The Last Detective (4 page)

Elvis said, “Busted.”

Ben jerked with surprise and felt himself flush.

Elvis stood in the door, thumbs hooked in his pockets, his raised eyebrows saying,
What do we have here, sport?

Ben was mortified and ashamed. He thought Elvis would be mad, but Elvis sat on the floor next to him and stared at the pictures and little blue cases thoughtfully. Ben felt his eyes well and thought Elvis would probably hate him forever.

“I'm sorry I snooped in your stuff.”

It was all Ben could do not to cry.

Elvis made a little faraway smile and rubbed Ben's head.

“It's okay, bud. I said you could look around while you were here—I just didn't think you'd go climbing in my closet. You don't have to sneak around. If you want to check out my things, all you have to do is ask. Okay?”

It was still hard to look Elvis in the eye, but Ben burned with curiosity. He held out the picture showing the five soldiers by the helicopter.

“Is that you, second from the end?”

Elvis stared at the picture, but did not touch it. Ben showed him the picture of the guy on the bunk.

“Who's this guy, Ranger?”

“His name was Ted Fields, not Ranger. A Ranger is a kind of soldier. Some guys were so proud of being Rangers they got the tattoo. Ted was proud.”

“”What do Rangers do?”

“Push-ups.”

Elvis took the photo from Ben and put it back into the cigar box. Ben grew worried that Elvis would stop answering his questions, so he snatched up one of the blue cases and opened it.

“What's this?”

Elvis took the case, closed it, then put it back into the cigar box.

“They call it a Silver Star. That's why there's a little silver star in the center of the gold star.”

“You have two.”

“The Army had a sale.”

Elvis put away another box. Ben saw that Elvis was uncomfortable with the medals and the pictures, but this was the coolest stuff that Ben had ever seen and he wanted to know about it. He snatched up a third medal case.

“Why is this one purple and shaped like a heart?”

“Let's get this stuff away and finish with the car.”

“Is that what you get when you're shot?”

“There are all kinds of ways to be wounded.”

Elvis put away the last medal case, then picked up the pictures. Ben realized that he really didn't know much about his mom's boyfriend. Ben knew that Elvis must have done something pretty darned brave to win all these medals, but Elvis never talked about any of that. How could a guy have all this neat stuff and keep it hidden? Ben would wear his medals every day!

“How did you get that Silver Star medal? Were you a hero?”

Elvis kept his eyes down as he put the pictures in the cigar box and closed the lid.

“Not hardly, bud. No one else was around to get them, so they gave them to me.”

“I hope I get a Silver Star medal one day.”

Elvis suddenly looked as if he was made of steel and thorns, and Ben grew scared. The Elvis that Ben knew didn't seem to be there at all, but his hard eyes softened and Elvis came back to himself. Ben was relieved.

Elvis took one of the Silver Stars from the cigar box and held it out.

“Tell you what, bud—I'd rather you take one of mine.”

And just like that, Elvis Cole gave Ben one of his Silver Stars.

Ben held the medal like a treasure. The ribbon was shiny and smooth; the medallion was a lot heavier than it looked. That gold star with its little silver center weighed a
lot,
and its points were really sharp.

“I can keep it?”

“Sure. They gave it to me, and now I'm giving it to you.”

“Wow.
Thank
you! Could I be a Ranger, too?”

Elvis seemed a lot more relaxed now. He made a big deal out of placing his hand on Ben's head like Ben was being knighted.

“You are officially a U.S. Army Ranger. This is the best way to become a Ranger. Now you don't have to do all those push-ups.”

Ben laughed.

Elvis closed the cigar box again and put it back on the high shelf along with the gym bag.

“Anything else you want to see? I have some real smelly boots up here and some old Odor-Eaters.”

“Ewww. Gross.”

Now they both were smiling, and Ben felt better. All was right with the world.

Elvis gently squeezed the back of Ben's neck and steered him toward the stairs. That was one of the things Ben liked best about Elvis; he didn't treat Ben like a child.

