I did not tell the police my true reason for being there. I did not mention Amy Breslyn. Not yet, not then, but everything might have been different if I had.
Meryl Lawrence had told me little about Amy Breslyn, but now those facts seemed to have a new and dangerous meaning.
I promised Meryl Lawrence to keep Amy’s secrets mine, so I kept them. And many, I still keep.
We passed the black Suburban with its silent, flashing lights. The people on the sidewalk were gripped by the sight of it like mice entranced by a snake. I was gripped, too. The words on the Suburban explained why we were being evacuated.
BOMB SQUAD.
3
LAPD K-9 Officer Scott James
A LIGHT, INTERMITTENT RAIN sprinkled Scott James as the Air Support helicopter passed overhead, blinding him with its searchlight. Scott shielded his partner’s eyes.
“Remind me to bring our sunglasses next time.”
The thirty-million-candlepower Nightsun was impressive, but Scott knew the helicopter’s high-magnification cameras and FLIR heat imager gave the Air Support crew a much better view than their searchlight. Police officers, dogs, car engines, and anything producing a heat signature would glow on their monitor. Their eye-in-the-sky imager was the next best thing to X-ray vision, but it wasn’t infallible.
“When they need superpowers, they call K-9. Right, Maggie?”
Maggie licked his fingers and circled his legs.
Maggie was an eighty-five-pound black-and-tan German shepherd. Nothing filled her with joy more than playtime with Scott. Playtime tonight would be searching for a fugitive murder suspect named Carlos Etana.
Scott was strapping into his ballistic vest when Paul Budress approached from the command post. Budress was one of the K-9 Platoon’s senior assistant trainers.
“A woman saw a guy matching Etana’s description. Might be we have a scent trail.”
“Outstanding. The guys here?”
Maggie would be the only dog released, but Budress and two other handlers would assist with the search. Civilians and regular patrol officers had been cleared from the area.
Budress spit a squirt of tobacco juice.
“Waiting inside.”
“Let’s get the party started.”
Scott clipped Maggie’s lead and followed Budress into the search area. The streets and yards were deserted, but people stood in their windows, holding up small children to see the police dog as a prerecorded message broadcast from the helicopter echoed over the neighborhood. The message asked residents to remain in their homes and warned the suspect he had one minute to surrender before a dog would be released. The broadcast was so loud Scott was reminded of the scene in Apocalypse Now when “Ride of the Valkyries” boomed from American helicopters as they destroyed a VC village. This was the second time the warning was broadcast, both in Spanish and English.
Budress plugged his ears.
“How many warnings do you need before we charge you with felony stupid?”
Evanski and Peters were waiting in a driveway around the next corner. Scott raised a hand, and the two handlers led them up the drive.
Evanski related what she learned from a witness.
“Lady said a Latin male ran up the drive here and over this fence. Long hair, black shirt with a skull. Definitely our guy.”
The four officers unshipped their flashlights as they reached a low chain-link fence threaded with ivy and climbing roses. Freshly torn leaves and broken stems littered the ground and hung in the vines. Scott studied the yard behind the fence and saw muddy divots where someone scrambled for traction. This was an advantage he had not expected.
Maggie was trained to source nonspecific human scent, but the search for a nonspecific scent was methodical and slow. Scott had to direct her from yard to yard around each house and garage, and make sure she sniffed all the places a person could hide. A specific scent changed his plan. If Maggie could whiff Etana’s specific scent, Scott wouldn’t need to direct her from house to house. Maggie would follow Etana’s scent cone directly to her prey.
“Looks pretty good. You guys ready?”
“Bring it on, brother.”
Scott abruptly slapped his knees and ruffed Maggie’s head. A high squeaky voice meant praise and play. A command voice was firm and strong. Scott made the squeaky voice.
“You wanna get some, Maggie-girl? Wanna catch us a bad guy?”
Maggie wiggled and rolled against him. She jumped away and bounded back. This was the hunt and the hunt was play. Maggie wanted to play.
Scott stood tall and deepened his voice.
“Down.”
Maggie dropped to her belly. Her ears pricked forward, and she stared into his eyes. This was their start position in training.
Scott pointed sharply at the gate.
“Maggie, smell. Smell him, girl. Smell.”
Maggie followed his gesture and moved to the ivy.
Scott studied her behavior and body language as she sniffed the leaves and the earth beneath the vines and the air surrounding the plants. Maggie understood Scott wanted her to identify and seek the strongest human scent in the area to which he pointed. When she flattened her tail and pawed the fence, Scott knew she had the scent. He drew his pistol, opened the gate, and followed her.
“Maggie, find’m. Seek.”
Budress and the others came after and spread to the sides in a loose V. The Nightsun passed over, painted them with light, then moved away, plunging them into darkness.
Maggie did not need their flashlights or the airship. She trotted directly past a rusted swing set, through a hedge, and into the next yard.
