11

PIKE didn’t bring her to Universal and didn’t wait until noon. Cole had Bud’s home address before they were out the door.

Cheviot Hills was an upscale neighborhood set on the rolling land south of the Hillcrest Country Club in midtown Los Angeles. Gracious homes with immaculate yards and manicured sidewalks were scattered throughout the area, though the larger homes were closer to the park. The homes farther south and closer to the I-10 freeway were smaller, but still beyond a police officer’s salary. Back in the day when Pike rode with Bud, the Flynns had shared a duplex in Atwater Village.

Bud’s current home was a small split-level not far from the freeway. A tan Explorer was parked in the drive as if it had been there all night. The house sat at the top of a rise, with a gently sloping drive and a front lawn that struggled against the brutal summer heat. Many of the homes had not been changed since they were built in the thirties, which gave the street a sleepy, small-town feel. A brace of jacaranda trees colored the car and the driveway with purple snow.

Larkin swiveled her head as they drove past the house, alert and excited.

“What are we going to do?”

“You’re going to stay in the car. I’m going to talk to him.”

“But what if he’s not here? What if he left?”

“See the jacaranda flowers on the driveway? They haven’t been disturbed.”

“What if he wasn’t here? What if he lied?”

“Please be quiet.”

Pike parked across the mouth of Bud’s drive so Larkin would be clearly visible in the car, then got out and went to the front door. Pike stood to one side of the door, positioning himself so he could not be seen from the windows. He called Bud’s cell.

Bud said, “Gotta be you, Joe. The incoming call says restricted.”

“Look in your driveway.”

“Joe?”

“Look outside.”

Pike heard movement over the phone, then inside the house. The front door opened. Bud stepped out. He stared at the girl, but didn’t yet see Pike. Bud had already dressed for the day, but Pike thought the years had caught up with him in the past thirty-six hours. He looked tired.

Pike said, “Bud.”

Bud showed no surprise. He scowled the way he had scowled when Pike was a boot, like he was wondering what he had done to be cursed with this person who was ruining his life.

He said, “What did you think I would do, have Universal surrounded? Have spotter planes up in the sky?”

Pike made a rolling gesture so Larkin would roll down her window.

Pike called out to her.

“Say hi to Bud.”

Larkin waved and called back from the car.

“Hi, Bud!”

Pike called out again.

“You want to stay here with him?”

Larkin made a two-thumbs-down gesture and shook her head. Pike turned back to Bud, but Bud was still scowling.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“This is a nice house. You’ve done all right.”

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you know how much shit I’m in?”

“I’m showing you she’s alive and well. You can tell her father and Special Agent Pitman she’s fine. You can say she doesn’t want to come back because she likes staying alive.”

Bud grew irritated.

“Now waitaminute, goddamnit-this isn’t only about the girl. You dropped five bodies in two days. You think, what, Pitman can tell LAPD, hey, it’s all right, our civilian killed those dudes to protect our witness, and Northeast Homicide will let it go? You have to help straighten this out.”

Pike didn’t care if they let it go or not. He wondered why Bud hadn’t mentioned that Pitman had returned his gun. Then he wondered whether or not Bud knew, and, if not, why Pitman hadn’t told him.

“What does Pitman want?”

“You, the feds, a couple of assistant chiefs from Parker and the Sheriff’s, that’s what we’re talking about. You and Larkin answer their questions, Pitman says the locals will go away.”

“Won’t happen.”

“Pitman says if you don’t come in he’ll issue a warrant for kidnapping.”

The corner of Pike’s mouth twitched, and Bud reddened.

“I know it’s bullshit, but you’re out here running around and nobody knows what’s happening. The feds believe they can protect her. They think the problem is me, and that’s what they’re telling her father. He’s this close to firing me.”

“So tell me, Bud-is she safer with you now or me?”

“I turned over my personal records to the DOJ. I gave them my guys-their cell records, hotels and expenses, everything. Her father, he gave Pitman an open door on his lawyer, his staff, their e-mails and phones-all of it. We’ll plug the leak.”

“Who’s checking Pitman?”

Bud blinked as if he was facing a dry wind, and finally shook his head.

“I can’t keep her safe. I can’t even cover for you. I know that was part of the deal, but now I don’t know.”

“My way, the leak doesn’t matter.”

Bud finally looked at him. His eyes were hard stones hidden by flesh weakened with age.

“Joe. What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for Meesh.”

“You aren’t just looking. I don’t want to be involved with anything like this. You want my help, but I don’t even want to know.”

“I only have two leads back to Meesh-the men in the morgue and the Kings. If the Kings were in business with him, then they probably knew where he was staying and how to reach him. Maybe I can find him through them.”

“They’re still missing.”

“The feds must have something. Can you help with that?”

“Pitman has their home and office under twenty-four-hour surveillance. He has their phones tapped. He even has someone watching their yacht. If those people fart, the feds will be on them. If you try to get close to anything they own, the feds will be on you, too.”

“Then the men I killed are my last door back to him. What do you know?”

Bud darkened, but glanced at the girl and wet his lips.

“I gotta get my keys. Inside in the entry. That okay?”

Pike nodded.

Bud stepped into his house, but only long enough to fish his keys from a blue bowl inside the door. Pike followed him out to his car. Bud opened the Explorer and Pike saw the same cordovan briefcase he had seen in the desert. Bud took out three pictures. They were the security stills taken when the Barkleys’ home was invaded. Pike had seen them up in the desert, too.

Bud handed them to Pike, and tapped the top picture.

“This man was one of the original home invaders. You shot him in Malibu. He’s the only one of the five you shot who was also one of the home invaders.”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. But this man-”

Bud shuffled the pictures to point out a man with prominent cheekbones and a scarred lip.

“-he’s the freak who beat the housekeeper. You recognize either of these other guys from Malibu or Eagle Rock?”

“Who are they?”

“Don’t know. We haven’t been able to identify any of the five people you put in the morgue. The Live Scan kicked back zero. No IDs were found on the bodies, and they weren’t in the system. You can keep these pictures, you want.”

Pike stared at the pictures, thinking it didn’t make sense that none of the five had been identified. The type of man you could hire to do murder almost always had a criminal record. The Live Scan system digitized fingerprints, then instantly compared them with computerized records stored by the California Department of Justice and the NCIC files, and those files were exhaustive. If a person had ever been arrested anywhere in the country or served in the military, their fingerprints were in the file.

Pike said, “That doesn’t sound right.”

“No, it does not, but all five of these guys were clean.”

“No IDs or wallets?”

“Not one damn thing of a personal nature. You arrested a lot of people, Joe. You remember many shitbirds smart enough to clean up before they did crime?”