“Okay, m'man, let's finish washing the car, and then we can pick out a movie.”

“Can I use the hose?”

“Only after I put on my raincoat.”

Elvis made a goofy face, they both laughed, and then Ben followed Elvis downstairs. Ben put the Silver Star in his pocket, but every few minutes he fingered the sharp points through his pants and thought that it was pretty darned cool.

Later that night Ben wanted to see the other medals and the pictures again, but Elvis had acted so upset that Ben didn't want to ask. When Elvis was taking a shower, Ben heaved himself back atop the safe, but the cigar box was gone. Ben didn't find where Elvis had hidden it, and he was too embarrassed to ask.

3
            

time missing: 3 hours, 56 minutes

T
he police arrived at twenty minutes after eight that night. It was full-on dark, with a chill in the air that was sharp and smelled of dust. Lucy stood sharply when the doorbell rang.

I said, “I've got it. That's Lou.”

Adult missing persons were handled by the Missing Persons Unit out of Parker Center downtown, but missing or abducted children were dealt with on a divisional level by Juvenile Section detectives. If I had called the police like anyone else, I would have had to identify myself and explain about Ben to the complaint operator, then again to whoever answered in the detective bureau, and a third time when the duty detective handed me off to the Juvenile desk. Calling my friend Lou Poitras saved time. Poitras was a Homicide lieutenant at Hollywood Station. He rolled out a Juvie team as soon as we got off the phone, and he rolled out with them.

Poitras was a wide man with a body like an oil drum and a face like boiled ham. His black leather coat was stretched tight across a chest and arms that were swollen from a lifetime of lifting weights. He looked grim as he kissed Lucy's cheek.

“Hey. How you guys doing?”

“Not so good.”

Two Juvenile Section detectives got out of a car behind him. The lead detective was an older man with loose skin and freckles. His driver was a younger woman with a long face and smart eyes. Poitras introduced them as they came into the house.

“This is Dave Gittamon. He's been a sergeant on the Juvie desk longer than anyone I know. This is Detective, ah, sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Carol Starkey.”

Starkey's name sounded familiar but I couldn't place it. She smelled like cigarettes.

Poitras said, “Have you gotten another call since we spoke?”

“No. We had the one call, and that was it. I tried reverse dialing with Star sixty-nine, but they must've called from a blocked cell number. All I got was the phone company computer.”

“I'm on it. I'll have a backtrace done through the phone company.”

Poitras brought his cell phone into the kitchen.

We took Gittamon and Starkey into the living room. I described the call that we received and how I had searched for Ben. I showed them the Game Freak, telling them that I now believed Ben had dropped it when he was taken. If Ben had been abducted from the slope beneath my house, then the spot where I found the Game Freak was a crime scene. Gittamon glanced at the canyon through the glass doors as he listened. Lights glittered on the ridges and down through the bowl, but it was too dark to see anything.

Starkey said, “If he's still missing in the morning, I'll take a look where you found it.”

I was anxious and scared, and didn't want to wait.

“Why don't we go now? We can use flashlights.”

Starkey said, “If we were talking about a parking lot, I'd say fine, let's light it up, but we can't light this type of environment well enough at night, what with all the brush and the uneven terrain. We'd as likely destroy any evidence as find it. Better if I look in the morning.”

Gittamon nodded agreeably.

“Carol has a lot of experience with that type of thing, Mr. Cole. Besides, let's hold a good thought that Ben's home by then.”

Lucy joined us at the glass doors.

“Shouldn't we call the FBI? Doesn't the FBI handle kidnappings?”

Gittamon answered with the gentle voice of a man who had spent years dealing with frightened parents and children.

“We'll call the FBI if it's necessary, but first we need to establish what happened.”

“We know what happened: Someone stole my son.”

Gittamon turned from the doors and went to the couch. Starkey sat with him, taking out a small spiral notebook.

“I know that you're frightened, Ms. Chenier, I would be frightened, too. But it's important for us to understand Ben and whatever led up to this.”

