"I thought you were clear. Why aren't you gone?"
"I'm going. Just wanted to say thanks for everything. You gettin' anything in there?"
She frowned and shook her head.
"You were right. Place is clean. Latents guys haven't even found a smudge. There are prints on the computer but my guess is that they are yours. I don't know how we're going to track this guy. It's like he was never here."
He signaled her closer when he noticed Arrango step out of the garage and put a cigarette in his mouth.
"I think he made a mistake," he said quietly. "Get your best latents man and go to the Star Center. Have him laser the light tubes in the ceiling of the interview room. When I was setting up the hypnosis session, I took down some lights and handed them to Noone. He had to take them from me or he might give himself away. There might be prints."
Her face brightened and she smiled.
"It's on the tape of the session," he said. "You can tell them it was your find."
"Thanks, Terry."
She clapped him gently on the shoulder. He nodded and started walking back to the car. She called after him and he looked back.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded.
"I don't know where you are going. But good luck."
He waved and turned back toward his destination.
42
IT SEEMED that every light was on in Graciela's home and this time McCaleb didn't linger in the car. He knew there was no longer any time to brood over choices. He had to face her and tell her the truth-tell her everything and accept the consequences.
Once again she opened the door before he got there. This woman who cares so much as to watch and wait for me, he thought as he stepped to the door. Now I must crush her heart.
"Terry, where have you been? I've been so worried."
She rushed from the door and embraced him. He felt his will weaken but not break. He pulled her around to his side and led her back in with his arm around her shoulder, holding her close for what might be the last time.
"Let's go in," he said. "I have things to tell you."
"Are you all right?"
"For now."
They went to the living room and he sat next to her on the sectional. He held both her hands in his.
"Raymond in bed?"
"Yes. What is it, Terry? What's wrong?"
"It's over. They haven't caught him yet but they know who it is. Hopefully, they'll get him soon. I'm in the clear."
"Tell me."
He squeezed her hands. He realized that his were sweating and let hers go. It felt as if he were letting loose a fallen bird that he had nursed back to health. He felt that he would never hold her hands again.
"Remember that night we talked about faith and how hard it is for me to have it?"
She nodded.
"Before I tell you everything, I want you to know that in the last few days-actually, in all the time that I've known you-I have felt something inside of me coming back. It's a faith of some sort. Maybe a belief in something. I don't know. But I do know it was a start, a beginning of something good . . ."
"Was?"
He looked away from her for a moment to try to put the words together. It was hard. He knew he only had this one chance.
He looked back at her.
"But it's so new and so fragile, this change. And I don't know if it can last with what I have to tell you. But I want you to decide. I haven't prayed for anything in a long time. But I'll say a prayer that I see you-and Raymond-on my dock again. Or I'll pick up the phone and I'll hear your voice. I'm going to leave it up to you to decide."
He leaned into her and kissed her gently on the cheek. She didn't resist.
"Tell me," she said quietly.
"Graciela, your sister is dead because of me. Because of something I did a long time ago. Because I crossed a line somewhere and allowed my ego to challenge a madman's, Gloria is dead."
His eyes dropped away from hers. The pain he had just put into them was too much for him to witness.
"Tell me," she said again, even quieter this time.
And he did. He told her about the man known for the time being only as James Noone. He told her of the trail he had followed to the garage warehouse. He told her what he found there and what was waiting for him on the computer.
She began to cry as he told it, quiet tears that rolled down her cheeks and fell to the denim blouse she wore. He wanted to reach out to her, grab her and hold her close and kiss the tears on her cheeks. But he couldn't. He knew he was out of her world at that moment. He could not enter of his own choice. She would have to invite him back in.
When he was done, they sat quietly for a few moments. Graciela finally reached up and with open palms smeared the tears on her cheeks.
"I must look awful."
"No, you don't."
She looked down at the rug through the glass coffee table and a long period of silence passed by.
"What will you do now?" she finally asked.
"I'm not sure but I have a few ideas. I'm going to find him, Graciela."
"Can't you leave it? Let the police find him?"
McCaleb shook his head.
"I don't think I can. Not now. If I don't find him and face him, I'll never know if I can get past this. I don't know if that makes sense or not."
She nodded, still looking at the floor, and more silence went by. Finally she looked up at him.
"I want you to go now, Terry. I need to be alone."
McCaleb nodded and slowly stood up.
"Okay."
