City of Echoes (16 page)

“It’s the only explanation that works,” Matt said. “They wanted insurance to make up for the horror of the crime, the weight of the depravity. Baylor and the medical examiner had already told them what to look for.”

“They knew what to look for, so they knew what to buy.”

“That’s it,” Matt said. “They had all the DNA samples they needed from both the girl and Harris. It would’ve been easy.”

“They needed insurance,” Cabrera said. “They sweetened the pie.”

A long moment passed, and then another, swollen and bruised and all beat up.

Matt was thinking about Ron Harris. The man deserved a lot of things, but he didn’t deserve to die the way he did. An innocent man, married with young children, stood accused of the horrific murder of his student. But Millie Brown was more than a student to him, and in the end he obviously meant more to her than anyone involved would ever admit. Matt could see it. Harris sitting through his first day in court, listening to the deputy DA lay out their case and knowing in his gut that he had no chance to clear his name. Harris knowing that he was innocent, knowing that the box cutter had been planted, knowing that he would burn. Harris feeling the panic, the terror, seeing his wife seated behind him, his parents, everything slipping away. But then there would have been all those angels from the City of Angels sitting there, too. All those faces in the gallery, all those people who wanted to see him dead. The spark of evil in their eyes. The spark of revenge and the will of the mob. Everyone watching convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d cut up Millie Brown’s face and watched her bleed to death. They didn’t need the deputy DA to present the evidence. They already knew.

Matt pulled out of it and tried to clear his mind. Cabrera switched off the flashlight.

“Jamie Taladyne went off the grid the day after Harris killed himself, Matt.”

“You said that.”

“But he’s been loose for months. He’s out there somewhere. He’s free and he can’t help himself. He’s killing again.”

Matt rubbed his forehead as he thought it over. “You understand what’s at stake, right, Denny? We agree on what’s going on?”

Cabrera closed the murder book. “It couldn’t be more clear. Grace, Orlando, and Plank fucked up hard. They’ve murdered three cops to protect their secret.”

“They’re looking for a way out,” Matt said. “That’s all that matters now. They need Harris to take the fall for Millie Brown’s murder no matter what really happened because they planted the murder weapon. They’re cornered because of that box cutter and the fact that they’re directly responsible for an innocent man taking his own life. Everyone Taladyne’s killed since Brown—Faith Novakoff, Brooke Anderson, there could be more—every murder since, Grace has to play like the killer’s a copycat. If Grace can’t sell it, if Orlando and Plank screw it up, they know they’re dead. They know they’ll get the needle.”

“And we’re in a world of shit,” Cabrera whispered.

It hung there in the darkness of the car. Their new reality in all its harshness. Matt glanced at his Honda halfway up the row of cars and grabbed the murder books. Cabrera checked the lot for his SUV, then reached for the door handle.

“You gonna sleep tonight, Denny?”

Cabrera opened the door. “I don’t know yet. Give me a smoke for the drive home.”

CHAPTER 32

Matt couldn’t tell if it was the silver Nissan behind him. All he could see was a pair of headlights through the glare. He’d picked them up as he drove east on Sunset and made a left onto Western. Now they were following him on Los Feliz as he approached the freeway entrance, two cars back, the driver laying low.

Matt circled down the ramp and eased the car onto the Golden State Freeway with his eyes flicking between the speedometer and the rearview mirror. On a good night the average speed of freeway traffic in Southern California was somewhere between seventy-five and eighty-five miles an hour. Anyone doing the speed limit—anyone driving at fifty-five—more than stood out. Matt set the cruise control at a lethargic fifty miles an hour, hung in the right lane, and watched the driver barrel down the entrance ramp, then suddenly let up on the gas.

He got a good look as the car coasted beneath a streetlight. The man in the silver Nissan was back.

Matt tightened his grip on the wheel, mulling it over. The Glendale exit was less than a mile away. Laura’s house was another mile up the hill just north of the freeway. He needed to deal with this guy, and he needed to do it in a hurry. He checked the mirror again. The follower was still back there, rolling at a listless fifty miles an hour.