I said, “Nothing led up to this, Gittamon. Some asshole just grabbed him.”

Lucy was good in court and was used to thinking about difficult things during stressful situations. This was infinitely worse, but she did well at keeping herself focused. Probably better than me.

She said, “I understand, Sergeant, but this is my child.”

“I know, so the sooner we do this, the sooner you'll have him back.”

Gittamon asked Lucy a few general questions that didn't have anything to do with being grabbed off a hill. While they spoke, I wrote down everything the caller had said to me, then went upstairs for a picture of Ben and one of the snapshots Ben had found of me in my Army days. I had not looked at that picture or any of the others for years until Ben found them. I hadn't wanted to see them.

Poitras was sitting on the Eames chair in the corner when I got back.

He said, “PacBell's working on the trace. We'll have the source number in a couple of hours.”

I gave the pictures to Gittamon.

“This is Ben. The other picture is me. I wrote down what the man said, and I'm pretty sure I didn't leave anything out.”

Gittamon glanced at the pictures, then passed them to Starkey.

“Why the picture of you?”

“The man who called said ‘five-two.' You see the man next to me holding the sign with the number? Five-two was our patrol number. I don't know what else this guy could have meant.”

Starkey glanced up from the pictures.

“You don't look old enough for Vietnam.”

“I wasn't.”

Gittamon said, “All right, what else did he say?”

I pointed at the sheet.

“I wrote it down for you word for word. He didn't say much—just the number and that he had Ben, and that he was paying me back for something.”

Gittamon glanced over the sheet, then passed it to Starkey, too.

Poitras said, “You recognize his voice?”

“I don't have any idea who he is. I've been racking my brain, but, no, I didn't recognize it.”

Gittamon took back the picture from Starkey and frowned at it.

“Do you believe him to be one of the men in this picture?”

“No, that's not possible. A few minutes after this picture was taken, we went out on a mission, and everyone was killed but me. That makes it stand out, the five-two; that's why I remember.”

Lucy sighed softly. Starkey's mouth tightened as if she wanted a cigarette. Gittamon squirmed, as if he didn't want to talk about something so uncomfortable. I didn't want to talk about it, either.

“Well, ah, was there some kind of incident?”

“No, not if you're asking if it was my fault. It just went bad. I didn't do anything except survive.”

I felt guilty that Ben was missing and embarrassed that he seemed to be missing because of me. Here we were all over again, another nightmare delivered to Lucy's doorstep by yours truly.

I said, “I don't know what else the man on the phone could have meant. That's all it could be.”

Starkey shifted toward Gittamon.

“Maybe we should get Ben's description out to patrol.”

Poitras nodded, telling her to get on with it. “Talk to the phone company, too. Have them set up a line trap on Elvis's phone.”

Starkey took her cell phone into the entry. While Starkey was making the calls, Gittamon asked about my past few days with Ben. When I told him I found Ben looking through my closet, Gittamon raised his eyebrows.

“So Ben knew about this five-two business?”

“Not about the others getting killed, but he saw the pictures.”

“And this was when?”

“Earlier in the week. Three days ago, maybe. What does that have to do with anything?”

Gittamon concentrated on the picture, as if he was on the edge of a profound thought. He glanced at Lucy, then looked back at me.

“I'm just trying to see how this fits. The implication is that he took Ms. Chenier's son as revenge for something that you did—not Ms. Chenier, but you. But Ben isn't your son or stepson, and hasn't lived with you except these past few days. I understand that correctly, don't I? You and Ms. Chenier maintain separate residences?”

Lucy unfolded herself on the hearth. Gittamon was obviously considering other possibilities, and Lucy was interested.

“Yes, that's right.”

Gittamon nodded, and looked back at me.

“Why would he take Ms. Chenier's son if it's you he hates so much? Why wouldn't he just burn down your house or shoot you or even just sue you? You see what I'm getting at?”

I saw, and didn't much like it.

“Look, that's not it. Ben wouldn't do that. He's only ten.”

Lucy glanced from Gittamon to me, then back, not understanding.

