Racing the Light, page 9
“I’m never going back. And I’m keeping the computer. Fuck’m.”
Ryan hung up.
I let myself out, locked Josh’s bungalow, and headed for home. No red pickup trucks or dirty SUVs appeared in my mirror, but every vehicle was suspect. The Dan Wesson rode shotgun.
16
I phoned Joe Pike as I worked my way across Hollywood.
“This thing’s heating up. Two guys in an SUV tried to run me down.”
“Get the plate?”
“It was covered. You free tomorrow?”
“I’m anxious to meet them.”
“Come early tonight. I’ll fill you in before Lucy and Ben arrive.”
“Lucy asked me to take Ben after dinner.”
“She did?”
“So you can talk.”
“About what?”
“Didn’t say.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“No.”
Typical.
I picked up skirt steak, chicken thighs, and handmade nixtamal tortillas from a Mexican market on Franklin. The women at the little market made the tortillas in the traditional way, and made them to order. I ordered two dozen and watched them shape and pat the masa dough into taco-sized tortillas and flip them onto a hot comal. They didn’t use a tortilla press or a rolling pin. They worked the dough by hand the way they’d seen their grandmothers and great-grandmothers do it back in Cozumel, and they made the best tortillas I’ve eaten.
I stopped for salad stuff and veggies at a market closer to home and pulled into my carport a few minutes later. Nobody tried to kill me on the way.
The salad and veggies went in the fridge, then I set to work prepping the skirt steak and chicken. Skirt steak was my fave for carne asada. Thighs were great for tacos because they stayed moist. The prep work didn’t take long.
I skinned and trimmed the thighs, then laid them out on a sheet of foil. I seasoned them with chili powder, garlic powder, a little oregano, and salt. When the seasoning looked good, I dropped the pieces into a plastic bag, added a little olive oil and a couple of squeezes of lime, sealed the bag, massaged it to bring everything together, and tucked the bag in the fridge. I cleaned up the chicken gunk, laid out a fresh piece of foil, and repeated the prep with the beef. When the beef and chicken were marinating, I went out onto the deck and prepped the grill. When the grill was good to go, I showered, dressed, and returned to the living room with my laptop. I brought up the In Your Face website.
Skylar’s original appearance on In Your Face bore their typical snappy episode title.
#29: WANNA GET PAID FOR NASTY SEX?: PREPARE TO BE SCREWED!
Josh gets the hot and heavy down low from Skylar Lawless, Jasmine Juggs, and superstud Mario Root!
The extras available for the episode were minimal. Behind the Scenes led to a few photos of Josh, Skylar, and the other guests in his tiny studio. Curriculum Vitae listed their video credits, and Raw Talent led to nude PR shots and stills from their videos.
I clicked back to the podcast page, carried the laptop into the kitchen, and listened to the interview while I washed and sliced the vegetables. Portrait of the detective at work.
Despite the episode’s outlandish title, Josh was neither salacious nor vulgar. He introduced each actor, asked funny warm-up questions, and guided the conversation into the serious topics of their working conditions, health concerns, and security. The performers shared stories about being misled, lied to, or cheated, and how they had supplemented their fluctuating incomes. Jasmine earned more as an exotic dancer than she earned making porn, but the celebrity she derived from Triple X videos allowed her to demand higher rates as a dancer. She viewed porn as advertising. Skylar had begun as a dancer, but hated the night-to-night grind. Mario confessed he had worked as an escort during lulls in his career, and Jasmine and Skylar admitted they and many of the girls they knew had also worked as paid escorts. Josh followed up.
Josh: I wanna make sure the audience understands. Escorting means outcall, right? Somebody pays to have sex with you.
Jasmine: (laughing) Guys’ll pay just to be seen with these titties, and if they want more, I’m down! You want the ass, bring on the cash!
Josh: How’s that work?
Mario: You never had sex? You stick your weenie in’m.
(laughter)
Josh: Seriously. Wait. I’d be scared. You go to a house or hotel alone. You’re meeting a total stranger who could be a psycho killer. I’d be terrified. Isn’t it dangerous?
Jasmine: Tell me about it!
Skylar: Yeah, kinda, so you need a safety.
Josh: What’s—
Mario: (interrupting) You tell someone. Here’s where I’m going, here’s how long I’ll be. You call’m. Okay, I’m going in. Okay, I’m out. Everything’s cool.
Skylar: Yeah. It’s like, if you are even one second late . . .
Mario: Come running. So you gotta have someone you trust, someone dependable.
Skylar: My homegirl Kimmie. Shoutout to YOU, Kaykay! I love this girl so much! She takes care of me. We go back, man. Forever!
Josh: She’s your safety?
Skylar: And more! My absolute bestie. I totally love this girl.
I hit the pause button. Meredith Birch had claimed she was Skylar’s safety, but Skylar was saying her safety was someone named Kimmie. I wondered if “forever” meant Visalia. I hit play.