Again he fought an almost overwhelming urge to just touch her. Nothing more. He just wanted to feel her warmth once more. Like on the first day when she had touched him.
"Good-bye, Graciela."
"Good-bye, Terry."
He crossed the room and headed toward the door. On his way he glanced at the china cabinet in the living room and saw the framed photo of Gloria Torres. She was smiling at the camera on that happy day so long ago. It was a smile he knew would always haunt him.
43
AFTER A NIGHT of fitful sleep with dreams of being dragged down through deep, dark water, McCaleb rose at dawn. He showered and then made himself a heavy breakfast-an onion and green pepper omelet, microwaved sausage and a half quart of orange juice. When he was done, he still felt hungry and didn't know why. Afterward he went down to the head and took another reading of his vital signs. Everything was fine. At five after seven he called Jaye Winston's office number. She was there and he could tell by her voice that she had worked straight through night.
"Two things," McCaleb said. "When do you want to do this formal statement and when do I get my car back?"
"Well, the Cherokee you can have any time. I just have to call over to release it."
"Where is it?"
"Right here. Our impound lot."
"I suppose I have to come get it."
"Well, you've got to come out here anyway to give me a statement. Why don't you do both at the same time?"
"Okay, when? I want to get this over with. I want to get out of here, take a vacation."
"Where are you going?"
"I don't know. I just have to get away, try to work all of this poison out. Maybe Vegas."
"Now that's a great place for mental rehabilitation."
McCaleb ignored her sarcasm.
"I know. So when can we meet?"
"I've got to put the case together ASAP and I need your statement. So anytime this morning would be good for me. I'll just make room for you."
"Then I'm on my way."
Buddy Lockridge was sleeping on the cockpit bench. McCaleb rousted him and he woke with a start.
"What is-hey, Terror, you're back, man."
"Yeah, I'm back."
"How's my car, man?"
"It's still running. Listen, get up, I've got one more trip to make and I need you to drop me off."
Lockridge slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. He ha
d been lying under a sleeping bag. He gathered it around him and rubbed his eyes.
"What time is it?"
"It's seven-thirty."
"Fuck, man."
"I know, but this will be the last time."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. I just need you to drop me the sheriff's office so I can get my car. I need to go by a bank on the way."
"They're not open this early."
"They'll be open by the time we get out to Whittier."
"So if I'm driving you out to pick your car up, who is going to drive it back here?"
"Me. Let's go."
"But you said you aren't supposed to be driving, man. Especially a car with an air bag."
"Don't worry about it, Buddy."
They were on the way a half hour later. McCaleb brought a duffel bag with a change of clothes and everything else he would need for his trip. He also brought a thermos of coffee and two cups. He poured coffee and filled Buddy in on the case and all that had happened while they drove. Buddy asked questions for most of the drive.
"I guess I'll have to buy a paper tomorrow," he said.
"It will probably be on TV, too."
"Hey, is it going to be a book? Will I be in it?"
"I don't know. The story will probably hit the news today. I guess it depends on how big a story it is before anybody decides on a book."
"Do they pay you to use your name like that? In a book, I mean. Or like in a movie?"
"I don't know. I guess you could ask for something. You were an important part. You came up with that missing picture in Cordell's car."
"That's right, I did."
Lockridge seemed proud of his part and the prospect of possibly making some money from it.
"And the gun. I found the gun that prick hid under the boat."
McCaleb frowned.
"You know what, Buddy? If there's ever a book or if any reporters or cops come around, I would like it a lot better if you never mentioned that gun. That would help me a lot."
Lockridge glanced over at him and then back at the road.
"No problem, then. I won't say a word."
"Good. Unless I tell you otherwise. And if anybody comes to me about a book, I'll be sure to tell 'em to talk to you."
"Thanks, man."
It was after nine by the time they fought through all the traffic to Whittier. McCaleb had Lockridge stop by a Bank of America branch while he went in and wrote a check for $1,000, taking the cash in twenties and tens.
A few minutes later the Taurus pulled into the Star Center parking lot. McCaleb counted out $250 and handed it to Lockridge.
"What's this for?"
"That's for letting me use the car and for the ride today. Also, I'm going to be away for a few days. Will you keep an eye on the boat for me?"
"Will do, man. Where you going?"
"Not sure yet. And I don't know when I'll be back."
"That's okay. Two-fifty goes a long way."
"Remember that woman who visited me? The pretty one?"
