Hocus ik-5 Read online

  “Yes,” I said, “Frank’s mom wants him to move back to Bakersfield. And she’s close to Cecilia’s mom.”

  “Hmm. I begin to understand. So why did this Cecilia call?”

  How much should I tell her? “Just to talk to him about his family, people they knew in Bakersfield. And to tell him that she had some of his things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “I don’t know. Records, books, a few papers, I guess. Apparently, she’s splitting up with a live-in boyfriend. Told Frank she ran across some of his stuff when she was packing up to move out. Invited him to come up to dinner some night so she could give it back to him.”

  “Invited him to dinner?”

  I smiled at her look of surprise. “I see Pete didn’t relate the entire story.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know that Frank’s married now. It hasn’t been so long….”

  “Rachel, you weren’t listening. Bea Harriman and Cecilia’s mom are friends. I’ve met her mom. Trust me, Frank’s mom has told her that their hopes have been dashed.”

  “Oh.”

  “I figured Cecilia could mail his stuff to him, or leave it with his mom. Frank said she wouldn’t do that, and besides, he got the feeling that she needed him. That sent me over the edge. So he tells me I’m treating him as if he isn’t trustworthy. I told him that I trusted him, but I didn’t trust her. He didn’t buy it. I thought it over today, and I guess I decided he was right. Two to tango and all that.”

  “What?”

  “Worst case, she wants him to come back to her, right?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe just un chiavata al momento. You know, a quickie.”

  “Whatever. He’d have to want it, too, right?”

  Her look of skepticism made me laugh.

  “Men!” She said it like a swear word.

  “We’re back to what you said a while ago, Rachel. I do trust him. The rest — that’s her problem.”

  Rachel shrugged.

  “Besides,” I added, “she touches him, I’ll punch her perkies inside out.”

  She laughed. “That’s more like it!”

  We passed some time posing theories on Cecilia’s motives. I kept glancing at the clock. Rachel tried hard to keep me distracted.

  At 10:25 the dogs suddenly clambered to their feet, tails wagging, and scrambled toward the front door.

  “He’s home!” I shouted, exactly like a little kid, feeling just that excited and twice as relieved. I hurried down the hall and threw open the door.

  The man who stood there was a fearsome sight. Tall, clad in black leather, scar faced. His head was shaved and he wore an earring. His tattooed arm was raised in a fist, but only because I had pulled the door open before he could knock, and the look on his face was astonishment, not aggression.

  “Oh, it’s you, Jack,” I said to my next-door neighbor.

  The dogs, who consider Jack Fremont their alternate owner, were rubbing up against him, rolling on the ground, panting in delight.

  “Well, at least the dogs are happy to see me,” he said, reaching to pet them. “As far as you’re concerned, though, I’m clearly a big disappointment.”

  “Sorry, Jack. No, of course not. I — come on in.”

  He was puzzled but followed me back to where Rachel waited.

  “Hi,” he greeted her. “Pete and Frank out on a case tonight?”

  I briefly explained the situation.

  “Maybe he’s still steamed after that fight you two had this morning,” he offered.

  “Damn it to hell, does everyone in the city know about that?”

  “Possibly,” he replied. “After all, you were shouting at each other in the driveway.”

  I turned red. “Sorry if we awakened you,” I muttered.

  It was the last thing I said for a while. They discussed a variety of subjects. Jack spent a lot of years as a rover, Rachel as a cop; between the two of them there was no shortage of stories. I think Rachel was relieved to share the burden of distracting me, but that part of it was pretty much a sham all the way around. I could think only in sets of a few words at a time, and I didn’t say them aloud: Please be safe. Please come home. Please call. Please don’t be hurt.

  This rapidly turned into praying. Sort of. I worried that maybe that was a sham, too. Every time I pray, I end up telling myself that I have no business praying, especially not if I am going to swear and doubt and misbehave in as many ways as I do. This has become a routine between me and the Almighty, like letters that say, “I think of you more often than I write.” I’m sure I will hear about it later.

  Rachel and Jack kept exchanging glances and trying to get me to do more than mumble and look between the clock and the front door. At one point Jack came over and sat beside me. Although we hadn’t known each other very long, he had helped me deal with more than one crisis, and he was also one of Frank’s closest friends. I thought about this, and the fact that I wasn’t the only person in that room who was worried, and found myself joining their conversation again.

  At eleven-thirty the phone rang. Rachel was still sitting next to it and answered it on the first ring.

  “Yeah, Pete. It’s me,” she said, watching me stand up.

  She turned away from me. That’s when I knew the news would be bad.

  2

  “JUST TELL ME,” I said when I saw she was searching for some way to carefully phrase news that had obviously shaken her.

  I hadn’t interrupted while she’d sat hunched over the phone, resting her forehead in her hand, talking to Pete. Not even when she’d quickly switched to Italian. I’d stood there, arms folded to prevent myself from grabbing the phone, hands clenching my elbows so hard that it hurt, even as she’d scribbled notes on a scratch pad, asking Pete to slow down, repeat things.

  Now I wanted to know what was going on, no matter how difficult it was for her to tell me.

  Jack stood up beside me. “Is he okay, Rachel?”

