That leaves one other.
The apartment now sealed, Sobek pulls DeVille's case file from its hiding place in the closet, along with the brittle, yellowed newspaper articles about DeVille's arrest. He has read these a hundred thousand times, touching the grainy photographs of the Coopster being led from the motel in handcuffs. He touches them again now. He hates Wozniak, who spotted him at a Dunkin' Donut shop that day, and manipulated him into revealing what he knew. This asshole is using you, Wozniak had said. What this guy is doing to you is wrong, he said. Help me help you.
The Islander Palms Motel. Arrest. Prison. Dead.
Sobek closes his eyes, and puts away whatever is left of his feelings for DeVille. He has studied Pike, and learned well. Abandon humanity. Feel nothing. Control is everything. If you are in control, then you can re-create yourself. Become larger. Control everything.
Sobek closes his eyes, steadies his breathing, and feels an inner calm that only comes from certainty. He admires himself in the mirror: jeans, Nikes, gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cropped. He runs a hand over his quarter-inch hair, and imagines that he is not looking at Laurence Sobek, but is seeing Joe Pike. He flexes. The red arrows he had painted on his deltoids are gone, but he thinks that when this is over, he will have them tattooed there permanently. He rubs at his crotch, and enjoys the sensation.
Control.
He places the dark glasses over his eyes.
He has a cut-down double-barrel shotgun that he lifted from the Parker Center evidence room, and a box of twelve-gauge shells filled with #4 buckshot. He pulls the weight bench to the center of the floor, then fixes the shotgun to it with duct tape. He runs a cord from the knob to both triggers, rigged so that the gun will go off when the door opens, and pulls back the hammers.
He lays out the evidence that he wants Cole and the police to find, then lets himself out the back window. He will never return to this place.
Laurence Sobek drives away to do murder.
34
• • •
Dolan ripped away from Drusilla Sobek's house like the queen of the Demolition Derby. She was so excited she was shaking. “We got the sonofabitch. Right under our own goddamned noses, but we got him.”
“No, Dolan, we don't have him yet. It's time to take it inside.”
She glanced at me, and I knew what she was thinking. That she'd like to snap the cuffs on him herself and cut Krantz and Bishop and their whole damned Task Force out of the bust.
“This is what you wanted, Samantha. This is going to get you back on the team, but not if you piss off Bishop even more than he already is.”
She didn't like it much, but she finally went along. “This guy works the day shift, so he's probably at Parker Center right now. I'm putting this on Bishop's desk in person. We've got the files and Wozniak's book. I'm giving Bishop the whole load, and fuck Krantz.”
“Whatever. I've got to use a phone. Stop somewhere.”
“Use mine. It's in my purse.”
“I'd rather use a pay phone. It won't take long.”
She glanced at me like I was crazy. “Sobek is there right now.”
“I need a phone, Dolan.”
“You're going to call Pike.”
I just looked at her.
“I fuckin' knew it.”
She jerked the Beemer into the nearest gas station, blasting past a crowd of people waiting to board a bus. She screeched up to the pay phones, and left the engine running.
“Don't take all goddamned day.”
I did the same thing I'd done before, calling Pike's man, giving him the pay phone's number, then hanging up. Pike called back in less than two minutes. From the static I could tell he was on a cell phone.
“We were right, Joe. It's Sobek.”
“Is he in custody?”
“Not yet. I wanted to tell you that we're bringing it to Bishop now. If we get lucky, Sobek will cop to Dersh. If not, maybe we'll find something that links him to it and clears you.”
“It's going to bring up Woz.”
“Yeah, it is. We've got to show Wozniak's notebook to tie Sobek to DeVille, and to Wozniak. Once the story breaks, they're going to dig into what happened between you in that room. I just wanted to warn you. After we're finished with Bishop, I'll call Charlie, then go see Paulette and Evelyn so they aren't caught flat.”
“You won't have to. I will.”
I didn't know what to say, but I smiled.
