The Haunted (Sarah Roberts 12) (21 page)

“I do. Why call you?”

“It’s weird, but he wants to know if you or Sarah, he said especially Sarah, knew anything about that.”

“How would we? She’s been kind of busy lately. You know, trying to stay alive and shit.”

“I know, and I agree. But you don’t find that odd? An L.A. detective loses two cops and calls looking for you and Sarah?”

“Not odd at all. He’s a friend. To the both of us. We helped him on a case. He trusts us. And he knows Sarah can help with these kinds of things. We’re just north of L.A., so he probably thought he’d call and give it a shot. Nothing else to it.”

“Fair enough. I’ll call him back.”

“Don’t. Let me.”

“Done. You call him back then.” Kershaw paused. Then asked, “How’s Aaron? He holding up?”

“As good as could be. He’s at his hotel where he’ll wait for word on Sarah.”

“Probably the best place for him right now.”

“Agreed. Call me back if you get anything on Sarah.”

They hung up and Parkman dialed Hirst right away. While the phone rang on the other end, he adjusted the air conditioning as the late afternoon sun beat through the windshield.

“Hirst here.”

“Long time, Hirst.”

“Parkman. It is, it is.”

“Why call Kershaw? What’s up?”

“Since you and Sarah were up that way, I was wondering if you’d heard anything about two of my cops that went missing.”

“Missing? How does that happen?”

“Abrupt leave of absence. Gone for a week or so. They’re partners. The department didn’t like them both leaving at the same time but they’re good men so the powers that be let it go. Until now.”

“What changed?” Parkman asked.

“No calls to the wives in two days. Not answering their cells or their Sat phone. No contact whatsoever. It’s like they vanished.”

“Why would you call up here?”

“Last we heard, they were headed north of Sacramento. Just checking out areas up that way, and when I heard you and Sarah were near Susanville, I thought I’d put a call in.”

Something Aaron had mentioned about the cemetery visit occurred to Parkman at that moment.

“What were they driving?”

“Not sure. Why? You onto something?”

“Find out what they were driving and I’ll let you know what I’m thinking.”

“Parkman, I can look it up. Their files are right here. But why the secrecy? It’s me, Hirst.”

“I know, but I don’t want to bark up the wrong tree until I’m sure there’s even a tree to bark up.”

A cool sweat broke out on his forehead. He changed ears with the cell phone and wiped his brow with his free hand.

“Got it,” Hirst said. “Officer Roland Manks drives a black Ford Fusion. That help?”

Parkman lowered his head until it rested on the steering wheel.

“If that’s not the biggest coincidence in history, then we might have a problem. A big problem.”

“What kind of problem? I’m getting the feeling that I may need to come up there.”

“Maybe so. Let me explain.”

Parkman sat up straight, eased the seat back and told Detective Hirst everything he knew.

Chapter 29

The sun had gone down by the time Sarah piloted the boat toward the shore. She entered Marina Del Ray knowing full well that this boat probably didn’t belong here and that it had evidence of a murder on board. Bullet holes, hair fibers and finger prints galore. All the items a decent CSI team could lift to discover the previous occupants’ identity within a short period of time.

Had she thought about it earlier, she might’ve wanted to set the boat on fire and let it sink. But without a life boat, she didn’t have the energy to swim back to the Los Angeles shore, nor the willpower.

In the still waters, she steered toward the docks, where she found an empty spot on the far side, away from a restaurant that overlooked the boats. She cut the engine and secured the two lines to the dock before jumping back on the boat. In the cabin below she found a cloth and went about the task of wiping down everything she had touched. It didn’t take long before she felt confident she had taken care of any and all incriminating fingerprints.

Back on land with almost a thousand dollars in cash from the dead cops’ wallets, she needed to eat desperately.

Ten minutes later she was seated in a restaurant by the marina sipping a glass of Zinfandel while she waited for the portobello mushroom chicken and baked potato she’d ordered.

From her pants pocket, she pulled out Roland’s cell phone. She stared at it, wondering if the IDs Frank and Roland had were real. What if they only had them to get out of jams? Back when she started this crazy business with Vivian, she met a man named Gert. He and his brother carried police ID and presented it to their intended kidnap victims to convince them to come along willingly. Once the victim was missing, witnesses would only claim to have seen police officers picking up the victim.

Maybe Roland and Frank were the same. Enforcers for Cole, with fake police badges to back it up if needed.

Or maybe Roland was telling the truth and they never intended to hurt her. They could’ve been working undercover and delivering Sarah to another boat. After that they would return to Cole and tell him they killed her.

She had no way of knowing the truth, but there was one way to find out. She could call her only friend in Los Angeles, Detective David Hirst.

If it turned out that Roland and Frank were the real thing, it was only right that their families got closure. Hirst knew Sarah. He knew who she was and what she had done for Los Angeles when she redeemed herself with Parkman and the police forces across North America who previously doubted her. Hirst trusted her. When she explained what had happened on the boat, he would know that she acted in self-defense. The boat still had the cement mix. Roland and Frank’s fingerprints would be all over the boat and the cement bag. Their intent would be obvious. The truth, her story, would convince anyone who took the time to reconstruct the crime scene.

So why did she hesitate to call Hirst? She knew his number by heart. Why not call him to learn if Roland and Frank were real cops?

