The Promise: An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel (4 page)

Mr. Rollins

T
HE 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 silent 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.

Elvis Cole

R
EDMON
’
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.

I said, “Don’t give up hope, Furth. You might end up running the place.”

Furth burned me in the rearview but her eyes softened.

“Could happen.”

The Police Administration Building was a beautiful glass-and-concrete building with a triangular atrium that looked like the prow of a crystal ship. The cops who worked there called it the Boat. The opposite side looked like a Borg mothership.

Furth stayed with the car while Redmon took me up. I never saw her again.

The Major Crimes squad room was large, bright, and filled with partitioned cubicles. Conference rooms lined an inner wall. Offices with views lined the outer wall. One office was open but the others were closed. Three of the cubicles were currently occupied, and three detectives stood by the open office.

Redmon said, “Here we go. The show.”

A tall, slim male detective with receding blond hair came forward to meet us. He wore tan slacks and a blue pin-striped shirt with suspenders. Redmon hooked his thumb at me.

“This is him.”

Redmon turned, and left without another word. I never saw Redmon again, either.

The new guy smiled and put out a hand the size of a king crab.

“Brad Carter. You’re Mr. Cole?”

“Yes, sir. Elvis Cole.”

He clutched my hand like a king crab, too.

“Thanks for coming. Let’s talk in here.”

He guided me toward a conference room.

“Coffee or tea? Earl Grey. It’s my private stash.”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“Need the bathroom?”

The world’s most hospitable cop.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

The conference room was small, but pleasant, with an oval table and a glass wall. Drapes were drawn to cover the glass. Carter told me to pick a seat and took a chair across from me. He left the door open.

“Would you identify yourself for me, and let me see your DL?”

I rattled off my name and address, and showed him my driver’s license and my California private investigator’s license. He put them aside as if he planned to keep them, then recited the Echo Park address.

“Okay, Mr. Cole. At or about eleven tonight, you saw a man leave this residence?”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“I’m told you chased him.”

“Yes, sir. Was he caught?”

“Not yet, but we’ll find him. Can you describe him for me?”

I described the man in the sport coat to Carter exactly as I had described him to Alvin. He scratched at a notebook a couple of times, but mostly he watched me, and mostly he stared at my mouth, as if he needed to read my lips to understand what I was saying.

“Not a lot to work with, but it is what it is. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I didn’t see his face. He was too far away, and it was dark. I can’t even say if his sport coat was dark gray or dark blue or dark purple.”

He jotted another note.

“All right. So tell me, why did you chase him?”

“An officer named Alvin told me a homicide suspect was in the
area. The way this guy crept out of the house, I thought he was probably the suspect. I was closest, so I alerted the officers and tried to catch him. I might’ve been able to run him down, but I don’t know. An officer ran out from behind the house, pointed a gun at me, and that was that.”

“This was Officer Alvin?”

“No, a K-9 officer. He had a dog. Alvin and the other officers were behind me.”

Carter’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. He read it, picked up my licenses, and pushed to his feet.

“I’ll make copies of these, and get them back to you. You sure you don’t want something? Coffee or tea?”

“How about an answer. What happened tonight?”

Carter shook his head like he didn’t know what I was talking about.

I said, “The neighborhood was evacuated. The Bomb Squad showed up. What was in the house?”

“I’ll be back in a few. Wait here.”

Carter closed the door and left me for over an hour. I got up at the thirty-minute mark. Locked. I didn’t bother to check it again. Carter would speak with Alvin. He would check my story through incoming field reports and on-scene investigators, and wouldn’t return until he had more questions or no questions.

One hour and twenty-six minutes after he left, Carter returned with an attractive African-American woman wearing jeans and a blazer. She carried a cup in one hand and a silver laptop in the other. Carter had a cup, too, but it was hidden by his enormous, crab-sized hand.

The woman introduced herself as Detective Glory Stiles and flashed a beautiful smile.

“Man, crazy night. Is this off the hook or what? Sorry you had to wait.”

“Worth the wait, seeing you.”

The smile amped a thousand watts.

“My! Aren’t you the charmer?”

“They call me Mr. Charm.”

Glory Stiles was a tall woman with close-cropped natural hair and immaculate bright blue nails. Carter returned to his original seat and Stiles took a seat nearby. I glimpsed a flick of gold on her right thumbnail when she opened the laptop, but couldn’t make out what it was.

Carter was different. The offers of tea were history. His expression was stern with conviction, and designed to intimidate. It’s a look I’ve seen before, and seen done better.

He said, “Okay, Mr. Charm. Tell me again about the man you chased. Describe him.”

“I just described him.”

“Maybe you remembered something while you were waiting. Start at the beginning.”

I smiled nicely and leaned toward him.

“Tell you what, Carter, I’ve been here for hours. You want to arrest me, get to it.”

Glory Stiles said, “Now there’s no reason to be like that.”

I didn’t look at Stiles. I stared at Carter.

“You want me to sit here, tell me what happened tonight.”

Carter sipped his tea.

“A man was murdered.”

“Not that. Why did the Bomb Squad roll out?”

Carter sipped more tea and did not answer. Glory Stiles answered for him.

“Explosive materials were found with the body, Mr. Cole. We
don’t have a full account as yet, but they are being removed and disposed of. It’s a dangerous situation.”

I nodded, thinking about Amy Breslyn and her government contract work.

Carter stared over the top of his cup.

