Pike watched the world grow golden, then burnish to a deep copper, then deepen with purple into a murky haze. Cars came and left. People banged through their gates, some wearing flip-flops on their way to the pool. Pike watched until it was full-on dark and his world behind the green was black, and then he finally moved, rising with the slowness of melting ice. He crept along the side of his condo, checking each window as he reached it, and found that the second window had been jimmied. Raising the window had tripped Pike’s alarm.

Pike peered inside but saw only shadows. Nothing moved, and no sounds came from within. He removed the screen in slow motion, then slowly raised the window and lifted himself inside.

The room was dark, but the doorway opening into his living room was bright. Pike had left on the lamp. He drew the Kimber and crept into the living room, moving with absolute silence. No one sat on his couch or on the Eames chair in which Pike read. The only movement came from the fountain in the corner-a bowl with water burbling quietly over stones. Pike listened beyond the water, straining to feel the sense of the space, but the only sounds were the water and the whisper of the air conditioner.

Pike found no one. They had tried to be careful so Pike wouldn’t know, but an address book was missing from the kitchen, and the phone in his bedroom was in a place Pike never left it. The clothes in his closet were not in their usual positions.

Pike returned to the living room. His television sat in an entertainment center opposite the fountain, along with a CD player, a TiVo, and other electronics. A security camera Pike had installed himself fed into a hard drive stacked among the equipment. Pike turned on his television, then watched the recording. Single-frame captures taken in his living room had been made at eight-second intervals, so the pictures appeared as a jerky slide show. A man with a pistol entered from the same room through which Pike had entered. He wasn’t wearing a mask or gloves or face-black; just a dark T-shirt and jeans and running shoes. His hair was longish, and straight, and dark. He was Anglo or Latino, but Pike couldn’t tell which. The pictures showed his path in sharp jumps-first as he entered, then across the room, then at the stairs. A man could cover a lot of ground in eight seconds. Then the man was at the front door, and now a second man entered. This man was smaller than the first man, and wore a dark shirt with the tail out over jeans. His hair was also longish and dark, but his skin was darker, and Pike decided this man was Latino.

In the next picture, the first man had returned to the kitchen, and the second man was kneeling at the door. A small black case was on the floor, and the second man seemed to be holding the doorknob with both hands. The pictures progressed, and Pike realized the second man was making keys. The first man returned from searching the house as the keymaker tested the keys.

Pike froze the picture. It was the best view yet of the first man, showing a three-quarter shot of his face. Pike took out the pictures Bud had given him, and compared them. The keymaker wasn’t among them, but the first man was one of the three men who invaded Larkin’s home. He wasn’t the man who beat the housekeeper, but he was present.

Pike backed up the images until he found the best angle on the keymaker, pressed a button, and a laser printer in the entertainment center hummed. Pike tucked the new pictures away.

The remaining security captures showed the two men leaving.

Pike turned off the television. He stood in his empty home, listening to the fountain. It was the good sound of a stream in the deep woods, natural and comforting.

Pike powered up his cell phone and called Ronnie.

Ronnie said, “Yo.”

“I need you and Dennis on the house. Two men, twenties to thirties, dark hair straight and on the long side, five-eight to five-ten. The shorter guy is probably Latino.”

“They at your place now?”

“No, but they’ll be back. They made keys.”

“Ah. You want’m field dressed?”

“Just let me know.”

Pike reset the alarms, reset the surveillance camera, then went to his fridge. He opened two bottles of Corona, poured the beer down the sink, then placed the empty bottles on the counter. The counter had been clean when the men were here, but now the bottles stood out like tall ships on the horizon. When the men returned, they would see that Pike had been home. They would tell themselves if he came home once, he would come home again, and they might decide to wait.

Pike wanted them to wait.

16

Elvis Cole

LARKIN CONNER BARKLEY wouldn’t talk to him. Cole asked about the property owners and tenants near her loft, but he might as well have spoken in a foreign language. Her lips pulled into a pensive bud, and she stared down the street as if Pike’s car had been a shimmering mirage.

“I can’t believe he left me like this. He dismissed me.”

Cole said, “The nerve of him. That cad.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the second time you’ve hinted at sex, but I still have to refuse.”

Larkin crossed the street without waiting for him and went directly to Cole’s car. Some people didn’t appreciate humor.

Cole decided to give her some space, so they drove back in silence. He couldn’t blame her for being tired of answering questions and talking about the same things over and over, and he didn’t want to get down on her for showing the strain. He still had questions, but the answers would keep until later.

On the way back to Echo Park, he stopped at a small grocery store in Thai Town, figuring the odds were better she wouldn’t be recognized at a small ethnic market. He expected her to give him an argument when he asked her to come in with him, but she didn’t. She seemed calmer by then. She quietly inspected the strange labels and odd packages while he filled two bags with food, milk, a kid’s drawing pad, a plastic ruler, and two bottles of plum wine. The only time she spoke was when she saw the wine.

“I don’t drink.”

“You can watch me. You want anything special? Fruit? Some kind of dessert?”

“I don’t want anything.”

She said nothing else. Her slack expression returned, and Cole felt even worse for her. Back in the car, he dug around in the glove box for his iPod and dropped it in her lap.

“You know how it works?”

“He won’t let me have it.”

“He’ll let you have this one.”

Larkin held it, but made no attempt to listen.

When they got back to the house, she took a bath. She didn’t tell him she was going to take a bath or anything else; she disappeared into the bathroom and soon the water was running. Cole put away the groceries, then brought the pad and his notes to the table. His notes completely filled the backs of each page of the accident report, and described in detail every building and business in Larkin Barkley’s neighborhood. Cole set to work drawing a map, building it block by block, one block per page. He divided each block into boxes to represent buildings and labeled each building with its address. He listed the names of the businesses as well as their phone numbers and any other notes he had made.

He was finishing the first map when he grew worried. The water had stopped. It had stopped running a long time ago, but Larkin was still in the bathroom.

Cole went to the door and knocked.

“You okay?”

She didn’t answer.

Cole tried the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked again. Harder.

“Larkin?”

“I’m soaking.”

At least she wasn’t killing herself.

Cole returned to the table and went back to work. The tub glugged as it drained, and water ran again, but he let her soak. If she wanted to look like a prune, that was up to her. After a while, she emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. Cole completed his map of her street, then set to work charting the surrounding streets. He was convinced that Meesh and the Kings had been in the area for a purpose. They had been going to or coming from a target destination, and that target was likely one of the buildings or businesses on his map. Cole was also convinced the feds believed the same; twelve of the sixteen people Cole interviewed had also been questioned by agents of the U.S. Department of Justice. Pitman, Blanchette, and at least two other agents had questioned them about the accident, the Kings, and Meesh.