Evanski said, “She’s on it! Look at her!”
Maggie followed the scent trail through the next yard and into an adjoining yard, where she suddenly seemed to lose the track, but then her nose came up and she found herself blocked by a fence. Scott checked the far side for dogs and hazards, then lifted her over and followed. The narrow passage forced Budress and the others into a single file and spread them behind.
Budress called.
“Slow it down.”
Scott followed Maggie through a carport and more shrubs, then beneath a large metal awning, and through more hedges into a small yard canopied by a drooping avocado tree. Scott faced a small clapboard house huddled beneath the tree. No lights burned in the windows, and the wide-spread tree draped the house with shadows.
Scott flashed his light at the house just as a nicely dressed man stepped out. The man was a middle-aged Anglo with fair skin and close-cropped hair, wearing slacks and a sport coat. He jumped with surprise, and Maggie charged forward, barking.
Scott immediately called her off.
“Maggie, out! Out!”
Maggie returned to his side, but the man was obviously shaken.
“What the hell? What are you doing back here?”
“Please step inside, sir. We have a fugitive in the area.”
“What’s going on with this helicopter? It’s driving me crazy.”
“Go inside, sir. Please.”
The man grimaced, but stepped back into his house.
Scott heard the door lock, and stroked Maggie’s back.
“He scared the hell out of me, too.”
Budress crunched through the hedge, followed quickly by Evanski and Peters.
“Who’s the voice?”
“Civilian. We scared him.”
Budress let fly with a squirt.
“C’mon, get her back on the hunt.”
Scott walked Maggie back to the hedges and pointed at the ground.
“Smell it, girl. Smell. Seek seek seek.”
Maggie ran to the door and barked.
Scott called her back.
“Not that guy, baby. The other guy.”
He directed h
er to the scent again and told her to seek.
Maggie charged directly back to the door.
Scott felt a buzz of adrenaline.
“Paul, he’s here. Etana’s inside.”
Scott called Maggie to quiet her barking and took a position beside the door. Budress radioed their situation as Peters and Evanski moved to the corners of the house.
Scott hammered the door.
“Sir, open the door. Police. Please open the door.”
The man didn’t respond.
Scott flashed his light through a gap between the window and the shade. A young male in a black T-shirt was sprawled on a couch. A white skull design was visible on his shirt, but part of the skull gleamed red, and his face was a crushed mix of blood, bone, and hair.
Scott’s heart rate spiked as he keyed his radio.
“Suspect down in the house, in need of assistance. A second suspect is inside, Anglo male, fifty, sport coat.”
Even as Scott made the call, he realized the man in the sport coat might have ducked out the front door.
“Paul, the front!”
Scott reached the front yard as the man in the sport coat raced across the street, but someone shouted from the opposite direction and Scott saw a second man running toward him with three officers in pursuit. Scott raised his gun, and the second man skidded to a stop, waving toward the man in the sport coat.
“A man came out! There! He ran across the street!”
Scott shouted over him, praying the guy wouldn’t do something stupid.
“Stop! Do not MOVE!”
Then one of the officers chasing him shouted.
“He’s a civilian. The guy’s a civilian!”
Scott jerked his pistol to the side, and ran back to Budress.
“The dude I saw took off. Officers in pursuit.”
Budress flashed his light through the window and moved to the door.
“Screw him. This guy’s dead or dying. We gotta go in.”
Budress heaved back and kicked hard above the knob. The door flew open and Scott released his dog.
“Get’m, baby. Get’m.”
Maggie surged into the house.
Scott went in behind her, gun up and ready. He cleared the kitchen and moved into the living room. Maggie pulled up short at the body, barking to let Scott know she had found her prey.
Budress kicked a pistol away from the body.
“Keep moving. Clear the house.”
Scott directed Maggie into a hall. A bathroom and a small bedroom were open, but a door at the end of the hall was closed.
Maggie took passing sniffs at the bath and bedroom, but slowed at the closed door. She seemed to study the door for a moment, then sank to her belly and gazed at the door. Scott saw her nostrils work, but she didn’t bark as she would if someone was in the room.
Budress said, “Front rooms are clear. What’s she got?”
“Dunno. What’s with the smell? Chemicals?”
“Bleach. It’s killing my eyes.”
Scott moved closer. Maggie glanced at him proudly and wagged her tail, but stayed on her belly. Scott had never seen her alert this way.
Budress shouted.
“Police. Open the door and step out. Do it now.”
Scott pressed his ear to the door but heard nothing. He shrugged. Budress pointed at the door, and nodded.
Scott threw open the door and lit up the room.
Behind him, Budress whispered.
“Clip her, man. Do not let her go in.”
Scott clipped Maggie’s lead, then keyed his mike.
“We’re in the house. Do not approach our location. I say again, do not approach.”
The incident commander’s voice crackled from their radios.
“What the hell? Say your situation.”