  “Nobody really knows.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I snapped.

  Jack took my hand.

  “Sit down, Irene,” Rachel said in a strained voice. “I’ll tell you everything Pete told me.”

  I sat, and Jack sat down beside me, still not letting go of my hand.

  “Riverside sent a patrol car out to the junkie’s place,” she began. “Two officers — a rookie and his TO — his training officer. Frank’s car was nowhere in sight, but they knew this was where he was headed. So they went up to the house. Some shack of a place the junkie was renting — kind of isolated, I guess. Only one light on in the whole house. They knock on the front door, and it just swings open. The junkie is in there, shot to death.”

  “No….”

  “Frank wasn’t in there,” she went on quickly. “Just the junkie. They saw signs of a struggle. The rookie got on the radio, the TO looked around. No sign of Frank.”

  “Frank is missing?” I asked, knowing that was exactly what I had just heard but hoping that someone would tell me I had heard wrong.

  “Yes,” Rachel said.

  “Someone has taken him?”

  She hesitated. “There are other possibilities.”

  “Such as?”

  “Maybe he’s gone missing for reasons of his own.”

  “No. Not Frank.”

  “Irene is right,” Jack said. “You know that as well as I do, Rachel. He wouldn’t leave the scene of a crime.”

  “Which makes me wonder if he made it there,” Rachel said. “Look, all I’m saying is, we can’t jump to conclusions.”

  I barely heard what she was saying. Like Jack, I would never believe that Frank would voluntarilyleave the scene of a homicide. The death of that informant meant Frank was in danger. Whether he failed to arrive before that informant was killed or was forced to leave afterward, he was in trouble.

  A mixture of fear and blind rage jolted and twisted right through me, and I felt like screaming or hitting something just to get it out of my system. The though
t of anyone harming Frank—

  The thought of anyone harming him made me come to my senses. I didn’t scream or cry or use my fists. I took a deep — if shaky — breath and promised myself that I could go into hysterics at some future date. Even revenge would have to wait.

  Think.

  “What’s this junkie’s name?”

  “I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Pete never told me. Just calls him ‘the junkie.’ They try to protect informants, so they don’t usually refer to them by name.” She paused, then added, “Not that I would have wished the guy dead, but the fact that they found the body there gives me hope for Frank.”

  “Because if someone—” It was so hard to make myself say it. I took a breath and tried again. “Because if someone was going to kill Frank, he would have done it right away. Left two bodies behind, not one. He might have a reason to keep him alive.”

  “He or she or they. We don’t know. And again, maybe Frank left the scene because that’s what he had to do to be safe. We don’t know.”

  The dogs came to their feet again, barking this time. The doorbell rang. Jack got the dogs to be quiet, and I looked through the peephole, wondering who the hell wouldn’t just knock after midnight.

  The Las Piernas Police Department, as it turned out. Or its representatives, anyway. As I opened the door for Reed Collins and Vince Adams, I figured I was lucky. Although I hadn’t always been on good terms with either of them, they liked Frank. I could think of others who might have drawn this duty and made life more unpleasant.

  “Hello, Irene,” Vince said. “Mind if we come in?”

  “Not at all.”

  They were walking ahead of me, blocking my view of the end of the hallway, but I knew exactly when they saw Jack. Their steps slowed, and they seemed suddenly wary. Reed was the first to ease a little. “You Frank’s neighbor?” he asked.

  “Yes. Jack Fremont.”

  Rachel called out a greeting to them as they shook Jack’s hand.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee, anything to drink?” I asked.

  “No. No, thanks,” Vince said.

  Reed watched me for a second, then said, “Yeah, I could use a cup. Thanks.”

  “Anybody else?”

  Rachel and Jack shook their heads.

  As I moved to the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I saw Vince make a questioning gesture to Rachel, who gave a quick nod.

  Yes, I know my husband is missing, I wanted to shout, but busied myself with grinding beans and measuring out water instead.

  Cody came in, snaked around my legs, then went over to Reed. He sniffed Reed’s shoes, then rubbed against him, too. Reed reached down and lifted the big lug into his arms. “You’re not going to scratch me, are you?” he asked, apparently aware of Cody’s reputation.

  “Don’t trust all that purring,” I said. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black, thanks.”

  I stared at the coffeemaker as if it were really important for me to keep an eye on it, as if an automatic coffeemaker were some delicate instrument that might require my attention in order to operate properly. In fact, what was so wonderful about it at that moment was that it did exactly what it was supposed to do. I needed something to be normal.

  I reached for a couple of mugs, not wanting to test the steadiness of my hands with a cup and saucer. Reed put the cat down. As I handed him his mug he said, “You know why we’re here.”

  A statement. I nodded.

  “Is there a room where we can talk?”

  “Just a minute—” Rachel began, but I shook my head.

  “They’re here because they want to find Frank,” I said. I turned to Reed. “We can go into the guest room, or sit outside.”

  “It’s a little chilly out, down here near the water,” he said. “The guest room would be fine.”

  “Do you want us to leave?” Jack asked me, earning a dark look from Rachel.