Josh: Is she hot like you?
Skylar: (laughing) Hotter!
Josh: Give us a couple of titles. How can the listeners check her out?
Skylar: No, no, no—she’s not in the business. She’s a good girl. I was the bad girl. Ohmygosh, we’re the Odd Couple.
The interview lasted another nine minutes. I set the veggies aside, took the laptop back to the couch, and reread the articles about Skylar I’d bookmarked.
Besides having a sister and riding horses, details about Skylar’s family and childhood were scarce. She was bored, dyed her face green to freak people out, and everyone thought she was crazy. She had quit school halfway through the eleventh grade, hitchhiked to L.A., and lied about her age to get a job stripping. None of the articles mentioned someone named Kimmie or the names of her family.
I pulled up the Visalia directory, and found six Bohlens: Anna P., Emma L., Gene R., George A., Kandace, and Richard L. The directory didn’t list cell numbers, so thousands of Bohlens might live in Visalia, but they wouldn’t be listed unless they had a hard line.
I called Anna P. first. Her phone rang so long I was about to hang up when she answered.
“Yes, hello?”
Her voice was strong and breathy, as if she’d run in from outside to answer. She sounded like someone in her fifties, which meant she could be Skylar’s mother.
“My name is Cole. I’m calling from Los Angeles regarding a Rachel Belle Bohlen.”
“Uh-huh. That isn’t me. My name is Anna.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. Would you happen to know of a Rachel Belle?”
“Well, let’s see—”
She made little mumbly sounds, somewhere between humming and talking to herself.
“No. I don’t think so. What is this regarding?”
“She’s applied for a position with the Los Angeles Police Department, so we do a little background check.”
“Oh, uh-huh, well, I don’t know her.”
“If Bohlen is your married name, maybe your husband knows her.”
“He’s dead.”
“Sorry, Ms. Bohlen.”
“I’m not. He was an awful man.”
Emma L. didn’t answer.
Gene R. sent me to voice mail. I didn’t leave a message.
I dialed George A. next. George answered on the third ring, and stopped me when I mentioned her name.
“Not interested. I got nothing to say.”
George A. hung up. I debated whether to call back, and decided against it. At least I’d found someone who knew her.
Kandace Bohlen’s number led to another voice mail. This time, I left my name and number, and told her I’d like to speak with her about Rachel Belle Bohlen. She would call back, or she wouldn’t.
Richard L. was last. A young woman answered on the second ring, yelping out a hello in a cheery voice. She sounded like a teenager. I heard background voices, but they were probably on television.
I said, “Hey. Don’t hang up, okay? Picture me begging.”
This was me, laying on the charm.
She giggled.
“Who is this?”
“Every Bohlen I’ve called hangs up. Be a rebel. Resist the urge. Pretty please?”
“Who is this? Did Ronnie put you up to this?”
“Actually, no. I’m calling from Los Angeles. I need information about a Rachel Belle Bohlen.”
She didn’t respond. In her silence, the background voices were loud.
I said, “I take it you know her?”
Her voice was completely different when she answered. Hushed and low, like she didn’t want anyone to hear.
“Is she okay?”
“So far as I know. May I ask your name?”
“I can’t really talk.”
Her voice was so muffled she might have had a blanket over her head.
“My name is Elvis Cole. I’m a private investigator.”
“April.”
A whisper.
“Are you her sister?”
She didn’t respond.
“Did Rachel have a friend named Kim or Kimmie? Maybe went by Kaykay?”
“Can’t talk.”
The line went dead, and April was gone.
Can’t talk didn’t mean won’t talk. Can’t talk was promising.
I put the laptop aside and checked the time. Lucy and Ben were due to land and Joe would arrive in minutes. Dinner was prepped and ready to go. The house was clean, the guest room was squared away, and I had showered and shaved. Nothing left to do except wonder what Lucy wanted to talk about. I was deciding whether to check the guest room again when Terri Grafino called. Terri didn’t sound like her usual friendly self. She sounded subdued.
Terri said, “This number.”
That was it.
I said, “Couldn’t find the account?”
“I found it. I couldn’t get into it, but I found it.”
Her voice trailed away to silence.
I said, “Terri?”
“Be careful, Elvis. Don’t get stupid on me.”
I’d never heard Terri sound empty.
“I don’t understand. Is this about the phone?”
“The number, not the phone. It’s the account. Whose number is this?”
“Just a guy. Nobody special. I’m trying to find him.”
“The number’s account is caged. When I tried to access the account, which I did, a message appeared. Please contact the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, Department of Defense, Washington, D.C.”
I felt a dull throb behind my eyes.
“The Department of Defense.”
“I’ll probably be investigated.”
“Maybe you transposed a digit.”
“It’s the number you gave me. A DARPA number. It’s caged.”
DARPA handled research for the military.
“At least they said please.”
“These people don’t joke.”
“No. I guess they don’t.”