Maybe it was because she had wiped the boat down. That would show intent to cover up the incident, make her look guilty of something. It would cast suspicion on her, needlessly.

So why not call him?

Maybe she was worried that she’d gone too far this time. So far, in all that she had done with her life, killing murderers and rapists, never gave her pause, but killing cops, even dirty ones, was not something she wanted to be known for. But that point in time had come and gone. For some reason lately, dirty cops seemed to be on her radar.

The public understood the death of a child molester, even welcomed it. Or a serial killer. But the murder of a cop in the line of duty, even when Sarah knew he was rogue, was a harder sell.

She set the phone down and decided to wait until after she ate. She needed to think on it some more.

The food came and she dove in, eating too fast. When she was almost done, she snatched the phone up without another thought, dialed Hirst’s private cell and waited while it rang in her ear. Finally, after six rings, he picked up.

“How can I help you?”

“Hirst?” Sarah asked, her tone deep.

“And this is?”

“This is me hanging up.” She pulled the phone away from her ear but hesitated over the end button as Hirst shouted for her to come back. She waited a moment, then placed the phone at her ear.

“Sarah Roberts?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why hang up?”

“Because I called to talk, not play games. When I was here before you always answered the phone with your name first. What changed?”

“The number on call display. I didn’t recognize it.”

It dawned on her then. If Roland was a real cop, Hirst might’ve known the name on call display. There were a lot of police officers on the payroll of the LAPD, so there was a chance he wouldn’t know it as well.

But if they were actively looking for Roland …

“Sarah?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re here? In L.A.?”

“I’m calling to ask a favor.”

“Avoiding my question?”

“This isn’t a social call.”

“Parkman’s worried about you. So is Aaron.”

“Tell them I’m fine.”

“I just talked to Parkman about two hours ago.”

“Oh yeah? What about?”

“We’re looking for a couple of missing persons. I heard you two were near Susanville so I thought I’d call, see if you’d heard anything about our missing guys.”

They were probably looking for Frank and Roland, now deceased, and she was calling Hirst on Roland’s cell phone.

Incriminating much?

“Look, Hirst, I’m tied up at the moment, so I haven’t got a lot of time.”

“Go ahead, Sarah. Why did you call then?”

“I called to ask if you’d relay a message for me.”

“To whom and what’s the message?”

“Tell Parkman I’m fine and I’ll head to Santa Rosa when I’m done here. He can call Aaron.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Private business.”

“Then let me ask you a different question.”

Sarah didn’t want to hear any more questions. She hadn’t called to send messages to Parkman, but was forced to make it up on the spot. All she wanted to do was get off the phone now. The fine line between doing what was right and good often brought her too close to the criminal side. Her actions could be misconstrued, made to look devious, wrong. The last thing she ever wanted was to be jailed for a decade because of something Vivian had her do that didn’t work out. She knew that Frank and Roland had to be killed or they would’ve killed her, but killing cops was becoming a habit in a country where cops are known to beat you down for simply not hearing them properly. Videos surface on YouTube all the time. People are shot and killed by cops during a traffic stop, or for stealing a can of Red Bull. What would they do to her if they thought she was a cop killer who continuously got away with it? Even if it was just, there would always be a batch of officers who wouldn’t believe the defense. This kind of heat only made what she did that much harder. She waited for Hirst’s question with bated breath, twirling her fork over the remains of the baked potato.

“I was wondering something, Sarah, and I want a serious answer.”

“Go ahead.”

“What are you doing with Officer Roland Manks’ cell phone?”

The sound of wind came through the tiny speaker.

“Are you in a vehicle?” Sarah asked.

“I’m almost at Marina Del Ray,” Hirst said. “We’ve got two missing cops, Sarah, and suddenly a call comes into my cell from Roland’s phone. I had my guys triangulate the call as I wanted to know where the call originated. And wasn’t I surprised to hear your voice. So tell me, Sarah, where’s Roland and Frank? Or let me ask you a better question. Are they still alive?”

“I’ll tell you everything when I come in, not before.”

“Then come in, Sarah. Coming in now is the only way.”

“No. It. Isn’t.” She clenched her teeth and breathed out, stabbing the fork into the leftover baked potato. “I have something to finish and giving you a statement will take too long.”

“Sarah, wait for me. I’ll help. I’m a friend. Just wait and tell me everything. I know you. I know who you are—”

Sarah cut the call and set the phone down.

“Shit.”

She pulled out a few twenties, set them on the table, took a long pull on her wine, then walked briskly from the restaurant. Out front, she flagged a passing cab, got in and asked him to take her to Hollywood and Vine.

She knew about the nightclubs there. It was somewhere to disappear for a few hours. Do some thinking. Then she’d catch a cab to Burbank and find a hotel, which would lead her to Cole, according to Roland.

Somehow she’d find Cole and end this, with or without Vivian’s help.

Up ahead, through the windshield, four police cars led by one unmarked cruiser raced through a red light, headed toward the restaurant she had just left.

She dipped down in the backseat until they had passed.

The feeling that killing two L.A. cops would haunt her longer than Vivian’s memories had suddenly became tangible.

A memory could be forgotten eventually.

But cops never forget when you kill one of theirs.

Never.

Chapter 30

Parkman’s phone rang as he was finishing dinner at a restaurant close to his hotel. As soon as Hirst updated him, he dropped money on the table, and stepped outside.