He didn't understand how Talley could turn down so much money unless Talley didn't believe him. Maybe Talley thought he was lying about how much money was in the house just as Talley had lied to him about the house belonging to mobsters.
'What happened, Dennis? Did he give us an ultimatum?'
The girl was on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor, staring at him.
'Is your old man in the mob?'
'What are you talking about?'
He could tell that the girl didn't know a goddamned thing. It was all stupid. He was stupid just for asking.
'Mars. Get her out of here. Take her back to her room.'
Dennis went to the office for the vodka, then brought it to the den, drinking on the way. The lights came on as he dropped onto the thick leather couch.
Kevin stopped in the door.
'Are you going to tell me what happened?'
'I shouldn't have told him about the money. Now he's gonna keep it all for himself.'
'He said that?'
'I tried to cut him in. What the fuck, it's a lot of cash, I thought we could buy our way out. See, that was my mistake. Once I told him how much money we had, he probably started thinking he could keep it for himself. Fuck that. If we don't escape, I'm telling everybody. All three of us will tell them about the cash, so if Talley tries to keep it they'll nail his ass.'
Dennis pulled deeper at the bottle, his mouth numb to it, angry at that bastard, Talley, for stealing his money.
'He's gonna kill us, Kev. We're fucked.'
'That's crazy. He's not going to kill us.'
Kevin was so fuckin' stupid.
'He's got to kill us, you idiot. He can't let us tell people about the money. The only way he can keep it is if nobody knows about it. He's probably gonna cap all three of us before they even read our rights. He's probably plannin' how to do it right now.'
Kevin came over and stood by the couch, crowding him.
'It's over, Dennis. We have to give up.'
'Fuck it's over! That money is mine!'
Dennis felt his anger building, and drank more of the vodka. That had always been Kevin's role in life, to hold him back, dragging behind him like an anchor, keeping him down.
Kevin stepped closer.
'You're going to get us all killed for that money. Talley's not playing games. The cops are going to get tired of waiting for us to give up, then we'll all be fuckin' killed!'
Dennis raised the bottle, and shrugged.
'Then we might as well die rich.'
'No!'
Kevin slapped the bottle from his hand, and then Dennis was off the couch. Dennis felt out of himself, his head a red blur of rage and frustration. He shoved Kevin over the coffee table and followed him down. Kevin grunted with the impact and tried to cover his face, but Dennis held him with his left hand and punched with his right, hitting his brother again and again.
'Dennis, stop!'
He hit Kevin as hard as he could.
'Stop crying, goddamnit!'
He hit Kevin harder.
'Stop crying!'
Kevin rolled into a ball, his face blotched red, sobbing. Dennis hated him. He hated their father and their mother, hated all the rathole apartments and the brutal assholes their mother had brought home, hated his shitty job and the Ant Farm and every day of their failed lives, but most of all he hated Kevin for reminding him of these things every time he looked at him.
'You're fuckin' pathetic.'
Dennis climbed to his feet, breathless and spent.
'That money is mine. I'm not leaving without it, Kevin. Get that in your head. We're not giving up.'
Kevin crawled away, whimpering like a beaten dog.
Dennis picked up the bottle, and saw Mars standing in the door, watching without expression. Dennis wanted to hit Mars, too, the sonofabitch.
'What? You got something to say?'
Mars did not respond, the shadows in the dim light masking his eyes.
'What?'
Mars responded somberly.
'I like it here, Dennis. We're not going to leave.'
'Fuckin' A we're not.'
The vague smile flickered at Mars's lips, the only part of him that Dennis could see.
'We're going to be fine, Dennis. I'll take care of everything.'
Dennis turned away and sucked down another belt of the vodka.
'You do that, Mars.'
Mars melted into the darkness and disappeared.
Dennis burped. Creepy bastard.
Quiet settled over York Estates. The traffic on Flanders Road had thinned; the line of cars filled with the morbid gawkers who wanted a brush with crime was gone, leaving the California Highway Patrol motor officers who were manning the barricades with nothing to do. Inside the development, the Sheriffs sat in their cars or at their posts. No one talked. Everyone waited.