"Sure."
"I'm hoping she'll come by the boat looking for me. Watch for her."
"Okay. What do I do if she shows up?"
McCaleb thought a moment.
"Just tell her I'm still gone but that I was hoping she'd come by."
McCaleb opened the car door. Before getting out, he shook Lockridge's hand and told him again that he had been a lot of help.
"Okay, I'm out of here."
"Sure thing, man, have a good one."
"Oh, hey, know what? I'll probably be doing a lot of driving. You mind if I borrow one of those harps you got?"
"Take your pick."
He fished around in the door storage pocket and came out with three harmonicas. McCaleb picked the one he had been playing during the drive the other night along the coast highway.
"That's a good one. You start with the key of C."
"Thanks, Buddy."
"You sure took your sweet-ass time," Winston said as McCaleb walked up to her desk. "I've been wondering where the hell you've been."
"I've been dicking around at the impound yard for an hour," McCaleb responded. "I can't believe you people. You take my car on a bullshit warrant and I have to pay towing and impound fees. A hundred and eighty bucks. There is no justice in this world, Jaye."
"Look, just be lucky they didn't lose it and you got it back in one piece. Have a seat. I'm not quite ready."
"Then what're you complaining about me being late for?"
She didn't answer. McCaleb took the chair at the side of her desk and watched as she went through a typed report, apparently proofreading and then initialing the bottom of each page.
"Okay," she said. "I was going to use one of the interview rooms. The tape's already set up. Shall we?"
"Wait a sec. What's happened since last night?"
"Oh, that's right. You haven't been around."
"You get any prints off the light tubes?"
She broke into a smile and nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me?" McCaleb protested. "What did you get?"
"Everything. Two palms, both thumbs, four fingers. We put it on the box and got a hit. Our boy is local. Name is Daniel Crimmins, thirty-two years old. And you remember that profile you did for the Code Killer task force? Well you were dead-on, McCaleb. A slam dunk."
McCaleb was beside himself with energy, though he outwardly tried to remain calm. The last pieces of the puzzle were dropping into place. He tried to recall the suspect's name from the case files but drew a blank.
"Tell me."
"He was an LAPD Academy washout. That was five years ago. As near as we can tell, since then he's had a number of private security jobs. I don't mean tin badge stuff. Computer stuff. He advertised on the Internet, had a web page, sent mailers to businesses. He basically sold computer security. We're hearing that he sometimes got work by hacking into a company's computer and then sending the CEO E-mail telling him how easy it was and why they should hire him to make their system hack-proof."
"BOPRA?"
"You got it. We've got a team over there now but they called in a little while ago. There's an executive who remembers getting E-mail from Crimmins last year. But he blew it off as a prank. He killed the message and never got another one. But it shows that Crimmins was inside BOPRA."
McCaleb nodded.
"Anybody get his LAPD file yet?"
"Yeah, Arrango. He's being a prick with it, dealing it out on a need-to-know basis. But basically the guy lasted five months. Reason for his termination was-quote-failure to thrive in the collegial atmosphere of the academy. Translation: the guy was an introvert who would never last in a squad car. No partner would take him. So they washed him out. The problem for him was he was second generation. His old man retired up to Blue Heaven ten years ago. Uhlig had someone in the Idaho field office look dad up. He said as far as he knew, his son was currently on the LAPD. He didn't know Danny boy had been a washout because Danny boy didn't tell him. He says he hasn't seen his son in something like five or six years but when they talk on the phone, the boy always has good war stories."
"Yeah, they're just made up."
McCaleb saw that it all fit. The authority complex. Crimmins had transferred it from the father to the LAPD after he was washed out. The expulsion from the academy could have provided the psychic break that turned a harmless fantasy life into a deadly pastime. The murders were all on LAPD turf. He was showing the institution that deemed him unworthy just how smart, clever and worthy he was.
It occurred to McCaleb that when he had profiled the Code Killer three years before, he had suggested that dismissed officers and academy washouts be questioned as a priority. As far as he knew, that had been done.
"Wait. This guy should have been questioned back then. Failed law enforcement career was in the profile."
"He was questioned. That's why Arrango is dicking around with the file. Somehow, Crimmins passed the test. He was interviewe
d by a team from the task force but he didn't raise an eyebrow or warrant a second look. Still, it must've scared him. He was interviewed four weeks after the last Code killing. Maybe it's the reason he stopped."