The Last Detective (5 page)

4
            

The Abduction: Part One

T
he last thing Ben saw was the Queen of Blame gouging the eyes from a Flathead minion. One moment he was with the Queen on the hillside below Elvis Cole's house; the next, unseen hands covered his face and carried him away so quickly that he didn't know what was happening. The hands covered his eyes and mouth. After the initial surprise of being jerked off his feet, Ben thought that Elvis was playing a trick on him, but the trick did not end.

Ben struggled and tried to kick, but someone held him so tightly that he could neither move nor scream for help. He floated soundlessly across the slope and into a waiting vehicle. A heavy door slammed. Tape was pressed over his mouth, then a hood was pushed over his head, covering him with blackness. His arms and legs were taped together. He fought against the taping, but now more than one person held him. They were in a van. Ben smelled gasoline and the pine-scented stuff that his mother used when she cleaned the kitchen.

The vehicle moved. They were driving.

The man who now held him said, “Anyone see you?”

A rough voice answered from the front of the vehicle.

“It couldn't have gone any better. Make sure he's okay.”

Ben figured that the second voice belonged to the man who took him and was now driving. The man holding him squeezed Ben's arm.

“Can you breathe? Grunt or nod or something to let me know.”

Ben was too scared to do either, but the first man answered as if he had.

“He's fine. Christ, you should feel his heart beating. Hey, you were supposed to leave his shoe. He still has his shoes.”

“He was playing one of those Game Boy things. I left the game instead. That's better than a shoe.”

They drove downhill, then up. Ben worked his jaws against the tape, but he couldn't open his mouth.

The man patted Ben's leg.

“Take it easy.”

They drove for only a few minutes, then they stopped. Ben thought they would get out, but they didn't. He heard what sounded like a power saw in the distance, and then someone else climbed into the van.

The third man, one who Ben hadn't yet heard, said, “Heez owt on heez dek.”

Ben had heard Cajun French and French accents for much of his life, and this was familiar, though somehow different. A French man speaking English, but with some other accent under the French. That made three of them; three total strangers had taken him.

The man who had taken him said, “Roger that. I see him.”

The man who held him said, “I can't see shit from back here. What's he doing?”

“He's moving down the slope.”

Ben realized that they were talking about Elvis. The three men were watching Elvis Cole. Elvis was looking for him.

The man with Ben said, “This is bullshit, sitting back here.”

The rough voice said, “He found the kid's toy. He's running back to his house.”

“I wish I could see.”

“There's nothing to see, Eric. Stop bitching and settle down. Now we wait for the mother.”

The Abduction: Part Two

W
hen they mentioned his mother, Ben felt an intense jolt of fear, suddenly terrified that they would hurt her. His eyes filled and his nose clogged. He tried to pull his arms free of the tape, but Eric weighed him down like a heavy steel anchor.

“Take it easy. Stop it, goddamnit.”

Ben wanted to warn his mom and get the police and kick these men until they cried like babies, but he couldn't do any of that. Eric held tight.

“Jesus, stop flopping around. You're going to hurt yourself.”

They waited for what seemed like hours, then the rough voice said, “I'll make the call.”

Ben heard the door open and somebody get out. After a minute, the door opened again and whoever it was got back in.

The rough voice said, “That's it.”

They drove down out of the hills, then back up again on winding streets. After a while, the van braked. Ben heard the mechanical clatter of a garage door opening. They eased forward, then the engine shut off and the garage door closed behind them.

Eric said, “C'mon, kid.”

Eric cut the tape holding Ben's legs, then Ben was jerked by his feet.

“Ow!”

“C'mon, you can walk. I'll tell you where.”

The man held tight to Ben's arm.

Ben was in a garage. The hood pushed up enough for him to glimpse the van—white and dirty, with dark blue writing on the side. Eric turned him away before he could read what was written.

“We're coming to a step. Step up. C'mon, lift your goddamned feet!”

Ben felt for the step with his toe.

“Shit, forget it. This is taking too long.”

Eric carried Ben into the house like a baby. Being carried made Ben mad. He could have walked! He didn't have to be carried!

Ben glimpsed dim rooms empty of furniture, and then Eric dropped his legs.

“I'm putting you down. Stand up.”

Ben stood.

“Okay, I put a chair behind you. Siddown. I've got you. You won't fall.”

Ben lowered himself until the chair took his weight. It was hard to sit with his arms taped to his sides; the tape pinched his skin.

“Okay, we're good to go. Is Mike outside?”

Mike. Mike was the man who had taken him. Eric had waited in the van. Now Ben knew two of their names.

The third man said, “I want to see heez face.”

Eye-wahnt-tu-see-heez-fehss.

His voice was eerie and soft.

“Mike won't like it.”

“Stand behind him if you are afraid.”

Stand-beehighnd-heem.

The voice was only inches away.

“Christ. Whatever.”

Ben didn't know where he was or what they were doing, but he was suddenly scared again, just like when they talked about his mother. Ben had not yet seen any of the three men, but he knew that he was about to, and the thought of seeing them scared him. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see any of this.

The hood was pulled off from behind.

An enormously tall man stood in front of him, staring down at Ben without expression. The man was so tall that his head seemed to brush the ceiling, and so black that his skin drank the room's dim light and glowed like gold. A row of round purple scars the size of pencil erasers lined the man's forehead above his eyebrows. Three more scars followed the line of his cheeks below each eye, each scar a hard knob like something had been pushed under the skin. The scars terrified Ben; they looked creepy and obscene. Ben tried to twist away, but Eric held tight.