Dolan blew her horn.
Pike said, “It's been a long time. I guess it's time we spoke.”
“Okay, but stay safe until this guy takes the weight for Dersh. You're still wanted, and we don't know what we'll get from him.”
When I was back in her car, Dolan swerved through the gas station, cut in front of the bus, and blasted toward the Los Angeles River.
“Dolan, have you ever killed anybody in this thing?”
“Cinch your belt tighter if you're scared. You'll be fine.”
I glanced at her and she was smiling. I guess I was smiling, too.
When we reached Parker Center, Dolan didn't bother going into the parking lot; she put it in the red zone out front. We trotted in, Dolan badging us past the desk guard. I looked at everyone we passed, wondering if Sobek would be standing there when the elevator doors opened, but he wasn't.
We pushed into Robbery-Homicide, Watts and Williams raising their eyebrows when they saw us. Dolan steamed straight into Bishop's office, surprising him on the phone.
Dolan said, “We've got the shooter.”
He covered the phone, annoyed. “Can't you see I'm on the phone?”
She put the photograph of Laurence Sobek on his desk. “His real name is Laurence Sobek. Here's another picture when he was booked under his true name as a juvenile. He's our shooter, Greg. We got him.”
Bishop told whoever was on the phone that he'd get back in five and hung up. He leaned closer to the pictures. Sobek had gained muscle and changed his appearance, but when the pictures were side by side you could tell they were the same guy.
“This is Woody something.”
I said, “You know him as Curtis Wood. He's a civilian employee here. He pushes the mail cart around.”
Krantz and Watts appeared in the door, Williams standing on his toes to see past them.
Krantz said, “Is there a problem, Captain?”
Dolan laughed. “Oh, please, Krantz. Like you could do something.”
“They say he's our shooter, Harvey.” Bishop squinted up from the pictures. “Where'd you get this booking picture?”
I said, “Sobek's juvenile record. We got the recent picture from Sobek's mother.”
I showed them the pages we'd copied from Abel Wozniak's notebook, pointing out the passages about Sobek and DeVille, and their relationship, then the copy of Sobek's juvenile record showing Wozniak as one of his arresting officers.
Even as I said it, Krantz made a sour face as if he'd bitten into a rotten carrot. “All this proves is we've got someone working here under a false name. For all you know, he changed it legally because of the problems he had as a child.”
“No, Krantz, we've got more than that.”
Dolan said, “You find a connection yet between the six vics, Harvey?”
Krantz stared at her, suspicious. You could tell he wanted to say they weren't connected, but he knew she wouldn't have asked if she weren't about to drop a bomb. Instead, he glanced at me. “What's your connection in all of this?”
“If Sobek did the six vics, then he probably killed Dersh, too.”
Krantz scowled at Bishop. “We're being scammed. This is just some bullshit Cole cooked up to save Pike.”
Bishop was looking dubious, but Stan Watts grew thoughtful. “How are they connected?”
Dolan said, “Leonard DeVille was the pedophile in the motel when Abel Wozniak was killed. Wozniak and Pike had gone in there on a tip, possibly from Sobek, looking for a little girl named Ramona Escobar.”
Watts nodded. “
I remember that.”
“Cole worked backward from Dersh, asking who'd have a motive and why would they put it on Pike.”
Krantz said, “This is bullshit. Pike killed that man.”
Bishop raised his hand, thinking about it.
Watts looked at me. “How'd you make the jump to DeVille?”
“I wasn't thinking the connection was through DeVille. I was thinking it had to be through Wozniak, but it turned out to be the other.”
Dolan went on. “We tried to pull DeVille's case file out of stores, but it's missing. Sobek could've slipped in there and lifted it. I ordered this copy up from the DA's section. This is the witness list from that case file. All six vics are on this list.”
Bishop stared at the witness list without expression for almost thirty seconds. No one else in the room moved, and then Bishop quietly said, “Fucking-A. Goddamned fucking-A. All six victims are right there.”
