Racing the Light, page 23
“I’m not sweating it.”
Josh gestured at Wendy and Kurt and the people with earbuds.
“Look at this crew. We have more security than ten presidents.”
Maybe they did.
Adele continued watching us with her fists on her hips and seemed to be getting impatient.
“What did your parents do, exactly?”
Josh seemed surprised by the question. He glanced at his mother before he answered.
“They reverse-engineered alien technology. Gravity amplifiers and phase generators, mostly. From crashed UFOs.”
I stared. Josh stared back. Then he grinned.
“Dude, really? I gotta finish my show.”
He and Ryan walked up the drive as I climbed into my car. I had been hired to find Joshua Schumacher. I had. My work was done. The job was finished. Mission accomplished. I should have felt a sense of closure but I felt apprehensive and tired. I looked at my phone, but the looking was wishful thinking. Lucy hadn’t called. I wondered what I’d find at my home. Maybe I wouldn’t go home. Starting the car was beyond me, so maybe I’d just sit outside Adele Schumacher’s house for the next few years. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with what I’d find at my house.
I remembered Kimmie Laird. In the time it took to bring Josh home I had totally forgotten. Maybe my brain was fried. I called Lou Poitras.
“Your boy Philburn came through. Dana hit him with a vehicle six-pack and he fingered the sedan. Good work.”
“What about the people shots?”
“Meant nothing, but the vehicle hit helped. Turns out LWL filed a stolen vehicle report two days ago.”
“Only two? How coincidental.”
“They’ve begun covering their tracks, which is bad. If we could find the vehicle, we can check it for the girl’s DNA.”
I thought about it.
“Can I call back in a few?”
“Yeah.”
I plugged the SIM back into my regular phone and called Jon Stone. He answered in his usual charming way.
“Sorry, I’m out of handouts.”
“If you’re able to locate the meatball’s car, I need to know where it is.”
“How much will you pay?”
“Could you be a bigger prick?”
“I work for money. You should try it.”
“Two home plate tickets in the Dodgers Dugout Club for the Astros.”
“Done. Get ready to copy and stand by.”
Ninety seconds later he recited a set of GPS coordinates in the City of Industry.
I said, “Can’t you just give me an address?”
“I could, but it’s you.”
Stone hung up. A prick to the end.
I called Lou.
“Write this down.”
He stopped me when I started reading off numbers.
“What the hell?”
“Copy and read it back.”
I gave him the numbers twice.
He said, “What is this?”
“The sedan.”
Lou didn’t respond.
I said, “Don’t ask. I have more.”
I told him about Kimberly Laird and sent the photos of her notes.
“Kimberly acted as Rachel’s safety when Rachel worked as an escort. She kept meticulous notes of Rachel’s dates for years.”
“What am I looking at?”
“Her notes. Rachel’s johns, when and where they met, everything. Most of this isn’t connected to Locke and Richter, but Locke’s name shows up again and again. Locke used her as a reward or an inducement. Richter shows up, too.”
“I’m not seeing it.”
“I only sent four pages. Kimberly has six years of pages.”
Lou was silent for a moment.
“Is she willing to cooperate?”
“Yes.”
I gave him Kimberly’s address and number and told him the reason I’d sent the pages. I explained Tarly’s misgivings and guilt, his growing resentment toward his brother-in-law, and his fear of their illegal schemes. Lou didn’t speak until I finished.
He said, “This guy will flip.”
“I think he will.”
“This girl, Kimberly, will she come in?”
“Go to her. Call first. I told her you’d call. She’s expecting your call now.”
“I’ll call. Hey—”
“You’re welcome.”
I let Kimmie know I’d spoken with Poitras. She sounded as if she was having second thoughts, so I told her a funny story about Poitras and me and we talked for a while. She was fine.
I successfully delayed going home for twenty-two minutes. I had stalled long enough. I started the car and drove toward my future.
53
My little house was dark when it came into view. Lucy’s car was out front. I parked and touched its hood. Cold. Detectives detect. They’d been home for a while.
The kitchen door was open when I came around the corner in the carport. Lucy stood framed in the doorway. I stopped and she stood and neither of us spoke. The Corvette’s hot engine creaked and popped. We looked at each other until she went back into the kitchen and I followed and closed the door.
Ben was on the couch in the living room reading something on his phone. He looked up.
“Hey. Where you been?”
I said, “Working. How about you?”
“San Diego. Traffic sucked.”
I glanced at Lucy. She was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. She looked pensive.
“There’s leftover jambalaya if you’d like. I didn’t know, so I didn’t heat it.”
I said, “San Diego.”
“It was nice to drive.”
Ben called from the couch.
“Kill me first next time. Mom called a guy a shithead and flipped people off.”
Lucy’s nostrils flared.
“We should step outside.”