“What wouldn't Ben do?”

“Lou, for Christ's sake.”

Poitras nodded, agreeing with me.

“Dave, Ben wouldn't do that. I know this kid.”

Lucy said, “Are you saying that Ben staged his own abduction?”

Gittamon placed the picture on the coffee table as if he had seen enough.

“No, ma'am, it's too early to say, but I've seen children stage abductions for all manner of reasons, especially when they're feeling insecure. A friend's older brother could have made the call to Mr. Cole.”

I was angry and irritated. I went to the doors. A frightened part of me hoped that Ben would be on the deck, watching us, but he wasn't.

I said, “If you don't want to raise false hopes, then stop. I spent the past five days with him. Ben wasn't feeling insecure, and he wouldn't do that.”

Lucy's voice snapped behind me.

“Would you rather someone kidnapped him?”

She wanted to believe it so badly that hope glowed in her eyes like hot sparks.

Poitras pushed up from the Eames chair. “Dave? If you have enough to get started, let's roll out of here. I want to knock on a couple of doors. Maybe someone down the hill saw something.”

Gittamon gestured to Starkey that she could close her notebook, then stood to join Poitras.

“Ms. Chenier, please, I'm not saying Ben staged his own abduction—I'm really not, Mr. Cole—but it's something we have to consider. I'd like a list of Ben's friends and their phone numbers. It's still early enough to make a few calls.”

Lucy stood with them, as intent and focused as I had ever seen her.

“I'll have to get them from home. I can go do that right now.”

I said, “Gittamon, you going to ignore the goddamned call?”

“No, Mr. Cole, we're going to treat this as an abduction until we know otherwise. Can you put together a list of the people involved with whatever happened to you in the Army and any other information you have?”

“They're dead.”

“Well, their families. We might want to speak with their families. Carol, would you get together with Mr. Cole on that?”

Starkey handed me her card as the four of us went to the door.

Starkey said, “I'll come by tomorrow morning to see where you found the Game Freak. I can get the names then. What's a good time?”

“Sunrise.”

If Starkey heard the anger in my answer she didn't show it. She shrugged.

“Better light around seven.”

“Fine.”

Gittamon said, “If he calls again, let us know. You can phone any time.”

“I will.”

That was it. Gittamon told Lucy that he would be expecting her call, and then they left. Lucy and I did not speak as we watched them drive away, but once they were gone Ben's absence was a physical force in the house, as real as a body hanging from my loft. Three of us present, not just two. Lucy picked up her briefcase. It was still where she dropped it.

“I want to get those names for Sergeant Gittamon.”

“I know. I'll get my names together, too. Call me when you get home, okay?”

Lucy glanced at the time, then closed her eyes.

“Jesus, I have to call Richard. God, that's going to be awful, telling him about this.”

Richard Chenier was Lucy's ex-husband and Ben's father. He lived in New Orleans, and it was only right that she tell him that his son was missing. Richard and Lucy had argued often about me. I guessed they would argue more.

Lucy fumbled with her briefcase and her keys, and all at once she started crying. I cried, too. We held each other tight, the two of us crying, my face in her hair.

I said, “I'm sorry. I don't know what happened or who would do this or why, but I'm sorry.”

“Don't.”

I didn't know what else to say.

I walked her out to her car, then stood in the street as she drove away. The lights were on in Grace's house, Grace with her two little boys. The cold night air felt good, and the darkness felt good, too. Lucy had been kind. She had not blamed me, but Ben had been with me, and now he was gone. The weight of the moment was mine.

After a while, I went back inside. I brought the Game Freak to the couch and sat with it. I stared at the picture of me with Roy Abbott and the others. Abbott looked like a twelve-year-old. I didn't look much older. I had been eighteen. Eight years older than Ben. I didn't know what had happened to Ben or where he was, but I would bring him home. I stared at the men in the picture.

“I'll find him. I'm going to bring him home. I swear to God I will.”

The men in the picture knew I would do it.

Rangers don't leave Rangers behind.