  “No. Please stay. I mean — if you’re tired, don’t let me keep you. Same with you, Rachel. If you need to go home to Pete—”

  “Pete’s on his way to Riverside,” she said. “I’d be up anyway. I can never go to sleep until I hear his car—” She clasped a hand over her mouth. Tears started welling up in her eyes.

  “Hear his car pull into the driveway?” I asked. “Yes, I’m the same way. It’s good to have you here with me, Rachel. But I’ve never seen you cry, and this would be a stinking time to start.”

  “I’m not crying,” she said. “I thought I was going to sneeze for a minute. That’s all.”

  I nodded and walked off toward the guest room, Reed in tow. I could hear Vince ask Rachel something in a low voice and heard her reply loudly, “Did you see her face? Did you? Of course she didn’t call the newspaper, you clueless pinhead!”

  If Vince said something back, I didn’t hear it. He followed us into the guest room.

  I motioned Reed and Vince to the two chairs in the room and then sat on the edge of the bed. With three of us in there, it was pretty crowded. The door creaked open, and we turned toward it in expectation. Cody came sauntering in, then jumped on my lap. I was going to have a friend in the room after all.

  Vince stood up, closed the door, and leaned against it, arms crossed. He ignored a look from Reed. Reed sighed and took out his notebook. The warm-up speech — how sorry they were to be in this situation, were doing everything they could but needed help from me — was quick and painless. It gave me a little time to pet Cody, to try to go numb. Reed did the talking. Once he had my (previously undreamed-of) permission to allow my phone line to be tapped, he worked his way to the questions.

  “When was the last time you saw Frank?”

  “This morning, when he left for work.”

  “About what time was that?”

  “About seven-thirty.”

  “What was he wearing?”

  “A suit. Gray suit. White long-sleeved shirt. A dark red tie.” One I bought for him. He looked good in it. He looked good no matter what he wore. “I’m sorry, what were you asking?”

  “Shoes?”

  “Yes, he had shoes on.” I felt my face turn red. “Sorry. That’s not what you meant. Black leather shoes.”

  “Was he armed?”

  “Yes, he had his shoulder holster on, his gun in it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I watched him dress.” I looked down at Cody. “I — I saw him put the shoulder holster on. The gun was in it.”

  “Did you talk at all this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Personal matters.”

  They waited. So did I.

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “No. Contrary to your lieutenant’s opinion, we don’t tell other people what we talk about privately.”

  Vince snorted.

  “Vince, get me a refill, would you?” Reed asked, lifting his mug.

  Vince gave him a stubborn look, got one back, and relented. When Vince had gone, Reed said, “Look, Pete told us you two had a hellacious fight this morning.”

  “As Frank has said so often, Detective Baird has a big goddamned mouth.”

  Reed sighed. “Yeah, he does, and he sticks his nose into everybody’s business. And right now, we are all just as worried as Pete is about Frank. Pete may be his partner, but the rest of us are sick about this, too. I figure there’s only one person on the earth who’s more worried than we are right now, and that’s you. Help us. Don’t let Vince and his attitude get in the way.”

  So I told him, in a nutshell, about the argument — not all of it, I admit. But I told him about two out of three bones of contention. If he already knew about the third, a Harriman family secret, he would have to give me some hint of that knowledge before I talked about it. My own connection to that family might be only by marriage, my opinion about such secrets contrary to the Harrimans’ own — none of that mattered. I owed it to Fran
k to keep my mouth shut.

  Reed kept his face completely impassive. If he agreed with Frank about asking Mark Baker for his sources, Reed never let any judgment show. If he thought Frank was crazy to let his wife know the former fiancée was beckoning, he kept it to himself. If he knew the family secret, he wasn’t letting on.

  Vince came back in with the coffee. Cody put his ears back and hissed at him.

  Reed tried, but for all his former composure, now he couldn’t hide a smile. Vince told him to shut up, and he laughed aloud. He took a sip of coffee, thanked Vince, and got back to business. He repeated some of what I had said about the fight, asked me if that was correct. I nodded. Vince went back to leaning on the door.

  “Did Frank tell you anything about what he’d be working on today?”

  “No.”

  “Did he call or communicate with you at any time today?”

  “No.”

  “Did you try to contact him?”

  “Yes.” I told them about the attempts at paging him.

  “He didn’t call back?”

  “No.”

  “Did he try to reach you?”

  I looked away. “Not that I know of.”

  “Didn’t page you?”

  “I don’t carry a pager.”

  “Nothing on your answering machine or voice mail?” Vince asked.

  “No.”

  “Is that typical?” Reed asked.

  “No. But we had been fighting.”

  “Is this what typically happens when you fight?”

  “Look, I don’t see what this has to do with anything. I’m not sure Frank would want me to talk about our marriage in this way. In fact, I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  Vince acted as if he would argue, but Reed made the slightest of gestures to him, a small movement of his fingers, and Vince subsided. Catching this interaction awakened me to the fact that I had been seeing teamwork all along. Reed was playing a role, so was Vince.

  “Did you know that Frank planned to go to Riverside today?” Reed asked.

  Still smarting from kicking myself, I said, “I’m not saying another word.”

  “What’s wrong?”