Down Among the Dead Men (35 page)

'Someone's wiped a section. That's what's happened.' Frank turns to Lopez. 'What's the jurisdiction on this? Can you find out what's going on here? You're the liaison.'

Lopez sucks her lower lip. 'I'll have to check. But without a crime being committed . . .'

'Tampering with fucking evidence. That's a crime here, right?'

'If that's what's happened.' Lopez looks at the cop. 'Can you tell?'

The cop shrugs. 'I ain't an expert. You'd hafta get that kind of thing examined properly. Even then I don't know what's going to come out of it. Digital, man. Sometimes that stuff happens. A power surge, a bug, I don't know.'

'Fucking bullshit,' says Frank. He gathers his bags and turns to the door. 'I'm going to get some sleep and see if I can free up some money for a forensic examination of this.' He looks at Lopez. 'Can you at least get me a copy of what's there?'

Lopez nods. 'Leave it with me.'

'Yeah,' says Frank. He pushes through the door into the service corridor. Lopez follows him and puts an arm on his sleeve.

'Listen,' she says. 'I'll try and get something for you. Get some sleep and we'll be over in the morning.'

'You know where I'm staying?'

'We're the FBI. Yeah, we know.'

'Tell you what,' says Frank, 'give me your card and I'll call you tomorrow. How about that?'

'Whatever you like.' Lopez finds a card and hands it to Frank. 'We're on the same side.'

Frank nods and walks towards the exit to the airport terminal thinking, are we?

Eight

It's just after ten on a perfect Santa Monica morning. Noone, wearing a white shirt, black jeans and aviators, parks his jeep in a lot off Lincoln and walks around the corner to Montana, checking his reflection in the angled windows of the boutiques. He finds an outdoor table in the shade at a cafe called Grind and orders an espresso. He checks his watch, annoyed he's there before Angie and Leon. Much more stylish to be the last to arrive. He considers leaving and coming back but discards the idea in case anyone sees him doing it.

Having known Noone just over a week, Angie and Leon are now old friends in LA terms. Angie's a model on the very edge of the down slope – twenty-four – and Leon's a coming actor. He likes them both well enough and has slept with Angie – and Leon, as it happened, although that side of things didn't work out so hot. Since the thing with Terry and Nicky, Noone's gone a little cool on the bisexual thing.

Angie and Leon talk shit all the time but Noone needs company the same way he needs clothes and food and cars. The last thing he's going to be is one of those sad-assed motherfuckers sailing solo around town. The more normal Noone can appear, the easier it'll be to keep things cool until he's ready to make his play. Any investigation will not reveal a drooling loner with uncertain bathroom habits.

Besides, he needs Angie. Via his new agent Noone had gone to great lengths to engineer a meeting with her and, if he can't get what he wants through charm, is quite prepared to kill her.

As it's turning out, there should be no need for that. Angie's proving easy to manipulate.

Angie and Leon arrive just as Noone's espresso is brought out by a slim-hipped chick he hasn't seen working here before. She's cute and Noone would'ye liked to get her number but even Angie wouldn't stand for that so that will have to wait.

'Leon was running late,' says Angie, kissing Noone on the mouth. 'Not me.'

Angie's got her hair skinhead short and is wearing a less than opaque short dress. She's got big sunglasses pushed up on her head and some sort of retro thing going on with her shoes.

'That's OK,' says Leon, holding up his hands. 'Blame the Jew. Like always.'

'Are you Jewish?' says Noone. 'I wish you'd told me, you fucking kike.'

Leon laughs and the three of them start talking about nothing much in particular.

'They look like something off an ad,' says Menno Koopman.

He's sitting across the street at a table outside a Starbucks. He's got a laptop open in front of him and a decent view of Noone.

'Well, he is an actor,' says Eckhardt. Warren's voice sounds wheezier than ever over the tinny little speaker on the cheap phone.

'You see him too?'

'Copy. Affirmative. Subject in view,' says Warren in a terrible American accent. He lets out a wet chuckle that sounds like a reluctant throttle on a motorbike. 'Always wanted to say that. Sounds better in American, doesn't it?'

'That was American? I thought you'd had a stroke.'

Koop hangs up and looks up the street to where Eckhardt's parked the van, about eighty metres back from Grind. They've separated in case Noone continues on foot. The grid layout of Santa Monica is easy enough but until they've got their US driving heads right this is how they're playing it.

