Gecko (19 page)

“
I guess not. I wasn’t thinking.”

“
Damn straight you weren’t thinking. Do you know where I am?”

“
No?”

“
I’m in my office, that’s where. It’s midnight and I’m not home with my wife and kids. I got called on the carpet, because one of my ex-detectives is off seeking fame and glory, so he can get off the street and worm his way back into Homicide.”

“
That’s not the way it is.”

“
I don’t want to hear a word out of you. If you’re not back here first thing in the morning, you’re through. You got that? And don’t think you can go to your captain, he wanted to toss you to the wolves. It’s only because of old times that I talked him into giving you this one last chance. You be here at 8:00.” And that was the last word, because the captain hung up.

Damn. That wasn’t the way he wanted to leave it. They were his friends, all of them, even Hart. He wanted to leave with a party, a barbecue maybe, everybody wishing him well, patting him on the back, plenty of beer, a few tears. The last thing he wanted was for them to think he was a glory hound. He wasn’t that way, never had been.

He half wanted to go back, but he couldn’t, not now that Glenna was with Monday. He should call Hart back and tell him. Hart was pretty upset though, better to wait till morning and give the man a chance to cool down.

He picked up a pillow, threw it against the wall. A harmless way to let off a little frustration. He mentally kicked himself, then he hurried out the door and down the walkway to the stairway, taking the steps two at a time. He was afraid that no keys meant no Power Glide, but when he got to the parking lot, the car was there. The only car showing headlights and grill. The only car positioned for the quick get away. All the others faced in, the white Explorer was gone.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he grabbed his breath and approached his car the way an antique dealer approaches a Ming vase. He rubbed his hand along the smoothly waxed right fender, continuing the caress till his hand was on the right side of the front bumper. He reached under and pulled out the small magnetic Hide-A-Key, opened the case and took out the spare key.

Monday was on his way to Tampico, probably after Kohler, and Glenna with him. He had no choice, he had to follow. His daughter’s life was at stake. He’d call Hart tomorrow from Tampico and explain. He’d tell him he was quitting too.

Power Glide started, first try. Thank you, God, he prayed, as he rolled out of the parking lot and turned toward the Interstate and he stayed on it until he turned west toward San Francisco three hours later, listening to Smokey Robinson the whole way, until even Smokey couldn’t keep him awake any longer. He ejected the CD and pulled off the Freeway at Livermore, where he checked into a motel. He asked for a wake-up call at 5:00, allowing himself two hours sleep. He flopped fully clothed onto the bed, pushed his worries out of his mind and fell asleep.

The wake-up call was on time. He took a quick shower and was on the road by 5:15. Normally he enjoyed early morning driving, when he had the road to himself, but not today, because he was sick with fear for Glenna.

The sun had been up for an hour when he turned off California’s Highway 1, and took the road into Tampico. He knew the area. Palma was only a few miles away. He’d grown up here and had nothing but fond memories. He prayed that Glenna was all right, that her memories of the Palma-Tampico area would be fond, too. She had never been up before. He’d always wanted to take her, but he’d always been too busy.

He turned off Kennedy Road onto Mountain Sea and decided that he needed to stretch his cramped body before he went any further. He parked across from the beach, got out and took a couple steps when he spotted a small boy reach into a gunny sack and toss a pigeon into the air.

He smiled. He had pigeons when he was a kid. Racing homers, like the boy had. He caught the kid’s eye, waved, then watched as the kid released the birds, one at a time, five in all, then he saw him shout and wave to a woman down the beach gathering shells. His mother, Washington thought. Beyond he saw a homeless beggar approaching the woman. Just another of America’s forgotten.

If he wasn’t in such a hurry, he might have worried about the woman, but the homeless were harmless, for the most part, and he had lingered too long already. He was in a hurry, so he got back in the car and continued on.

The road paralleled the ocean and he remembered how he used to scamper among the dunes when he was a boy. Then it veered off into the pines and climbed up fifty feet above the sea.

He found Kohler’s house, an extravagantly large cliffside home. There had been no homes like this up here when he was a boy. Nothing ever remains the same, he thought. He wanted to stop, but to park across from the isolated house would be to advertise his presence and to announce what he was. He continued slowly by, burning every detail of the place into his mind.

It was set back from the road, a meticulous yard in front, a cliff behind. Bars covered heavily curtained windows. The doctor didn’t want the outside looking in. A stone gray home, with dark gray shutters and trim. A cold, forbidding place. The centerfold-receptionist had been right, it looked like a prison. He could imagine a dungeon, cave-dark and damp, complete with rack and hooded torturer. He shuddered as a drafty freeze seemed to settle on him. He wondered if Monday’s wife was the ice queen ruler of the roost or if she was the innocent maiden, caught under a sorcerer’s spell.

The pine forest was across the street and the nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. Dr. Kohler had a secure mansion, sitting atop a modest size town. Was he the big fish in a small pond, splashing his weight and wealth around, or was he the secretive mad scientist, never seen, sending servants down to town to deal with the peasants. Washington wondered which. He needed to know.

He was almost past the house, when he saw a silver-gray Mercedes in the driveway, parked in front of a two car garage. He didn’t see the white Explorer and he wondered if he’d arrived ahead of Monday and Glenna. He drove on till he rounded a curve, made a Y turn and headed back. This time he didn’t slow down and he didn’t look. He’d seen all he needed to see.

He drove back into town and took a room at the Tampico Motel. Then he went shopping. First stop, Pacific Sporting Goods, where he purchased an M-1 carbine, two thirty round clips, five boxes of ammunition, a camouflage military shirt with large inside pockets and matching pants, hiking boots and a backpack. At the camera shop next door he bought a pair of ten power binoculars and a flashlight. At the local mini market, where he was waited on by a turbaned Sikh, he bought enough junk food and powdered donuts to half fill the backpack. Almost as an afterthought he grabbed a couple cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, a can opener and a case of plastic spoons.