Terri Grafino hung up without saying good-bye. I went to the glass doors and stared across the canyon without seeing it. I felt angry and a little scared. Maybe more than a little. I called Wendy Vann.
“Did you get his call log yet?”
“Give me a break, Cole. I’m working on it.”
“Might be faster if you didn’t need to ask the Defense Department.”
“Take it easy.”
“Why does Josh Shumacher have a DARPA phone number?”
“Take it easy.”
“Who are you people?”
“His parents used to work for the government. That’s all. The phone’s a perk. That’s all it is.”
“How about you and Kurt? Are you a perk?”
“Forget the phone, Cole. You were hired to find her son, so find him. Do your job.”
“Answer my question. Who are you people?”
Wendy paused.
“Here’s my answer.”
She smiled. I sensed it. I didn’t like the smile or the reasons behind it or what she said next.
“Enjoy your tacos.”
17
Joe Pike and I had been partners since the day we bought the agency from old George Feider, my former boss. He’d been my friend even longer. Pike’s uniform du jour was jeans, a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, and military-issue sunglasses, which was pretty much what he wore every day. He leaned against the counter in my kitchen with his arms crossed. Pike stood as still as a tree. Arrows tattooed on the outsides of his shoulders wrapped forward across his deltoids as if pointing at me. The arrows were red.
I said, “It was a threat. They want me to find Josh, but they didn’t expect me to discover the DoD connection. Wendy was warning me to stay clear.”
“Think they’re feds?”
Wendy and Kurt.
“The government doesn’t provide free phones and security to retired academics.”
I had googled the Schumachers after Wendy hung up. Adele Schumacher, under her maiden name Adele Raisa Voight, had received a Ph.D. in Computer Theory & Mathematics from MIT, after which she joined the faculty at Stanford. Corbin Schumacher was on the faculty when she arrived, having received a doctorate in Materials Science the year before. During the next eight years, they married, published sixty research articles, and registered as an LLC called Applied Thought, through which they worked as consultants to the aerospace industry. They left Stanford the following year, after which I could find no further information about them or their company.
Pike said, “Maybe they aren’t retired.”
I set out bowls of chips and salsa as we talked, and took the bags of marinating beef and chicken from the fridge. Lucy had called. They had landed, picked up a rental car, and were on their way.
“I got fake chicken cutlets for you. Figured we’d grill them with a little lime and cilantro.”
Pike faced the window and studied the canyon.
“A spotter couldn’t tell you’re making tacos. They must’ve followed you to the market.”
“Adele hired me to find her son. Why would her people follow me?”
“To see if you pad the bill.”
“Is your name Corbin?”
Pike turned from the window.
“Spooks spook. It’s what they do.”
The world according to Pike.
“I’m not the only person trying to find her son.”
I told him about the men in the SUV and the night crew.
“I don’t know if they play on the same team or we have two sets of two. It’s a crowded field.”
“What did Wendy say?”
“Corbin’s people wouldn’t need to sneak into Josh’s place in the dead of night.”
Pike’s head moved.
“The dead of night.”
“Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Lucy.”
I stopped. I nodded, but the nod was for me. I looked at Joe, but the blank lenses were empty.
“Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
I broke out two bottles. We twisted the caps.
I said, “I don’t like the suddenness of this.”
“Their trip.”
“I’m glad for the chance to see them. I love seeing them. I don’t see them enough.”
Pike nodded, a move so slight most people wouldn’t notice.
He said, “But.”
“I’m concerned. Her wanting to talk but not saying why is not Lucy. She isn’t coy.”
“No.”
I glanced at him again.
“They’re staying here. With me. Lucy is staying here, too.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’m fine with it, but you know how it’s been.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve had boundaries.”
“I know.”
“For a long time. She drew lines and I respected them. Never liked them, but I accepted her limits.”
“Maybe you’re making too much of this.”
“I’m concerned.”
“They’ll be here soon and I’ll take Ben. Ask her.”
“It’ll be strange, knowing she’s down in the guest room. It’ll be strange in the morning.”
“Ask her.”
“I’ll ask her.”
I stared at the fridge, and wondered if I’d forgotten anything.
Pike interrupted my staring.
“These people after Adele’s son.”
“What about them?”
“Maybe they’re not after her son.”
“I’m listening.”
“How many people were with Adele when she came to the office?”
“Wendy and Kurt, a driver below, and a second driver in a trail car. Two vehicles. Four suits.”
“A security detail. And her husband?”
“Ryan told me Corbin has a crew.”
“Having security implies you feel threatened. Maybe her son’s disappearance is connected to the threat. Maybe the people watching his place are the threat.”
I had considered it and considered it again.
“It’s possible, but Josh and Skylar were into something. Way it looks, they argued, she left, and he’s trying to find her.”
“These are maybes.”
I thought it through. Bending the narrative away from Skylar was as difficult as bending sheet metal, but thinking about it gave me an idea.