Talley pulled his car to the curb outside Mrs. Peña's home and cut the engine. He looked at the command van. With nothing going on at the house, Maddox and Ellison would have pulled back to the van to alternate shifts on the phone, the off negotiator catching a catnap in the van's bunk or the backseat of a car. Talley was tired. The center of his back between his shoulder blades was knotted with a pronounced pain that cut into his spine. His head felt cloudy from more than fatigue, leaving him to mistrust his thinking. He wasn't a kid anymore.
Talley went inside for a cup of black coffee, but returned to his car. Three of the CHiPs and two sheriffs were in Mrs. Peña's kitchen, but he didn't want to talk. He sat on the curb with the Nokia and his own phone beside him. He sipped the coffee, thinking about Amanda and Jane, seeing them seated together on a couch in the anonymous room where they were held, seeing them alive, seeing them unharmed, seeing them safe. Imagining them that way helped.
Talley's radio popped at his waist.
'Chief, Cooper.'
'Go, Coop.'
'Ah, I'm here at the south gate. We got some FBI guys asking for you.'
Talley didn't answer. He worked at breathing. He stared at the Sheriff's command van and the line of police cars lining the street and the officers moving among them, feeling frightened and unsure. He was about to lie to them. It would be like letting the enemy into the camp. It would be lying to these people who were here to help him and help the people in that house.
'Chief? They say you're expecting them.'
'Let them in.'
Talley walked up the street to the corner. He didn't know what to expect and wanted to meet them alone, away from everyone else. He stood beneath a street lamp so they would stop in its light. He wanted to see them.
Two gray Econoline vans eased to the corner, four men in the lead van, two in the rear. Talley raised his hand, stopping them. Both vans pulled to the curb and cut their engines. The men inside had short haircuts and were wearing black tactical fatigues, standard issue for FBI tactical units. One of the men in the back wore a ball cap that read FBI.
The driver said, 'You Talley?'
'Yes.'
The man on the passenger side of the lead van got out and came around the nose of the van. He was taller than Talley and muscular. He looked the part: Black tac fatigues, jump boots, buzzed hair. A black pistol hung beneath his left arm in a ballistic holster.
He stopped in front of Talley, glanced up the street at the Sheriffs, then turned back to Talley.
'Okay, Chief, let me see some ID. I want to be sure who I'm talking to.'
Talley lifted his sweatshirt enough to show his badge.
'I don't give a shit about that. Show me a picture.'
Talley took out his wallet and showed the photo ID. When he was satisfied, he took out his own badge case and opened it for Talley to see.
'Okay, here's mine. My name is Special Agent Jones.'
Talley inspected an FBI credential that identified the man as William F. Jones, Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It showed a photograph of Jones. It looked real.
'Don't sweat anyone asking for our papers. Every man in my group has the ID.'
'Are you all named Jones?'
Jones snapped the case closed and put it away.
'Don't be funny, Chief. You can't afford it.'
He slapped the nose of the lead van, nodding at the driver. The doors of both vans opened. The remaining five men stepped out, moving to the rear of the second van. Like Jones, they looked the part down to the haircuts. They strapped into armored vests with FBI emblazoned on the back.
Jones said, 'In a few minutes your phone is going to ring. You know the phone I mean. So let's get some stuff straight before that. Are you paying attention?'
Talley was watching the men. They strapped on the vests, then snapped on new thigh guards with practiced efficiency. Someone at the rear of the second van passed out black knit masks, flash-bang grenades, and helmets. Each man folded the mask twice and tucked it under his left shoulder strap where he could reach it easily later. They clipped the grenades to their harnesses without fumbling and tossed their helmets into the seats or balanced them atop the van. Talley knew the moves, because he had practiced them himself when he worked SWAT Tactical. These men had done this before.
'I'm paying attention. You used to be a cop.'
'Don't worry about what I used to be. You've got other stuff to worry about.'
Talley looked at him.
'How can you people expect this to work? The Sheriffs have a full crisis response team here. They're going to be pissed off and they're going to have questions.'
'I can handle the Sheriffs and anything else that comes up. What's my name?'
Talley didn't know what in hell he wanted.
'What?'
'I asked you my name. You just saw my commission slip. What's my fucking name?'