I followed her out and closed the slider. The air held a fresh coolness but wasn’t chill. It was nice. Lucy went to the rail and gazed at the canyon. I started to make a crack about drones but didn’t. I stood next to her and gazed out at the canyon like her, but we probably didn’t see the same thing.
“Sorry I left in the middle of the night, with just the note. It wasn’t a comment on us. It couldn’t be helped.”
She faced me and seemed to study me. She looked from my left eye to my right eye. She looked at my hair and my mouth and my face as if she were mapping me. Her eyes went to my chest and back up to me.
She said, “I thought about us a lot today.”
She touched my arm with her fingertips.
“About us and me and how it’s been. You’re right. This has never been about you and how you live your life, or Ben, not really. It’s been about me. About my fears and my need to control things nobody can control.”
“I wasn’t trying to lay blame or justify, neither one.”
“You said many right things and they break my heart.”
She looked at Ben, inside on the couch.
“He’s grown. He’ll be gone in a year.”
Her eyes returned to me.
“All this time, I could have had you. We could have been together. I didn’t allow it.”
“Luce.”
“I can’t change what’s done. I can’t pretend I won’t worry. I can’t swear I won’t kill you if you get hurt. I can’t even promise I won’t dump you.”
She moved closer and placed her hands on my chest.
“But I don’t want to be just friends anymore. I want to see you every day. I want to touch you every day and talk every day and know we have a future with—”
I kissed her. I held her in a way I hadn’t held her in years and kissed her and felt tears leak from my eyes as I kissed her.
Ben opened the slider.
“When are we going to eat?”
Lucy said, “Go inside and close the door.”
The slider slammed and Lucy stepped back.
“I mean it. If you’ll risk being us, I’ll risk being us. Because I want us to be us.”
I tipped my head toward the house.
“Want to shack up?”
“Here’s what I want.”
She took a small velvet box from her right pants pocket and showed me the contents. Two thin gold bands stood side by side, one larger, one smaller.
I said, “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“I’m not asking anything. The rings express a commitment. If we call them something else one day, an engagement band, a wedding ring—”
She studied me carefully.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
I stared at the bands. They were simple plain rings of yellow gold. I touched the smaller, then the larger. I pulled the larger band from its place in the box and fit it onto my finger.
Lucy said, “Okay. Now I want to shack up.”
“How about we eat before we shack up?”
“A sure sign of age.”
I fitted the smaller ring onto her finger.
“Looks good.”
“I know. I’ve practiced wearing it.”
We grinned at each other some more.
“I’ve missed this, me and you, like this.”
She nodded.
“Yes. It’s been too long. Much too long.”
“Look forward, not back. Always move forward.”
“Yes, Joe.”
We just stood there, holding each other and grinning at each other. It was great.
Ben tapped the glass. When we looked, he spread his arms wide, beseeching, telling us he was starving.
Lucy laughed.
“I guess we should feed him.”
“And me. I’ll need fuel.”
My phone buzzed as we stepped through the door. The call window showed wvann. I showed Lucy.
“The Schumachers.”
I didn’t want to answer, but I answered.
Wendy Vann said, “Here’s Adele.”
Lucy and Ben were watching as Adele came on the line. She was upset and shouting.
“He’s gone. They took Ryan’s car and their things and he left. Please! Bring him home again. Please, Mr. Cole. Before he gets himself killed.”
Lucy touched my arm and whispered.
She said, “Go. If you get shot I’ll kill you.”
54
In Your Face with Josh Shoe
Josh and Ryan studied Rachel’s apartment house from Ryan’s car. The dark-haired bitch was on the lawn reading a magazine.
Ryan said, “She’ll see you.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What if it’s gone?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
Josh knew Ryan was nervous. Josh was nervous, too, but Rachel had trusted him and believed in him and, in a way, made him believe he mattered. He looked at Ryan.
“I can drop you off after. You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s my show, too.”
“In your face.”
“Bringing the truth—”
“—the mainstream media hides.”
They’d been saying some version of this to each other since seventh grade.
Josh piled out of Ryan’s car and powered up the walk, carrying a bright green duffel rolled like a log. The girl on the lawn saw him coming and smirked. She always smirked when she saw him and made cracks about his size, so Josh knew it was coming.
“The police were here. Skylar’s dead. Somebody killed her.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Did you roll over and crush her?”
“Where’s your friend, looking for a better roommate?”
The crime scene tape was gone. The police had finished their work and left Rachel’s place to her family and the landlord. Josh knew what he wanted and hoped it hadn’t been moved. He unrolled the duffel, covered the sidelight, and broke the glass. He reached through and groped around until he found the locks.
The place had been cratered like Cole said. Her art supplies and tables and cabinets had been tipped over, but her canvases remained stacked along the walls. The police probably felt they weren’t relevant. Morons.