Scott wasn’t quite sure how to say it.
“Explosives. There’s enough explosives in here to blow up the neighborhood.”
Scott glanced at Budress, who motioned him back.
“Back away, Scott. Let’s back the hell out of here.”
Scott backed from the room with his dog.
4
Mr. Rollins
THE ON-AGAIN-OFF-AGAIN RAIN speckled his windshield with diamonds. The windows fogged with steam from his body, so he cranked the defroster full blast. It did nothing to wash the stink of bleach from his nose.
Mr. Rollins sat in his car three blocks outside the perimeter, wiping rain from his face as he worked to contain his fear. It was important to play this out in a way that solved his problem.
“You sent an idiot, Eli. The police followed him to my house.”
“Wait. Carlos?”
“Your idiot brought the police to my house. They have him. He’s probably ratting us out.”
“You are high.”
“Pray I’m high.”
Eli’s voice grew sharper and his accent more pronounced.
“Say something I understand. What are you talking about?”
Mr. Rollins watched the helicopter slice the dark with its saber only a few blocks away. They were still hunting, only now they hunted for him.
Eli’s voice was cold.
“I am not saying this twice. Put Carlos on the phone.”
Eli was a dangerous man, but Mr. Rollins did not fear him. Under his own name and others, Rollins had committed robberies, armed robberies, and interstate hijackings before he realized he could make more money buying and selling what others had stolen. He had three felony convictions in his past, and had served two stints in prison. He had murdered seven people including his brother-in-law, and each time he met a buyer or seller, he was prepared to do murder again. But now, he tempered his voice.
He planned the play and worked the plan. Always.
Rules.
“I can’t, Eli. Listen to me. The police have him.”
“You are serious?”
“The police were chasing him. On foot, the helicopter, dogs. He was bleeding and talking crazy. I think he’s dead. I barely got away.”
“You are serious.”
No longer a question.
“The house is gone. I can never go back or use it again. Everything in the house is gone. The cops have everything.”
Now Eli sounded worried. Worried was good.
“I need these things.”
“Send someone better than Carlos next time.”
“These dates will not wait. We have a timeline.”
“Everything’s gone, Eli. I didn’t ask Carlos to bring the fucking police.”
Rollins stopped talking so Eli could crunch the numbers. Eli had fallen behind his timeline and would keep falling unless he replaced the things he lost and acquired the materials he still needed. He would need Mr. Rollins to do this and time was running out.
Neither spoke for almost a minute, then Eli gave ground.
“What of the material you tested tonight?”
“What of it?”
“It is as the seller described?”
“My chemist says yes. He’s going to run more tests, but it’s real, Eli. Can’t be traced to a manufacturer, distributor, or contractor.”
“Such a thing does not exist.”
“The chemist says yes.”
Eli hesitated, thinking.
“They can deliver this now?”
“You’re kidding yourself. They’re going to see what happened on the news and totally blow me off. This deal is history.”
“Convince them. I will buy all they have.”
“Eli, honestly, I have bigger problems than this right now.”
“What?”
“A K-9 officer saw me. He shined a light in my face and we had a conversation. He can put me at the house.”
Eli was si
lent again, which Mr. Rollins sensed was a good sign. Eli was crunching more numbers and would reach the inevitable solution.
“You would recognize him if you see him?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“I suggest we can each help the other. How much material remains with the chemist?”
“Quarter of a pound, something like that. Not much.”
“Enough to solve your problem if you solve mine.”
“I hear you.”
“You will speak with the sellers?”
“Yes.”
“I need this done quickly.”
“Me too. My problem has to be solved right away.”
“It will happen tomorrow.”
Mr. Rollins lowered his phone. He watched the helicopter circle, then made a gun with his hand and tracked it. He could turn the helicopter into flaming garbage with the things he left in the house.
Rollins eased into traffic and drove slowly away. He made up a list and recited it.
Go slow.
Stay in the right lane.
Brake early.
L.A. drivers suck in the rain.
Making rules gave him order and following those rules gave him peace. His most important rule was one of the first he learned. Never leave a witness.
The only person who could tie him to the house was a flatfoot with a dog. Not even a real cop. A clown with a dog.
The clown had to go.
5
Elvis Cole
REDMON’S PHONE BUZZED when we were a block from Rampart Station. He said nothing as he listened, then lowered his phone and glanced over his shoulder.
“Detour. They want you downtown.”
Furth slapped the wheel.
“This totally blows.”
I said, “Who’s they?”
“Major Crimes.”
Furth made a big sigh.
“Anything good, they grab. Pricks.”
The Major Crimes Division was a special investigative group based in the Police Administration Building along with the other elite detective groups. MCD caught hot, fast headline cases ranging from multiple homicides to celebrity victims to crimes with the potential to threaten the public safety. MCD detectives caught way more nightly news time than a divisional dick like Furth would ever see. They also wore nicer clothes. MCD was the big time.