Matt checked the cruise control, watching the traffic pass by hard and fast and ignoring anyone who hit their horn. He could see the interchange just ahead. When he reached the 134 Freeway, he took the first exit, gliding down the ramp and side street, and making a right at the light onto San Fernando Road.

The silver Nissan was still in his rearview mirror, five cars back and hiding in the right lane. Matt wondered if the man might not be delusional, still not realizing that he had been spotted. He smiled as he lifted his .45 out of its holster and rested it on the console. Powering up the Honda, he swerved through the next layer of traffic in a sudden burst, then slowed down again as he shifted lanes. On the other side of the train tracks to his left was an industrial area. Block after block of warehouses and light manufacturing plants until the roads converged on DreamWorks and Walt Disney Animation Studios to the west. At this hour the entire area would be a ghost town until you reached the studios.

He saw the light ahead and caught it just as it turned yellow, making an easy left onto Flower Street. Once he rolled over the train tracks, the traffic vanished and he was on his own. He checked the mirror again and saw the Nissan make the turn as well, then brake and begin following at a calculated distance.

But no matter what the distance, there was no place to hide here. The man in the silver Nissan had no cover. It was the reason Matt had chosen the exit on San Fernando Road. It was the perfect place to draw the man out and confront him.

He slowed down to an even thirty-five miles an hour. He made a turn at the corner, and then another, watching the Nissan cruise a hundred yards back. Matt pushed forward, leading his follower deeper into the industrial landscape and making turn after turn, until it felt like he was lost in a maze. When he spotted a street that looked particularly dark and desolate a block or two past Glendale Water & Power, he made a quick right, pulled into the shadows halfway down, and skidded to a stop.

Matt ripped open the door, climbed out with his .45, and leaned over the hood.

But the silver Nissan never made the last turn.

He waited five minutes, listening to the power lines hum overhead with his pistol pointed at the end of the road. When it felt like a sure thing, he got into the car and worked his way back to San Fernando Road.

He drove slowly, searching for the silver Nissan. He had that feeling again, the one in the center of his back that told him he was being watched. But as he stopped at each intersection, the streets were empty, his follower apparently gone.

The drive to Laura’s house took less than ten minutes. He kept an eye out for the Nissan and told himself that the feeling still digging into his back was just a case of nerves. Still, as he reached the neighborhood, he drove around the block just to make sure. When he spotted a gray Crown Vic hidden in the shadows across the street, he thought his heart might break out of his chest.

He made another trip around the block, coasting past Laura’s driveway. That morning, the protection detail out of Metro had parked their black Chevy Suburban in front of the garage. But now it was gone. He didn’t see it in the drive or anywhere on the street.

Matt pulled down to the next house and fished out his cell phone. His contact at Metro, Jerry Tanaka, picked up after five long rings. From the background noise, it sounded like the call had been forwarded and Tanaka was in a bar.

“Where’s my protection detail?” he said through clenched teeth. “Where the fuck are they, Tanaka?”

“Take it easy, Jones. They’re at the house. What’s your problem?”

“They’re not at the house. They’re nowhere, man.”

“Hold on for a second,” Tanaka said.

“I don’t have a second.”

“Hold on anyway.”

The phone clicked and he heard an irritating stream of digital noise in the void. He was nervous. The wait was excruciating, but he knew that he couldn’t get out of the car. He couldn’t take the chance that his voice might carry. After three or four minutes—maybe it was five or six—Tanaka came back on.

“They’re on a break,” he said.

“A break? Are you insane?”

“I just got off the phone with them. They said you told them that they could take an hour’s break.”

“Who told them?”

“Matt Jones from Hollywood Homicide,” Tanaka said.

“Are these the same guys who showed up this morning?”

“No. They’re the second shift.”

“When did I tell them that they could split?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

A beat went by. Matt felt the anger bloom all over his body and burst through his skin.

“Listen, Tanaka. That wasn’t me. You’re blowing it. You’re in a fucking bar thinking that the day’s all over, only it’s just getting started. You’re fucking up. Now bring them back and bring them back fast.”

“I’ll do what I can, Jones.”

