Hostage (2001) (29 page)

'All this cereal. You think he eats it? Maybe he just scrounges for the boxes. There must be a giveaway, you know, a contest.'

The Caravan was cut into three sections, the kitchen to their right, the living room where they entered, the bedroom to their left, all of it cramped and claustrophobic, littered with free newspapers, Jack-in-the-Box wrappers, soiled clothes, and beer cans; the little kitchen with a tiny sink, an electric range, a half-size refrigerator.

Mikkelson, ignoring Dreyer's speculations, moved left to the bedroom, pulling on the vinyl disposable gloves, wondering about the smell. At the door, she lit up the bed with her Maglite, saw stained sheets in a rumpled mess, paper and clothes on the floor, and the jars.

'Dreyer. I think we should call.'

Dreyer stepped up behind, his own light beam dancing into the room.

'Shit. What is that?' Dreyer's voice was hushed.

Mikkelson stepped in, holding out her light. Gallon-sized glass jars lined the walls, jars that you get when you buy the big pickles in one of those discount stores, lining the walls, stacked to windows that were latched tight to hold out the air. Shapes floated in the jars, suspended in yellow fluid. Some of the jars were so jammed with fleshy shapes there was almost no fluid.

'Goddamn. I think it's rats.'

'Jesus.'

Mikkelson squatted for a better look, wanting to cover her mouth, maybe put on a gas mask or something so she wouldn't have to breathe the fetid air.

'Shit, it's squirrels. He's got squirrels in here.'

'Fuck this. I'm calling.'

Dreyer left, keying his radio as he fled to the safer night air.

Mikkelson backed out of the room, stood in the door, thinking what to do. She knew she should go through Krupchek's things, look for identifying information, family phone numbers, things like that which might help Talley at the scene. She went back to the kitchen, looking for the phone, figuring to find what she needed there.

Mikkelson, thoroughly creeped out, stood by the phone but stared at the oven. She had this creepy feeling, she would later say, that's all there was to it; the smell, the squirrels, all those mutilated boxes. She took a deep breath as if she were about to plunge into cold water and jerked open the oven.

More Count Chocula.

Mikkelson laughed at herself. Ha ha, like what else did she expect to find?

Tension now gone, she opened the cupboards, one after the other, all with Count Chocula, bound and burned. She returned to the phone, but hesitated again, then found herself standing at the refrigerator.

Outside, Dreyer called, 'You coming out?'

'I'm okay.'

'Wait out here. The Sheriffs are sending detectives.'

'Dreyer?'

'What?'

'You ever notice, a refrigerator is like a white coffin standing on end?'

'Jesus, would you just come out?'

The refrigerator came open without effort, empty and strangely clean against the squalor of the trailer, no soda, no beer, no leftovers, just white enamel that had been lovingly polished. This refrigerator, Mikkelson would later testify, was the cleanest thing in the trailer.

A thin metal door was set in the top of the box; the freezer. Her hand had a mind of its own, reaching out, pulling the door. Her first thought was that it was a cabbage, wrapped in foil and Saran Wrap. She stared at it, stared hard, then closed the doors, never once, not once, tempted to touch that thing in the freezer.

Mikkelson left the trailer to wait with Dreyer in the hot night air, the two of them saying nothing, waiting for the Sheriffs, Mikkelson thinking, Let them touch it.

Chapter
18

Friday, 11:40 P.M.

Santa Clarita, California

Howell took three rooms in the Comfort Inn, all at the rear of the motel with outside entrances. Marion Clewes had the woman and the girl bound hand and foot in one room, tape over their eyes and mouths. Howell had checked to make sure they were secure, then went back to his own room even though the place smelled of cleaning products and new carpets. He didn't like being around Clewes.

Howell was sitting on his bed when he received the call from Ken Seymore, his heart trying to jump out of his nose as he heard that Walter Smith had been removed from the house.

'Did the cops go in? What the fuck is happenin' out there?'

'No one went in, it was just Smith coming out.'

'He just walked out?'

'They carried him. He's fucked up. One of the pricks in there must've beaten him. They took him out in an ambulance.'

Howell sat silent for a moment, thinking. Smith out while his kids were still inside was a problem. Smith in the hospital where they'd pop him full of dope, get him high, that was a problem, too.

'Did anything else come out of that house?'

'Nothing they're telling the news pool.'

Howell hung up and immediately phoned information for the CanyonCountryHospital's phone number and address, then called the hospital for directions off the freeway. He found the location in his Thomas Guide to double-check the directions, then he used his cell phone to call Palm Springs.

Phil Tuzee answered. Howell filled him in, then waited as Tuzee talked it over with the others. It was Sonny Benza who came back on the line.

'This is fuckin' bad, Glen.'

'I know.'

'He have the disks on him?'

'I don't know, Sonny. I just heard about this two minutes ago. It just happened. I'm going to send someone over.'

'Find out if he has the disks and see if he's been talking to anyone. That won't be good if he's talking. His kids are still in that house?'

'Yeah.'

'Sonofabitch.'

Howell knew they were all thinking the same thing; a man desperate to save his kids might say anything. Howell tried to sound hopeful.

'They say he's fucked up pretty bad. I don't know that for sure, Sonny, but if he's unconscious he can't be talking. The press pool out there is talking a concussion with possible brain injury. They make it sound like the guy's in a coma.'

'Listen, don't tell me anything you don't know for sure. I wipe my ass with rumors. You just hold your shit tight out there and take care of this.'