They'd picked Noone up shortly after he emerged from his house in Pacific Palisades. That had been the trickiest part: Noone's street is a winding, narrow affair with houses spaced wide apart. Not many vehicles were parked on the road and Koop and Warren felt
more conspicuous than they'd like so were happy to see Noone emerge after less than an hour. It felt like a little slice of luck. Operating a two-man surveillance successfully requires as much luck as you can get. It's an inexact science, especially when conducted in a foreign country with no backup and jet lag.

From Starbucks Koop studies Noone properly for the first time.

Since Frank's phone call, he's been wondering about the man who'd got under Frank's skin enough to bring Koop and Warren from Australia as backup. Koop gives weight to Frank's policing instincts but he also knows that instinct alone can be fatal to a good copper. Koop's been guilty of coming up short a couple of times himself when he 'knew'.

That said, there's still the time line evidence and the phone, which all fits. Frank had emailed a detailed case file compiled by DC Magsi to Koop.

The killings of Terry and Alicia Peters don't feel like a murder-suicide to Koop. And if someone killed Terry then maybe Frank is on to something with Noone. The phone call from JFK is the most damning piece of evidence but it's not much without corroboration. In the absence of any forensics, or conclusive witnesses, or CCTV, there's not a lot a prosecutor could do except drop the case. With Noone being affluent – and Koop's just beginning to see how affluent – then good lawyers will shred the case as it stands. Koop doesn't attach much importance to the report from the psychologist. It's probably accurate and it might help them predict a few things, but it will only come into its own if and when Noone is caught.

From what Koop's seen of the man so far he doesn't look like someone who's particularly worried about anything. Which is why Koop is leaning towards Frank's view. Noone's behaviour this morning is a display of nonchalance. If, Koop reasons, it had been himself under suspicion of multiple murder – even a multiple murder he'd left behind in Liverpool – he's sure he'd have been more nervous than Noone appears to be.

Ten minutes pass. The area of the cafe that Koop's sitting in is set back, giving him a view through the windows of part of the cross-street. There's a dark blue Toyota half-hidden behind a shop sidewalk display board, a man in the driver's seat, his head a
silhouette. Although it's the first time he's noticed him – consciously at least – Koop gets the feeling he might have been there a while. It's probably nothing.

Twenty minutes later Noone's little party is dispersing. Koop watches Noone head towards Lincoln and the other two down Montana in the direction from which they'd arrived.

'You think he's going for his car?' asks Warren over the phone.

'Looks that way.'

Koop's just about to move when he notices the blue Toyota pull out. It swings a U and heads in the direction taken by Noone.

'Wait,' says Koop into the phone. He watches the Toyota turn into Lincoln.

Once the car is out of sight Koop hurries towards their van. He slides into the passenger seat.

'There's someone else following our boy,' says Koop. As Eckhardt moves the van towards the intersection Koop points the vehicle out. 'There.'

He doesn't have to tell Eckhardt what to do. Warren waits and then makes a left onto Lincoln as the Toyota tails Noone's silver jeep. Koop and Eckhardt hang back.

'Who do you think it is?' says Eckhardt. 'FBI?'

'Could be. Frank's had the MLAT application in for a few weeks. Maybe they think Noone's worth some examination.' Koop points to the right. 'He's turning.'

Noone pulls the jeep left and the Toyota follows. It's tricky, keeping them both in view, so Eckhardt just stays with the Toyota.

Koop's looking at the sat nav.

'I think he's headed home. The Pacific Coast Highway's this way.'

'Maybe we should drop back more? Play it safe.'

'No, stick with them.'

Koop's glad they do. A minute later and Noone's on the Santa Monica Freeway heading east. The traffic's heavy but that helps Eckhardt. He keeps the van tucked out of sight using a truck about a hundred metres behind the blue Toyota as a shield. In the traffic, everything's moving the same pace.

'Just make sure we don't follow the wrong Toyota,' says Eckhardt. 'There's a fucking lot of the bastards.'

Eckhardt's right, Los Angeles seems to be full of blue Toyotas, but Koop keeps it in sight. The only worry is not doing something dumb that draws attention to the white van. Koop's pretty sure whoever's tailing Noone is an expert. Anything untoward in the rear-view will be noticeable.