'Jones.'
'All right. I'm Special Agent Jones. Think of me that way and you won't fuck up. I can lift my end, you got a wife and kid praying you can lift yours.'
Talley's head throbbed. His neck was so tight that it burned, but he managed a nod.
Jones turned so that they both faced the line of vehicles.
'Who's in charge there?'
'Martin. She's a captain.'
'You told her about us yet?'
'No. I didn't know what to say.'
'Good, that's better for us. The less time she has to ask questions, the better. Now, the man on the phone, you know who I mean, did he tell you how we're going to cover this?'
'Smith is in witness protection.'
'Right, Smith is in the program so we have a proprietary interest. What's my name again?'
Talley flashed with anger and fought to control it. Everything seemed out of control and surreal, standing there in the purple street light, moths ticking and snapping into the glass, with these cops who weren't cops.
'Jones. Your name is Jones. I wish I knew your fucking real name.'
'Keep it tight, Chief. We gotta work together here. I'm in charge of a special operations unit that was working training exercises on the border with the Customs Service when Washington learned what was happening here. The D.C. office called you, explained the situation, and asked for your cooperation. We owe Smith, we're obligated to protect him and his cover, so you agreed. I'm going to explain all this to Captain Martin, and all you're going to do is sit there and nod. You got that?'
'I've got it.'
'Martin won't like it, having us here, but she'll go along because what we're telling her makes sense.'
'What if she checks? What if she knows people in the LA office?'
'It's after midnight on a Friday night. She phones LA, all she'll get is a duty agent, and he'll have to check with someone else, which he won't want to do. Even if she calls the agent in charge in Los Angeles and wakes him, he'll wait until tomorrow to call D.C., because none of these people, not one, will have any reason to doubt us. We're not gonna be here that long.'
Jones handed Talley a white business card with the FBI seal pressed into the left corner and a phone number with a Washington, D.C., area code.
'If she gets it into her head to call someone, tell her that this is the guy back there who called you. She can talk to him until she's blue.'
Talley put the card in his pocket, wondering if the name on the card was a real agent, and thought that he probably was. Thinking that scared him. It was like a warning, this is how much power we have.
Talley glanced at the men. They were geared up now. A man in the second van was passing out MP5s, CAR-15s, and loaded magazines.
'What are you people going to do?'
'You and I are going to straighten this out with the Sheriffs. Two of my people are going to reconnoiter the house, see what we have. After that, we'll deploy in a secure position and wait for the man to call. You've got your phone, I have mine. When he gives the word, we move. If something happens in the house that provokes a launch beforehand, we'll do it. But we will control the scene until we've recovered our target. After that, the house is yours.'
Talley thought about the man's words, thought he might have done this in the military, for the Rangers or Special Forces.
'I won't be able to keep the others out. You know that. The Sheriffs will come in, and I'm going, too.'
Jones met Talley's eyes and shook his head.
'Listen, man, if it helps you get through this, we don't want to kill anyone, not even the three dicks who started this mess. We just want the stuff in the house. But we know what's required when we breach that house. We'll have to secure the scene before we can recover what we want. We'll do that, Talley. We're professionals.'
The phone in Talley's pocket chirped. He had a phone in his left pocket and a phone in his right, and didn't remember which was which. Talley pulled out the phone in his left pocket. It was the Nokia. It chirped again.
'Answer it, Chief.'
Talley pressed the button to answer the call.
'Talley.'
'Is Mr. Jones with you?'
'Yes, he's here.'
'Put him on.'
Talley passed the Nokia to Jones without a word. Jones put it to his ear, saying his name to let the caller know he was on. Talley watched Jones. His eyes were pale blue or gray, Talley couldn't tell which in the dim light. A man in his mid-forties, maybe, who kept himself in good shape and could be hard when he had to be. As Jones spoke, his eyes flicked nervously to the Sheriffs in the distance. Talley thought that he was probably scared. Any sane man would be scared, doing what he was doing. Talley wondered what the Watchman had on this man, or if Jones was doing it for money.
Jones ended the call and passed the phone back to Talley.
'Let's go, Chief. Time to get it done.'
'What does he have on you?'