'It's tight.'

'That's why those pricks let him out, he's hurt? Maybe we'll get lucky and the fucker will die.'

'Talley talked them into letting him out.'

'You know something, Glen? That doesn't sound like your shit is tight. That sounds like the fuckin' wheels are comin' off. Do I have to come out there myself?'

'No way, Sonny. I got it.'

'I want those goddamned disks.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I don't want Smith talking, not to anyone, you understand?'

'I understand.'

'You know what I'm saying?'

'I know.'

'Okay.'

Benza hung up. It was their call; they had made it. Howell picked up the hotel phone and called two rooms down.

'Come over here. I got something for you to do.'

Chapter
19

Friday, 11:52 P.M.

Talley checked the time, then took out the Watchman's Nokia and checked its charge. Crazy thoughts of holding a gun to the doctor's head flashed like pinwheels through his mind. Smith knew who was behind this. Smith knew who had his family. Talley paced the mouth of the cul-de-sac, his thoughts kaleidoscoping between Amanda and Jane, and Dennis Rooney. Maddox and Ellison had the phone again, but Dennis refused to answer their calls and had taken his own phone off the hook. Talley sensed that Dennis was working through something, but Talley didn't know what.

When the phone rang Talley again thought it was the Nokia, but it was his private line.

Larry Anders said, 'Chief? Can you talk?'

Anders's voice was low, as if he were trying to keep his words private. Talley lowered his own voice even though no one was near.

'Go, Larry.'

'I'm with Cooper here in the city planner's office. Man, that guy was pissed. He didn't want to get up.'

Talley took out his notepad.

'First tell me about the cell number. You run that yet?'

'I had to get a telephone for that. It's unlisted, so the cell company didn't want to release.'

'Telephone' meant that Anders had to get a telephonic search warrant.

'Okay.'

'The number is registered to Rohiprani Bakmanifelsu and Associates. It's a jewelry company in Beverly Hills. You want me to try to contact them?'

'Forget it. It's a dead end.'

Talley knew without hearing more that the cell number had been cloned and stolen. Since Bakmanifelsu hadn't yet deactivated it, he hadn't yet discovered the pirated activity on his account; the number had probably been cloned within his past billing period.

'What about the Mustang?'

'There's nothing, Chief. I ran wants for the past two model years. We got sixteen hits for cars that were still unrecovered, but nothing green came up.'

'Were any of them stolen today?'

'No, sir. Not even in the past month.'

Talley let it go.

'Okay. What about the building permits?'

'We can't find any of that, but we might not need'm. The planner knew the developer who opened York Estates, a man named Clive Briggs. It used to be nothing but avocado orchards out there.'

'Okay.'

'I just got off the phone with him. He says that the contractor who built the Smiths' house is probably at TerminalIsland.'

TerminalIsland was the federal prison in San Pedro.

'What do you mean, probably?'

'Briggs didn't know for sure, but he remembered the contractor. The guy's name was Lloyd Cunz. Briggs remembers because he liked the guy's work so much that he tried to hire him for another development he had goin', but Cunz turned him down. He was based in Palm Springs, he said, and they didn't want to take any more long-range jobs.'

'The contractor came all the way from Palm Springs?'

'Not just the contractor. He brought his crew: The carpenters, the cement people, plumbers, electricians, everybody. He didn't hire anyone locally. He said it was to keep up the quality of the work. Three or four years later, Briggs tried to hire Cunz again and learned that he'd been indicted on racketeering and hijacking charges. He was out of business.'

Talley knew that a builder wouldn't bring an entire construction crew that far unless he was building something he didn't want the locals to know about. Talley already had a sense of where this was going. Organized crime.

'Did you run Cunz through the computer yet?'

'Well, I'm still here at the planner.'

'When you get back to the office, run him and see what you get.'

'You're thinking these guys are in organized crime, aren't you?'

'Yeah, Larry. That's what I'm thinking. Let me know what you find.'

'I won't tell anyone.'

'No. Don't.'

Talley closed his phone and stared at the cul-de-sac. Walter Smith was almost certainly a member of organized crime. The Watchman was probably his partner, and the disks probably contained evidence that could put them away. The pressure he felt was like an inflating balloon in his head and chest. Talley knew that he was losing control of the scene, and of the events that would soon happen. When the Watchman's phony FBI agents arrived, he would have even less control, and that would put the people in the house in even greater jeopardy. The Watchman didn't care who died; he just wanted the disks.

Talley wanted the disks, too. He wanted to know what was on them. These people would never have taken Talley's family if the disks in Smith's house didn't pose a terrible threat to them. They feared those disks being discovered more than they feared the investigation that would come from having kidnapped Talley's family. They figured they could survive the investigation, but they knew the disks would make them fall. That meant the disks named names.

Talley believed that he and his family would not survive the night. The men in the car, they could not afford to trust that the police couldn't build a case against them for what was happening here. They would not take that chance. Talley was absolutely certain that as soon as the Watchman had the disks, he would murder all three of them. Talley wanted the disks first. He thought he knew how to get them.

Talley trotted into the cul-de-sac to join Maddox and Ellison at their car.

'He answer your calls yet?'

Ellison sipped black coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

'Negative. Phone company says he's still got it unplugged.'

'You guys have a P.A. in this car?'

'No. What're you thinking?'

Talley duck-walked to the lone Bristo car that remained in the street. He grabbed the mike, then flipped on the public address system. Maddox had followed him over, curious.