'You done much driving on this side of the road?' Koop asks.

Eckhardt shrugs. 'I have now.' He fumbles for a cigarette.

'Wait,' says Koop. 'I'll do it.' Koop hates smoke but denying Eckhardt would be like depriving a diver of oxygen. And it'll help Eckhardt concentrate.

Koop lights up and coughs. He hands the cigarette to Eckhardt, who looks at the filter dubiously. 'Bit wet, isn't it?' Then he shrugs again and sticks it hungrily in his mouth.

It takes thirty-five minutes of stop-start driving before Noone gets off the freeway.

'Careful,' says Koop but there's no need; Eckhardt's smooth. He swings onto the down ramp and pulls in right behind the Toyota at the stoplight on the looped exit.

'What the fuck are you doing?' says Koop.

'Easy, chief.' Eckhardt blows a plume of smoke out of the window. 'If he's wondering about us this'll stop him. When did you ever see a tail pull up close like this? Besides, if I hadn't it would have looked weird. In this traffic you take your slot when it comes.'

Eckhardt's got a point. Avoiding the Toyota would have been strange.

Waiting for the lights they take the time to study the man following Noone. He's white, short-haired and with wide shoulders. His clothing is dark. There's nothing personal on show in the car and nothing on the outside that indicates where the vehicle's from, other than a generic California plate. No bumper stickers, no insignia. Koop writes down the tag.

'He's some sort of law,' says Eckhardt. 'Far as I can tell.'

'Maybe. Military?'

'Why the fuck would some military bloke be following our bloke?'

The lights change and the Toyota moves lanes to get a little nearer to Noone's jeep. The caterpillar of cars bends through the intersection and up onto La Cienega.

'How do you pronounce that?' says Eckhardt, glancing up at the green street sign. 'Hard "c"? Or "ch"?'

'Search me. Do you always discuss pronunciation during a tail?'

'What else are you going to do?' says Warren. 'It's a pretty long tail and you have to pass the time somehow. I haven't got a never-ending supply of snappy dialogue like you. Besides, I really want to know.
Chee-enn-ah-gah
. I reckon that's it.'

'Fuck off. Concentrate on the road.' Koop checks his watch. Almost twelve-thirty.

Noone drives north and after a couple of turns pulls into a quiet residential street off Sunset Boulevard. The place looks like it belongs somewhere else out in the Midwest. There are white picket fences and fresh-painted porches with double-seat swings on them. Koop remembers his surprise at the contrast between the main arteries and the side roads in LA from his first trip. For Eckhardt it's all new.

He rolls the van past the end of the street and stops out of sight of the side road on Sunset.

'We can't stop down there,' he says. 'Might as well be driving an ice-cream truck.'

'Wait here,' says Koop. He puts on a khaki cap and grabs a clipboard and tool belt. 'I'll call and let you know what's happening. For all we know he's taking a short cut.'

The tree-lined street, despite connecting Hollywood and Sunset, is almost eerily quiet. Koop, in his make-do uniform, feels exposed, fake. Looking north he can see the blue Toyota stationary on the right-hand side of the road. Noone's jeep is parked about eighty metres further on. Maybe two minutes have passed since Eckhardt stopped the van.

A nearby house has a Halloween pumpkin on the porch. There's something familiar about the place but Koop can't work out what and has no idea why there'd be a pumpkin there in July. It adds to his sense of unease as he tries to look convincing in his role as some kind of tradesman.

He's getting closer to the Toyota. He can see clearly the silhouette of the man in the front seat and Koop has no choice but to walk past. His phone vibrates in his pocket but he lets it go. He
can't talk to Eckhardt now – he's three paces from the car and the driver's window is down.

Shit.

Drawing level, Koop tries to appear engrossed in something on his clipboard. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpses the driver's face.

He gives Koop a level glance and then turns back to the view through the windscreen. Up ahead, a white open-topped minibus with 'Starline' written on the side in red turns into the street. Packed with tourists holding cameras it passes Noone's jeep and drives slowly down the street. As it approaches the house that the blue Toyota is parked outside, the bus slows to a halt and Koop can hear the tour guide's excited commentary. The house is the one used in the horror movie
Halloween
.

The bus is temporarily blocking the road.