“A woman’s life is at stake, Tanaka. Fuck you.”

Matt slipped the phone into his pocket, drew his .45, rocked back the slide, and hustled down the street in silence. As he reached the driveway, he could feel the outrage overwhelming his senses. He started around the house, as slowly as he could manage. He stopped and listened. There was someone in the yard, someone standing at the top of the steps leading down to the backyard and pool. Matt moved around the corner for a better look.

It was Joey Orlando. Cop killer.

All of a sudden Matt was glad that he hadn’t wasted time confronting the man in the silver Nissan. He raised the .45, moving forward in silence. He had been trained to move in silence. He was good at it. He stopped three feet short of Orlando’s back and listened to the detective breathing. He looked him over from head to toe and felt repulsed by his entire presence. Orlando was watching Laura in the window as he stood hidden in the darkness. Even worse, it was a close-up view from the side. She was in the kitchen, rinsing dishes in the sink and looking out the back window at the lighted pool. She was wearing a black T-shirt that rose above her midriff and a pair of jeans that rode well below her hips. Her hair was pulled back, and from the color of her full lips, it looked like she was wearing makeup. She looked good. She looked better than good.

“Enjoying the view, Joey?” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Orlando flinched, then caught himself and froze, thinking it over. “Yeah, Jones,” he said finally. “It’s a pretty good view tonight.”

“Where’s Plank?”

“What’s it to you?”

Matt jabbed the .45 into his back. “Where’s Plank?” he repeated.

Orlando shrugged. “Home, I guess.”

Matt stepped around Orlando with the gun aimed at his chest. He could feel his pulse slowing as the adrenaline backed off. He was all business now as he watched Orlando eye the .45. After a few beats, the big man with the goatee and the salsa stain on his shirt seemed to ignore the drawn weapon and finally met Matt’s gaze.

“You were overseas, Jones. How many people did you kill?”

“What are you doing here, Joey?”

“I drove out to your place thinking you’d be home.” He glanced at Laura, then looked back and flashed a dirty smile. “It’s pretty clear why you’re not.”

Matt ignored the innuendo. “What do you want?” he said.

Orlando shot him a knowing look and lowered his voice. “Too bad what happened to Frankie Lane this afternoon. I heard he drove off a mountain and got himself all burned up. I heard he was a nice guy, but now he’s just a piece of meat. I wanted to make sure I expressed my condolences, Jones.”

A long moment passed with Matt staring at Orlando and Orlando staring back. A warning that didn’t appear to be veiled or spoken in code.

“You got it right, Orlando. Frankie was okay. You ever meet him?”

“No,” Orlando said, smiling through a yawn. “I never fucking did. It’s getting late, Jones. See ya tomorrow at the office. Maybe we’ll go out and grab a cup of coffee. Just the two of us.”

Orlando was a motherfucker.

Matt watched him turn and walk off, keeping an eye on him until he got into the Crown Vic and finally vanished down the street.

He slipped his .45 into the holster, then took a deep breath and exhaled.

He might have been all business, but he could feel the weight of the moment preying on him as well. He checked his watch, wondering how much more time it would take the protection detail to get here. He no longer had any confidence in them. He turned and looked at Laura in the window. Her T-shirt and jeans. The makeup that she was wearing tonight. He lit a cigarette and looked at her again. Then he turned away.

CHAPTER 33

It had taken twenty minutes for the protection detail to return. When they finally arrived, Matt kept himself together but told them exactly what had happened and made sure they understood that they had been played. Although both officers appeared to be professionals, neither one of them understood the potential downside, because Matt couldn’t tell them how lethal Orlando was or what kind of cop he had become. From the expressions on their faces—
what gives?
—Matt guessed that they thought he was either paranoid or making a big deal about nothing. After all, Orlando was an LAPD detective whom Matt worked with.

By the time he got his overnight bag out of the car and Laura opened the front door, he was exhausted and just wanted to hit the sheets and get some sleep.

“You don’t look so good,” she said. “Have you eaten anything since breakfast?”

“A couple hours ago. I’m just tired.”

“You want something to drink?”