“
This will not be very healthy eating,” the Sikh said.

“
It’s what I’ve been eating since my wife left,” Washington said, warming to the Sikh’s smile.

“
You are not eating well and I am being a bad business man. I should be shutting my mouth and taking your money.”

“
And I should follow your advice, but I probably won’t. My name is Hugh Washington.” He held out his hand.

“
And I am Jaspinder Singh.” He offered Washington a handshake as firm as the one he received.

“
The gray house up the hill, the one with all the bars, you know who owns it?” Washington asked.

“
I don’t like to be getting in anyone’s business.”

“
I can understand that.” Washington showed his badge. “But my daughter is missing.”

“
Oh my, I should like to help you even if you are a long way from home. Not because you are a policeman. I have been on the wrong side of many policemen in my life. I was born in South Africa, so you see American policemen are not threatening to me.”

“
I don’t mean to threaten you.”

“
Oh yes, I know. I am only explaining myself, more for my benefit than yours. It is hard for me to inform on another.”

“
I’m not asking you to inform on anyone.”

“
Oh, but you are. You are asking who owns the big house. Then you will be asking what do I know about him and I do not like what I know. I would like to remain silent and say I know nothing. But you are asking as a father and not a policeman. A policeman I could turn away. A father, I cannot.”

“
I don’t like the way this sounds.”

“
And I am sorry to be telling you. A doctor owns that house. A rich German doctor. A man who has a parade of young girls come and go. He thinks we don’t know, but we are a small town, and even though he keeps to himself most of the time, we see his people bringing them in and taking them out.”

“
His people?”

“
He has some very rough looking people working for him. Doing what, I do not know. Drugs maybe? There is a lot of that up here. Marijuana fields, California’s illegal cash crop.”

“
What does he do with the girls?”

“
Who knows?” The Sikh spread his hands, palms up. “But if he was involved with my daughter, I would most certainly want to know.” Washington thanked him, paid, and on his way out the door the Sikh asked, “Will you be wanting to see the sheriff?”

“
No. It’s something I have to handle myself.” He smiled at the man.

“
I understand and if anybody ever asks me, you were never here and we never talked.”

Understanding lit up Washington’s face. If he were to harm Kohler, or even kill him, this man would say nothing.

“
I appreciate that,” he said.

“
Think nothing of it. I too have a daughter, and besides, I don’t like that man. I think he would have been more happy in Hitler’s Germany than in this free country, where a man like me can own a store and a man like you can be a policeman. He was in here once and in his eyes I saw the hate he had for me. He does not know me, but he hates me. He would hate you more, because you are a policeman and have some power. I pray for your daughter.”

Washington thanked him again and left the store. Kohler sounded like a bad man, who employed bad people, who did bad things with young ladies. Maybe Walker was right about Monday and maybe Monday was right about Kohler.

He took his purchases to his room, changed, loaded the backpack and made a mental note to buy a warm jacket. He remembered how cold it got up here at night, even in the summer. On his way to the door it dawned on him that he was late for a meeting in Long Beach.

He went to the phone and a few seconds later he had Hart on the line.

“
Where are you, Washington?” Hart asked.

“
I can’t tell you that, sir.”

“
Don’t give me that. You still work for this department and if you want to keep working for it you’ll answer me.”

“
I quit.”

“
You what?”

“
I quit.”

“
Have you lost your mind? You can’t quit.”

“
I just did.”

“
You’re working on this Jim Monday thing, aren’t you?”

“
What I’m doing is personal, sir.”

“
Well, why didn’t you say so. We can arrange some personal time. Just tell me everything you have on Monday and we’ll forget this whole thing. You can take all the time you want for your personal problems. You’re trying to work things out with your wife, right?” There were a few seconds of silence then Hart said, “Oh shit, we got an earthquake here. I have to go. Call me back in an hour.”

The line went dead and Washington’s heartbeat started to race, his pulse keeping time like a strobe light, his eyes seeing things in snatches, like time lapsed photography. He tried to take deep breaths, to keep himself from hyperventilating, but images of shaking buildings crashing down on terror stricken children flashed before his mind.

Ever since he could remember he’d been afraid of earthquakes, and even though the temblor was over five hundred miles away, the fact that he was connected to it, even by telephone, was enough to chill his nerves and stampede his heart.

It took him two full minutes to regain control. He was surprised. He had done better in the midst of the San Fernando Quake, a six point five that brought down the VA Hospital. He wondered what was happening to him? It was almost like a seizure. I’m getting old, he thought, once his breathing was regular again.

He thought about calling Walker, but he loathed the thought of calling him in that hospital. The man had enough to worry about right now. Washington shivered. He hated hospitals almost as much as he feared earthquakes. They were places for lying and dying. He didn’t envy Walker.

He scooped up the backpack, went out to the car. His plan had been to go up to Kohler’s as soon as possible, drive by, find a place to hide the car, walk back and find a spot in the woods across from the house to hide and stake out the place. The best strategy was often the most simple. He would sit and wait. Sooner or later Monday would show up and then he’d get Glenna back.

He’d worry about dealing with Monday after Glenna was safe. If Monday was innocent, he’d move heaven and earth to prove it, but not till his little girl was out of harm’s way.

He unlocked the trunk and tossed the backpack on top of the carbine. He was closing it when the silver Mercedes with the dark tinted windows drove by. He scooted around to the driver’s side and out of sight as the Mercedes parked by the diner across the street from the motel.