Jones stared at him, then looked away without answering.
'I know why I'm doing this. What does he have on you?'
Jones cinched down his vest, tighter than necessary, so tight the straps cut.
'You don't know shit.'
Jones started up the street.
Talley followed him.
The stink of gasoline was so thick in the closed space of the entry hall that it burned Kevin's eyes and filled his throat with the taste of metal. He gagged, acid washing the back of his throat, then he couldn't hold back and vomited, puke splashing the wall. Dennis, in the den with his vodka, was too far gone to have heard.
They were going to die.
Kevin remembered a story from elementary school that explained how coastal Africans caught the tiny monkeys that lived at the edge of the water. The Africans would bore a hole in a coconut just big enough so that the monkey could squeeze its hand inside. They would put a peanut touched with honey into the coconut. The monkey would reach inside to grab the peanut, only with the peanut in its hand and its hand balled into a fist, the monkey's hand would no longer fit through the hole. As long as it held onto the peanut, the monkey couldn't take its hand out of the coconut. These monkeys wanted the honey-coated peanuts so badly that they would not let go even as the monkey-hunters walked up to cover them with nets. Dennis was the monkey in this house, surrounded by police but unwilling to let go of his peanut.
Kevin stumbled into the little bathroom off the entry and splashed his face with water. His lip and eye were swelling from the beating Dennis had given him. He washed out his mouth, then washed his face, rubbing the water through his hair and around his neck. After the shootings, the fear, the running, the nightmare terror of the day, he finally knew what he had to do, and why: He was not willing to die with his brother; no matter their childhood, no matter Dennis taking the old man's belt for him, no matter the horrors they had endured. Dennis was willing to die for money he couldn't have, and Kevin refused to die with him. He would take the girl and her brother, and the three of them would get the hell out of here. Let Dennis and Mars do what they want.
Kevin dried his face, then went back to the den to see if Dennis was still there. Kevin expected that Dennis and Mars would try to stop him from leaving. He knew that they could, so he wanted to get the kids out of the house without being seen. Dennis's feet sprouted up over the end of the couch, still flat on his back. Kevin peeked into the office, checking for Mars, but Mars wasn't there. Kevin thought that he might be back in the family room by the French doors, but suddenly he had the prickly feeling that Mars was watching him on the monitors. Kevin slipped past the den back along the hall to the master bedroom. If Mars was in the security room, he was going to tell Mars that Dennis wanted him to watch the front of the house again, but the master bedroom was empty and so were the closets and security room. Kevin stared at the monitors, seeing the police outside, seeing his brother in the den and the girl in her room, but he didn't see Mars. He thought maybe he should break the monitors or figure out a way to turn off the security system, but if he moved quickly enough it wouldn't matter; once he had the kids, they would be out of the house in seconds or they wouldn't be out at all.
Kevin hurried back through the house to the entry, and then up the stairs. He knocked twice softly on the girl's door, pulled the nail from the door, and let himself inside. The girl was curled into a ball on her bed, her eyes open, the lights full on. She swung her feet out and stood as the door opened.
'What do you want?'
'Shh. Keep your voice down.'
Kevin was scared. Here he was a grown man, and he felt like a child whenever he crossed wills with his brother. Sometimes he felt such a strong mix of fear and a desperate need to please Dennis that he couldn't move.
'We're going to get out of here.'
She seemed confused, her eyes flicking to the door, then back to him.
'Where are you taking me?'
'Not with them. I don't mean with Dennis and Mars. I'm taking you and your brother. We're going to leave them here.'
The marks on his face registered with her for the first time, and Kevin felt himself flush.
'What happened to you?'
'Don't worry about it. Dennis isn't going to give up. He's going to stay here no matter what, but we're not.'
'They're letting us leave?'
'Mars and Dennis don't know I'm doing this. They would stop us, so we have to be careful, but we're getting out of here and they can do what they want.'
Uncertainty played across her face. She glanced at the door again.
Kevin said, 'Do you want to go or not? I'm offering you a way out of here.'
'I can't go without Thomas.'
'I know that. All three of us will go, but we have to be careful and move fast. Now do you want to go or not?'
'I want to go!'
