Cole placed the note with the phone.
“Your pal Rina, you think she’d talk to me?”
“No.”
Cole stared at the information Pike had cribbed onto the sheet. It wasn’t much.
“Where did Ana live?”
“With Frank.”
“Maybe she had another place for the weekends.”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess you and I aren’t up to speed on the nanny lifestyle.”
“No.”
The classic Pike conversation.
“What I’m getting at here is that talking to people who knew this girl might be a good place to start. I’ll need the names of her friends, maybe some phone numbers, things like that. If the sister won’t talk to us, can we get into the crime scene?”
“I’ll take care of it. Also, John Chen is on the SID team. He’s running the physical evidence.”
Cole nodded. Chen was good, and Chen had worked with them before. Cole would call him after Pike left.
Two seagulls appeared in the empty blue nothing outside the glass. Cole watched them float on their invisible sea, tiny heads turning. One of them suddenly dropped out of sight. His partner watched the other fall, then folded his wings and followed.
Cole said, “And Terrio doesn’t know about Jamal and the Serbian connection?”
“No.”
“You going to tell him?”
“No. I want to find them before the police.”
Pike was staring at him, but his face was as empty of expression as always, the dark glasses like two black holes cut into space. The stillness in Pike was amazing.
Cole looked for the gulls again, but they were still gone. The winter sky was a milky blue, just edging into gray from the haze. Cole got up, went around his desk to the little fridge under the Pinocchio clock, and took out a bottle of water. He offered it to Pike. Pike shook his head once. Cole brought it back to his desk.
Cole glanced at the news story again, the one Pike had not touched. The second paragraph, where the names of the murdered victims were given. Frank, Cindy, Frank, Jr., Joe. The youngest was Joey. Executed. The word chosen by the journalist to describe what had happened. Executed. Cole had not stopped thinking about that word since he read the story. He knew better, but the writer was good. She had burned a few words onto a blank page, forcing Cole and her other readers to imagine the scene, and there it was. A black steel muzzle to the head. Clenched eyes, tears squeezing through stitched lids, maybe the sobbing and screaming, and the short, sharp BAM that ends all of it. The sobbing stops, the face grows serene as its lines relax in death, and all that remains is the mother’s screams. Cindy would have been last. Cole folded the article and pushed it aside, wondering the thing he had been wondering since reading the article yesterday-whether or not the youngest boy, Joey, had been named after Pike.
Who was Frank Meyer?
One of my guys.
Cole had learned enough over the years to know what was meant. Pike had been able to hand-pick his guys, which meant he chose people he respected. Then, because they were Pike’s guys, he would have arranged for their gear, and meals, and equipment, made sure they were paid on time, that their contracts were honored, and that they were properly equipped for the job at hand. He would have taken care of them, and they would have taken care of him, and he would not have let them sell their lives cheaply.
Who was Frank Meyer?
One of my guys.
Cole said, “I don’t need to hide from what you’re going to do. You haven’t done it yet. Maybe things will change. Maybe the police will find them first.”
Pike said, “Mm.”
Cole studied Pike, and thought that Pike was studying him back, but maybe Pike was just looking. Cole never knew what Pike was thinking. Maybe Pike was just waiting for Cole to say something. Pike was very patient.
Cole said, “I want you to hear this, and think about it. I don’t think Terrio is necessarily wrong. If I were him, I would be looking at Meyer, too. What if it turns out Frank isn’t the man you knew. What if Terrio’s right?”
The flat black lenses seemed to bore into Cole as if they were portholes into another dimension.
“He’s still one of my guys.”
The seagulls reappeared, drawing Cole’s eye. They hung in the air, tiny heads flicking left and right as they glanced at each other. Then, as one, the two birds looked at Cole. They stared with their merciless eyes, then banked away. Gone.
Cole said, “You see that?”
But when Cole looked over, Pike was gone, too.
13
TWO MEN AND A WOMAN in dark blue business suits were walking up Frank’s drive when Pike cruised past. A senior uniformed officer with the stars on her collar that marked her as a deputy chief was gesturing as the three civilians followed. Downtown brass giving a few big-shots the tour.
A single black-and-white command car was parked at the curb, indicating the officer had driven the civilians herself. No other official vehicles were present. Three days after the murders, the lab rats had found everything there was to find. Pike knew the house would remain sealed until the science people were certain they wouldn’t need additional samples. When they gave the okay, the detectives would release the house to Frank and Cindy’s estate, and someone would notify Ana Markovic’s family that they could claim her possessions. Pike wondered if Ana’s parents lived in Serbia, and if they had been notified. He wondered if they were flying in to claim their daughter’s body, and whether they could afford it.
Pike circled a nearby park, slowly winding his way back to Frank’s. He approached from the opposite direction this time, and parked two blocks up the street with an easy, eyes-forward view of the command car.
The senior officer and her guests stayed inside for forty-two minutes. This was much longer than Pike would have expected, but then they came back down the drive, climbed into the command car, and drove away.
Pike waited five minutes, then pulled forward to park across from Frank’s. An older woman with white hair was walking a little white dog. The dog was short, and old, with a heavy body and eyes that had been playful before they were tired. Pike let them pass, then walked up Frank’s drive, and entered through the side gate as he had two nights before.
Someone had taped a piece of cardboard over the broken pane in the French door. Pike pushed the cardboard aside and let himself in. After four days, the blood pooled on the floors had soured and mildewed. Pike ignored the smell, and went to Ana Markovic’s room.
The handmade Valentine poster made by Frank’s boys, the posters of European soccer players, the tiny desk with its clutter of magazines and laptop computer all remained as Pike remembered. The screen saver was still playing-a young Hawaiian surf stud riding a wave that swallowed him, only to be resurrected and swallowed again in an endless loop. Pike closed the screen, unplugged the power cord, and placed the computer by the door. He searched through the drawers and clutter, hoping for some kind of address book or cell phone, but found neither. Instead, he found a high school yearbook and some birthday and holiday cards. He put the cards in the yearbook, and the yearbook with the computer.
Pike was bothered by the absence of a phone. He looked under and around the desk, then pulled a mound of sheets and a comforter from the bed. He found rumpled clothes, two open boxes of cookies, an open box of Pampers, some magazines, three partially consumed bottles of water, a paperback novel about vampires, an unopened bag of Peanut M &M’s, and a single unused tampon still in its wrapper. He found the messy clutter of a young woman who liked to shove everything in the corner, but no phone. Pike lifted the mattress. Nothing.
Pike realized he had not found a purse or wallet, either. It occurred to him that her phone had probably been in her purse, and the paramedics might have taken her purse along when they rushed her to the hospital. Pike made a mental note to tell Cole. Cole could check to see if this was what happened, and whether or not the hospital still had the purse in their possession.