As Krantz read it, Watts and Williams looked over his shoulder, Williams making a whistling sound.
Bishop said, “Okay, this is looking good. This is major, but what have you got that locks Sobek to the killings?”
“So far just what you see here. The relationships. You'll need to bring Sobek in and sweat him. You've got more than enough for warrants to search his home and automobile.”
Williams was still with the list, shaking his head. “This fuckin' guy I see every day. We were just talkin' about the new Bruce Willis movie.”
Krantz jutted his jaw. He hated giving anything to Dolan or me, but he could read Bishop, and he knew Bishop wanted it. “It's good, Captain. Let's find Sobek or Wood or whatever his name is and get him in here. I can get a phone order for the search, and get that done while we're talking to him.”
Bishop picked up his phone. No one said anything while he spoke, but Stan Watts caught Dolan's eye and winked. She smiled when he did. After a couple of minutes, Bishop wrote something, then put down the phone. “Wood didn't come in today. He didn't come in yesterday or the day before, either.”
Krantz peered at Dolan. “I hope you didn't do anything to make him bolt.”
“We didn't go near him, Harvey, and no one could've tipped him. We didn't see his mother until twenty minutes ago, and she doesn't know how to contact him.”
Bishop said, “Now, Harve, let's not make accusations. I think Sam's done a good job here.”
Krantz smiled, smooth and friendly, and squarely in Bishop's butt.
“I wasn't accusing you, Samantha. This is good work. This really is.” He turned to Bishop. “But we've got to take this a step at a time now. If this stands up, and I believe it will, Samantha, then this man is a civilian employee of the Los Angeles Police Department. He was murdering people while he worked here, and he was using our information sources to do it. If we're not careful, we could have another public relations nightmare on our hands. We need to match his prints. We've got to field some physical evidence, maybe correlate the daytime homicides with the days this guy had off or missed work, that kind of thing. Then hope for something physical when we raid his home.”
He looked at Dolan, then the others, like he was trying to drive home a point. In command and on top of things.
“If he's not here, we have to find him, and that might take time. I want to move fast, but I don't want to lose this guy because we didn't get all the signatures we should've, and I don't want him tipped because word leaked out.” Krantz looked at Dolan when he said that, and she turned red.
Bishop laced his fingers, nodding. “Okay. How do you want to play it, Harvey?”
“Let's keep it small until we know what we're dealing with. Just us, and maybe two radio cars, but let's not make a big show with SWAT. If something goes wrong, the press will be all over us. Until he's in custody, I don't want him to know we're on him. If we miss the guy, the press will have it all over the air and he could slip through our fingers.”
“Okay, Harvey, that sounds good. Set it up the way you want, and roll on it.”
Krantz clapped Stan Watts on the shoulder, then turned for the door. He looked like Errol Flynn heading off with the Dawn Patrol.
Dolan said, “I want a piece.”
Everyone stopped, and looked at her.
“Captain, I earned a place here. I want this. I want to be there when we get this fucker.”
Krantz's jaw tightened, and he made the little jut. He wanted to tell her no so badly that he had cramps, but he was watching Bishop.
Bishop tapped his desk for a moment, then leaned back and nodded. “It's Harvey's Task Force, Samantha. I never force a commander to take someone he doesn't want.”
Krantz nodded, and jutted his jaw again.
“But I think you deserve a second chance. How about you, Harve? Think you could find room for Dolan?”
It was clear what Bishop wanted, and Krantz hated it. His jaw rippled with tension, but he nodded gamely. “We'll meet you in the parking lot, Dolan. You're welcome to come along.”
Everyone filed out as the meeting broke, Stan Watts and even Williams slapping Dolan on the back or shaking her hand. She accepted their congratulations with a wide, bright smile, sparkling eyes, and a flush of excitement that was breathtaking. Samantha Dolan was beautiful.
I would never again see her as happy.