'Stay here and pretend like nothing's happening. I'll get Thomas and come back for you. When the three of us are together, we'll go straight downstairs and out the front door. Do you have a white pillowcase?'
'We're going to walk out the door? Just like that?'
'Yes! We need a white flag or something so the cops don't shoot us.'
He could tell she was scared, but excited, too, anxious to get out of the house.
'All right, okay. I have a pillowcase.'
'Get it while I'm getting your brother. When I get back, don't say a word. Just follow me and try to be quiet, but be ready to move. We're going to walk fast.'
She nodded, her head bouncing.
'I will.'
Kevin eased the door open and peered into the hall. Dim light glowed at the stairwell, coming from below. The hall seemed darker than before, masked in a blackness that made him wish for a flashlight. He heard voices and grew even more worried. If Mars and Dennis were in the office, they would see the three of them coming down the stairs.
Kevin pulled the door shut behind him and crept back along the hall to the stairwell, listening. Twice the hall creaked, making Kevin cringe. When he reached the top of the stairs, he listened harder, then felt a well of relief. The voices were coming from the television.
He turned back toward the boy's room, telling himself to hurry, to do this quickly without noise, to do it now or else the moment would pass and he would never do it; he would be trapped in this house with Dennis and Mars, and he would die. Kevin was so frightened that it was difficult to think. The boy, the girl, out. He repeated it to himself like a chant.
Something moved in the darkness ahead of him.
Kevin froze, his senses straining, his heart pounding. The girl must have come out of her room. He whispered.
'Stay in your room.'
A black shadow drifted against the darkness outside her door, but the shadow did not answer. Kevin strained to see into the bottomless grave of the hall, but saw nothing.
The floor creaked behind him. Kevin spun around.
Mars stood inches away, backlit by the light from the stairs. Kevin jerked backwards. They were screwed unless he could keep Mars away from the front door. He thought of the security room, as far from the front door as it was possible to get in this house.
'Jesus, Mars, you scared the shit out of me. I was looking for you. Dennis wants you to watch those monitors back in the bedroom.'
Mars stepped closer, his pale face empty.
'I heard you with the girl, Kevin. You're going to leave.'
Kevin stepped back. Mars followed him, staying uncomfortably close.
'That's bullshit, Mars. I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Don't ruin a good thing, Kevin. You'll regret it later.'
Kevin felt a stab of anger that shook him. Fuck it. Mars had heard; let him hear it all. Kevin stopped backing up.
'Then you can stay! I've had enough of this, Mars. We're trapped. It's over! If we stay, the cops will kill us. Don't you get that?'
Mars stared down at him, his pasty face thoughtful. Then he stepped aside.
'I get it, Kevin. If you want to go, go.'
Kevin waited for more, thinking that Mars was upset or angry, or would drag him downstairs to Dennis, but Mars only raised his hand, offering the way to the stairs. His voice was soft and encouraging.
'Go.'
Kevin glanced toward Thomas's room.
'I'm going to take these kids.'
Mars nodded.
'That's okay. Go.'
Kevin stared up at Mars, then turned and stepped into darkness.
After Talley and Jones had spoken with Martin, Jones moved his two vans to the mouth of the cul-de-sac. Talley returned to his car, where he sat by himself, watching the two vans. Jones and one of his men, a blond guy with a crew cut and wire-rimmed glasses, left the vans to scout the perimeter.
Talley felt like a traitor and a coward. He had returned to his car so that he could avoid the Sheriffs and his own men. When he and Jones were in the command van with Martin, he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He let Jones do the talking.
When Jones and his man disappeared into the cul-de-sac, the street was still.
Martin climbed down from the command van, saw Talley in his car, and walked over. She had taken off the flak vest and all the crap SWAT cops clip to themselves, and was wearing only the black fatigues and a cap. The cap read BOSS. Talley watched her approach, hoping that she would continue into Mrs. Peña's, but she came to his side of the car.
Martin stopped a few feet away, took out a pack of cigarettes, and offered one to Talley.
'Don't smoke.'
Martin lit up without a word. She drew the smoke in deep, then blew a plume that gassed into the night air like a shroud of fog. Talley didn't know many SWAT cops who smoked. Bad for the wind.