“Maybe Mr. Cole can give us an account.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

Glory Stiles said, “I know Detective Carter already asked, but I’m going to ask, too. What were you doing there, and why on God’s beautiful Earth did you chase this man?”

I told them I was looking for a writer named Thomas Lerner. I had not mentioned him before and did not like putting Lerner on their radar, but sooner or later they would learn I asked about Lerner from the neighbor, and might already know. Carter gave no reaction. Glory Stiles took notes by typing, and her fingers blurred over the keys. I had never seen anyone talk and type at the same time, but she did, as if she had two brains. It was a hell of a thing to see. I repeated my conversation with the neighbor, and our conversation with Alvin, and again described when and how I saw the man in a sport coat exit the house. I used the word ‘furtive.’

Carter said, “So you were in your car while the officers did the door-knocks.”

“Yeah. I asked Alvin if I could leave, but he told me they didn’t have anyone to move the cars.”

Carter appeared to believe me, which meant they had already spoken to Alvin.

“You see anyone enter or leave the house besides the man you chased?”

“No.”

Stiles asked the next question as she typed.

“When you were at the door, did you hear anything inside? Voices or noise or whatever?”

“Nothing. I knocked a couple of times. I tried the bell. It didn’t work.”

Stiles glanced briefly at Carter. Someone had told them the bell didn’t work.

Carter leaned forward.

“Did you smell anything?”

“Like what?”

“You tell me. You either smelled something or you didn’t.”

I wondered if this had something to do with the explosives, and shook my head.

“No.”

Carter leaned back as if he doubted me.

“Who was it you went there to see?”

“Thomas Lerner.”

“Did someone hire you to find him?”

“No.”

“You’re a private investigator.”

“I wasn’t working. I wanted to see if he’d like to collaborate.”

Glory Stiles spoke as she typed.

“No shit! Now wouldn’t that be cool?”

Bright and bubbly, but she didn’t believe a word.

“How do you know Mr. Lerner?”

We were getting down to it, and the ice was thin. I had painted a target on Thomas Lerner and the more we talked about him the larger the target would grow. Carter would want to find him just to check out my story, and pretty soon I’d be in a race to find him first.

“We met at the Times Festival of Books four or five years ago. He wanted to ask about my work, so we swapped contact info. He never
called. A few days ago, I found his info and gave him a call. The phone was no good, so I tried the address.”

I looked from Stiles to Carter.

“That’s it.”

“Could we have the phone number?”

I put an edge in my voice, like my patience was thin.

“Tossed it when it turned up bad. Why would I keep it? Had the address, so I gave it a shot.”

“Tonight.”

I had copied Lerner’s address onto my business card. I dug the card from my pocket and slapped it onto the table.

“Yeah, tonight. And if not tonight, it would’ve been tomorrow or the day after or next month, but I picked tonight and here I am stuck with you, only guess what, Carter? The me being stuck part is over.”

I stood.

“I’m done and I’m leaving.”

Carter slowly turned the card, read it, and left it on the table. I snatched it back. He wasn’t angry or threatening. He looked patient.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Cole. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

He stood and went to the door.

“Finish up, Glory. I’ll get a ride for Mr. Cole.”

Glory Stiles closed her computer and stood as he left.

“Okay, Mr. Cole, I’m going to print a written statement documenting what you’ve told us. I’d like you to read it, and if you believe it to be a true and accurate representation of what you told us, we’d like you to sign it. That okay?”

It wasn’t okay, but I went along. The police almost never asked a witness to sign a statement. They preferred to incorporate witness statements in their reports, which were signed by them and not the witness. This allowed more wiggle room for the prosecutor if the
case went to trial. If a witness signed, every error of fact or difference in testimony became red meat for the defense.

I followed Stiles and her laptop out to the squad room.

“Hang here for a sec, and I’ll be right back.”

She left me hanging and quickly crossed the room. Carter had joined two detectives outside an office. One of the two glanced at me and stepped inside.

Three hours after Redmon and Furth delivered me, the Major Crimes squad room was now crowded and busy. A dozen detectives who looked like they would rather be home in bed were working in cubicles or locked in conversations with uniform officers who floated listlessly along the walls.

An officer at a nearby desk sat with his legs out and arms crossed. He was watching me as if he’d had a long day and it was going to be longer.

He said, “Dude, you’re lucky you’re alive.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Have we met?”

“Kinda. You’re the guy who chased our runaway. I almost shot you.”

I saw the K-9 patch on his shoulder, and finally recognized him.

“Thanks for not shooting me.”

“Too much paperwork.”

He leaned forward and offered his hand.

“That wasn’t the smartest move, getting involved, but thanks for trying to help.”

We shook as Glory Stiles reappeared. She led me to a nearby empty desk and told me to read the document. It was only two pages long, but it was an accurate representation of my statements. Even the facts that were lies. I signed and handed it back.

“Okay, Mr. Cole, that wraps it up. We appreciate your cooperation.”

“Carter has a funny way of showing it.”

“We’ll probably want to speak with you again. That okay?”

“Not if I see you coming.”

She flashed the brilliant smile.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to sneak up on you, now won’t we? Your ride is outside. I’ll take you down.”

Carter watched as I left. His eyes held no malice, but I knew I would see him again.

An older officer with a short gray buzz drove me back to my car. The clouds broke open a final time, hammering us with a downpour so fierce the wipers were useless. The officer squinted into the oncoming rain, but did not slow. He could not possibly see the way ahead, but he did not stop.

Neither did
I.