35
• • •
When we got down to her car, Dolan opened the trunk, and tossed me a bullet-resistant vest. “Here. Gonna be small, but you can adjust the straps.”
I held it up to myself, then put it back in her trunk. “Not my color.”
“Your call.”
Dolan stripped off her shirt right there in the parking lot until she was down to her bra, then put on her own vest. All the people out on Los Angeles Street could see her, and so could the cops coming out of Parker Center, but she didn't seem to mind.
Dolan caught me watching and grinned nastily. “See anything you like, go for it.”
I waited in the car.
When Dolan was dressed, she got behind the wheel. “I've been thinking about all this, hotshot, and I'm putting you on notice. I'm not giving up on you.”
I looked at her.
“I'm not calling it quits just because you've got your Southern Belle. I want you, and I always get what I want. Maybe I'll put Scarlett O'Hara on notice, too. I intend to take you away from her.”
I shook my head and stared out the window.
“Be the best you've ever had.”
“Dolan, let's just not go there, okay?”
Her voice and her eyes softened. “I know you love her. I just gotta make you love me more.”
She looked away then, and I looked away, too.
We sat quietly after that with the air conditioner running until Krantz and Watts rolled out of the covered parking in their D-ride, Williams and Bruly behind them. Dolan keyed a small black radio. “I'm on.”
Watts came back, “Okay.”
Williams said, “Up.”
We pulled into line behind them, and eased out of the lot.
I said, “Hey, Dolan.”
“Mm?”
I stared at her until she glanced over.
“I like you a lot. I mean a lot, you know?”
She made a gentle smile that crinkled her eyes, but she didn't answer.
The plan was simple: We would proceed directly to Sobek's address, reconnoiter the area, then withdraw to decide what to do while waiting for two Rampart Division radio cars to come in as backup units.
Two blocks from Sobek's address, Krantz slowed as we passed an AM-PM Minimart, and called us over the radio. “We'll meet back at this minimart after we make the pass.”
Everybody rogered that.
“Dolan. You go in from this side, and we'll follow in a couple of minutes. Williams, swing up and come down from the north. We don't want to look like a parade.”
Dolan double-clicked her radio to roger, then glanced at me. “First smart thing that airhead has said.”
“Watts pr
obably suggested it.”
Dolan laughed.
Williams swung up a side street as Dolan and I continued on by ourselves.
Laurence Sobek, also known as Curtis Wood, lived in a converted garage apartment in a depressed residential area less than one mile from Parker Center. An undersized house like a little square box cut into a duplex sat near the street, with a driveway running along its side to a smaller box at the back of the property, which was Sobek's conversion. A stocky Hispanic woman and three small children were in the front yard of the house next door, playing with a garden hose. The neighborhood wasn't unlike where his mother lived: Rows of small stucco boxes and older apartment buildings, mostly inhabited by immigrants from Mexico or Central America. Sobek's box was run-down and sad.
I said, “I make two doors, one facing the main duplex and another on the side. Looks like something's on the windows.”
“You see anyone in the main house?”
“Couldn't tell, but it looks quiet.”
“I didn't see a car.”
“Me neither. But it could be one of these on the street.”
We passed Williams and Bruly coming in opposite us, then took two right turns and went back to the AM-PM. The two Rampart radio cars were waiting when we got there. We pulled in beside them and left the engine and air conditioner running. Williams pulled in thirty seconds after us, and Krantz followed almost a minute after. We joined him at his car.
Krantz said, “We got the telephonic warrant, so we're good to go with entering the property. Stan, how do you want to play it?”
Dolan nudged me. There was Krantz, giving it over to Watts again.
Watts said, “Secure the duplex first. I want to get that woman and her children out of there. Put one of the radio cars on the house directly behind Sobek's conversion in case he makes a run out the back. The rest of us cover the doors and windows. If he doesn't answer the door, I don't want to break it down, 'cause then he'll know we were here. Maybe see if we can slip the lock, and if not maybe we can crack one of the windows.”
I said, “How do you want to approach the house?”