The shelves lined with cans of spray paint were intact. A bright gold key and a small paper name tag hung by a purple string from a hook on the right side of the cabinet. Josh had seen her hang the key on the hook when she told him about Locke and Richter and the cash she’d found in Grady Locke’s loft. She’d also found a spare key to Locke’s loft. This was the key. The card contained the entry code to Locke’s building.
Josh took the key and searched through the canvases. Some were finished paintings and others were works in progress. When he found the painting he wanted, he fitted it into the supersize duffel and left.
The dark-haired girl was gone.
They loaded the canvas into Ryan’s backseat and blasted off for downtown L.A. Ryan snickered as he raced the close of business hours.
Ryan said, “This is so frickin’ cool.”
Josh miked up and decided what he wanted to say.
“No talking.”
Ryan gave a thumbs-up. Josh hit the record button.
“This is Josh Shoe. Stand back, sit down, and stick around as I get . . . In Your Face.”
Ryan shook his head.
“No, no. Way too seventies. Do it again.”
Josh thought some more and started again.
“Josh Shoe, recording on the streets of Los Angeles. Rachel Bohlen, who was also known as Skylar Lawless, was murdered while seeking the truth. The voice you’re about to hear is that of Skylar herself, who will tell you how she came to be murdered. She will name the people who killed her. Listen.”
Josh stopped.
“Well?”
“Not bad. A little long, but we can use it as a lead-in to her first clip.”
Josh checked the time.
“Drive faster.”
The Sandman’s council website listed three offices, one in City Hall and two in Richter’s district. Grady Locke, being Richter’s chief of staff, would have offices at each location. When they were ten minutes from Grady Locke’s loft, Josh phoned the City Hall office, identified himself as a segment producer for CNN, and asked to speak with Locke. Two transfers later, a deputy communications director told him Locke could be reached at their district office. This was good news. With Locke on the far side of town, they had more time.
They parked in an alley across from Locke’s building. Josh miked up again as Ryan rigged his phone to a selfie stick. In a flash of inspiration, Ryan had suggested they post video clips as an extra on their website. Josh thought the idea was brilliant.
They piled out of the car and lined up a shot of Josh with the entry to Locke’s building visible over his shoulder. Ryan handled the camera.
Ryan said, “Action.”
Josh began.
“Grady Locke, one of the men responsible for Skylar’s death, lives in the building behind me. Nice place. This is what years of corruption will buy. This is where Skylar Lawless discovered the truth. C’mon. Let’s see what we find.”
Cut.
Ryan beamed.
“Awesome.”
“Watch for the dude. If he comes home, call fast.”
Ryan would stay below watching for Locke.
Josh shouldered the duffel, hustled across the street, and entered Grady Locke’s building using the code he’d gotten from Rachel. The elevator took him up to Locke’s floor. He let himself in with the key and deactivated the alarm by entering the entry code. Being stupid, Locke used the same number for both. Rachel had laughed when she told him.
Rachel had told so many stories about Locke and his view, Josh went from room to room, checking the views from windows the size of walls. Josh didn’t think the views were all that special. Maybe they looked better at night.
Rachel had returned to the loft at least twice after Tarly delivered the bucket of Kentucky Fried cash. Each time she returned, she found the bucket in the same place and still filled with cash. Rachel couldn’t understand it, but Josh understood. These people weren’t hedge fund managers and Harvard MBAs running multinational transaction scams. Richter might be an elected councilman and Locke his chief of staff, but they were as clueless as car thieves. They didn’t have offshore accounts. They hid their take under kibble in their garages. They didn’t know what else to do with it, which was why Richter made Locke keep his money and why Locke let it pile up. They couldn’t deposit it and couldn’t spend too much without drawing attention. Every cash criminal had the same problem.
Josh found the bucket exactly where Rachel told him. He photographed it in place, stacked the cash on the counter, and moved on. He found cash in the freezer and in the cabinets above the double-wide fridge. He found more cash in the pantry, in the utility closet, behind the bar, and taped beneath the dining table. He documented each location.
The mother lode was stashed in Locke’s walk-in closet. Josh was so tickled by the man’s small-time stupidity he set up the selfie stick, checked his mic, and gave a tour.
“I am now in Grady Locke’s home, in his bedroom, and entering his closet. You have to see this.”
Josh adjusted the camera to show a row of sport coats and suits and shoeboxes lining the shelf above. Holding the camera steady while using his free hand to reveal what he’d found in the jackets was difficult.
“Look at this. He’s hidden cash in the pockets. Packs of cash. In the outside pockets, in the inside pockets. Look at this. And here—”
Josh lifted down a shoebox and tipped off the top.
“In the shoeboxes. The man has cash hidden everywhere. This is Josh Shoe, reporting the truth, in Grady Locke’s closet.”
Cut.
Time check. Bad.