When she spoke, her voice was calm and reasonable.
'You gonna tell me what's going on?'
Talley watched the smoke.
'What do you mean?'
'I'm not stupid.'
Talley didn't answer.
'All the phone calls. That scene in the ambulance between you and the doctor, wanting him to wake Smith; I thought you were going to shoot the guy. Whatever you were talking about with that kid, then charging off to the hospital. I had my I.O. call over there, Talley; if someone phoned in a death threat, it's news to everybody else out here, including the people back at your office.'
She drew more smoke, then appraised him.
'Now we got the FBI with this bullshit about Smith being in witness protection. What's going on, Chief? Who is Walter Smith?'
Talley glanced over. Her eyes were steady and cool, meeting his without guile. He liked her measured attitude, and her direct manner. He thought he would probably like her, given the time for it; she was probably a pretty good cop. The weight of the day suddenly pressed down on him with an intensity that left him numb. There were too many things to control and too many lies to tell. It was all too complicated, and he couldn't afford to mess this up. Like a juggler with a hundred balls in the air, he was going to drop one sooner or later. A ball would hit the ground and someone would die. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't fail Amanda and Jane or the kids in that house or even Walter Smith.
'I need help.'
'That's why we rolled out, Chief.'
'Do you know the name Sonny Benza?'
She searched his face, Talley thinking that she couldn't place the name, but then she did.
'That's the mob guy, right?'
'Smith works for him. Smith has something in that house that can put Benza away, and Benza wants it.'
'Jesus.'
Talley looked at her, and felt his eyes go wet.
'He has my wife and daughter.'
Martin looked away.
Talley told her about the disks, the Watchman, and Jones. He told her how he had played it, and how he intended to play it. She listened without question or comment until he was finished, then she crushed her cigarette beneath her heel and stared at the two vans where Jones's people waited.
'You have to bring this to the Bureau.'
'I can't do that.'
'Turn it over to Organized Crime. With what you have they could move on Benza right now, pull him straight out of bed and hang him by his thumbs. We breach into that house, get these disks he wants, and that's all she wrote. That's how you save your family.'
'It's not your family.'
She considered the dead cigarette, and sighed.
'No, I guess not.'
'All I have is a voice on a phone, Martin. I don't know where they are, I don't know who has them. Benza has people out here; he knows what we're doing. He could make Jane and Amanda vanish even before we read him his rights, and what do I have? Three men I can't identify in cars I can't identify, and Jones over there. I don't give a shit about making a case. I just want my family.'
Martin stared at the two vans, and sighed again. It was getting to be a long night for all of them.
'I am not going to let murder happen out here, Talley. I can't do that.'
'Me neither. Jesus.'
'Then what are you going to do?'
'I can't let those disks go into evidence. They're the only leverage I have.'
'What do you want from me?'
'Help me. Keep it between us, but help me get those disks. I can't let Jones go into that house alone.'
Talley watched her, hoping that she would go along. He couldn't stop her from going upstairs. All he could do was trust her. She looked back at him, and nodded.
'I'll do what I can. You keep me informed, Talley. I don't want to get shot in the back. I can't let my people get hurt, either.'
Talley felt better, the load lessened because now she helped bear it.
'All I need are those damned disks. I get those disks, and then I'll have something to trade.'
She considered him, then put her cigarettes back into her jumpsuit. Talley knew what she was going to say before she said it.
'You need more than that. You know too much for Benza to leave you alive. You realize that, don't you? You, your family, Smith; he can't leave any of you alive. What are you going to do about that?'
'I'll deal with it when I have the disks.'
Talley's cell phone rang, loud in the silence of the night. Martin jumped.
'Shit.'
Talley thought it might be Thomas, but it was Mikkelson, sounding far away and strange.
'Chief, Dreyer and I are still out here at Krupchek's trailer with detectives from the Sheriff's Bureau. We got some stuff to report.'
Talley had forgotten about Mikkelson and Dreyer. It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts.
'Go, Mikkelson.'
'Krupchek isn't Krupchek. His real name is Alvin Marshall Bonnier. His mother's head is in the freezer.'