Eric said, “He's an African, kid. He won't eat ya until he cooks you.”

The African carefully peeled the tape from Ben's mouth. Ben was so afraid that he trembled. It was dark outside; full-on night.

“I want to go home.”

Eric made a soft laugh like he thought that was funny. Eric had short red hair and milky skin. A gap showed between his front teeth like an open gate.

Ben was in an empty living room with a white stone fireplace at one end and sheets hung over the windows. A door opened behind them, and the African stepped away. Eric spoke fast as a third man came into the room.

“Mazi has the African thing goin'. I told him not to.”

Mike slapped his palm into Mazi's chest so fast that the African was falling back even before Ben realized that Mike had hit him. Mazi was tall and big, but Mike looked stronger, with thick wrists and gnarled fingers and a black T-shirt that was tight across his chest and biceps. He looked like G.I. Joe.

Mazi caught himself to stay on his feet, but he didn't hit back.

Mazi said, “Ewe ahr dee bawss.”

“Roger-fucking-that.”

Mike pushed the African farther away, then glanced down at Ben.

“How you doing?”

Ben said, “What did you do to my mother?”

“Nothing. We just waited for her to get back so that I could call. I wanted her to know you're gone.”

“I don't want to be gone. I want to go home.”

“I know. We'll take care of that as soon as we can. You want something to eat?”

“I want to go home.”

“You need to pee?”

“Take me home. I want to see my mom.”

Mike patted Ben's head. He had a triangle tattooed on the back of his right hand. It was old, with the ink beginning to blur.

“I'm Mike. He's Mazi. That's Eric. You're going to be with us for a while, so be cool. That's just the way it is.”

Mike smiled at Ben, then glanced at Mazi and Eric.

“Put'm in the box.”

It happened just as fast as when they plucked him from the hill beneath the walnut trees. They scooped him up again, retaped his legs, and carried him through the house, holding him so tight that he couldn't make a sound. They brought him outside in the cold night air, but they covered his eyes so he couldn't see. Ben kicked and struggled as they pushed him into a large plastic box like a coffin. He tried to sit up, but they pushed him down. A heavy lid slammed closed over him. The box suddenly moved and tipped, then fell away beneath him as if they had dropped him down a well. He hit the ground
hard
.

Ben stopped struggling to listen.

Something hard rained on top of the box with a scratchy roar only inches over his face. Then it happened again.

Ben realized what they were doing with an explosion of horror. He slammed into the sides of his plastic prison, but he couldn't get out. The sounds that rained down on him grew further and further away as the rocks and dirt piled deep and Ben Chenier was buried in the earth.

5
            

time missing: 6 hours, 16 minutes

T
ed Fields, Luis Rodriguez, Cromwell Johnson, and Roy Abbott died three hours after our team picture was taken. Team pictures had been taken before every mission, the five of us suited up alongside the helicopter like a high-school basketball team before the big game. Crom Johnson used to joke that the pictures were taken so the army could identify our bodies. Ted called them “death shots.” I turned the picture Ben had found face down so I wouldn't have to see them.

I had taken a couple of hundred snapshots of red dirt, triple-canopy jungles, beaches, rice paddies, water buffalo, and the bicycle-clogged streets and bazaars of Saigon, but when I returned to the United States those images seemed meaningless, and I had thrown them away. The place had lost its importance to me, but the people had mattered. I kept only twelve pictures, and I was in three of them.

I listed the people in the remaining pictures, then tried to remember the names of the other men who had served in my company, but I couldn't. After a while the idea of making a list seemed silly; Fields, Abbott, Johnson, and Rodriguez were dead, and no one else in my company had reason to hate me or steal a ten-year-old boy. No one I had known in Vietnam would.

Lucy called just before eleven. The house was so quiet that the sudden ring was as loud as a gunshot. My pen tore the page.

She said, “I couldn't stand not knowing. Did he call back?”

“No, not yet. I would have called. I'll call you right away.”

“God, this is awful. It's a nightmare.”

“Yeah. I'm trying to make this list and I'm sick to my stomach. How about you?”

“I just got off the phone with Richard. He's flying out tonight.”

“How was he?”

“Furious, accusatory, frightened, belligerent—nothing I didn't expect. He's Richard.”

Losing her son wasn't bad enough, so now she had this. Richard hadn't wanted Lucy to move to Los Angeles, and he had never liked me; they fought often about it, and now they would fight even more. I guess she was calling for the moral support.

She said, “He's supposed to call from the plane with his flight information, but I don't know. Jesus, he was such an asshole.”

“You want me to come by tomorrow after Starkey leaves? I can do that.”

Richard could shout at me instead of her.

“I don't know. Maybe. I'd better get off the line.”

“We can talk as long as you want.”

“No, now I'm worried that man will try to call you again about Ben. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

The phone rang a second time almost as soon as I put it down. The second time, I didn't jump, but I let it ring twice, taking the time to ready myself.

Starkey said, “This is Detective Starkey. I hope I didn't wake you.”

“Sleep isn't an option, Starkey. I thought you were him.”

“Sorry. He hasn't called again, has he?”

“Not yet. It's late; I didn't think you'd still be on the job.”

“I waited to hear from the phone company. They show you received a call at six fifty-two this evening. Does that time out about right?”

“Yeah, that's when he called.”

“Okay, the call was made from a cell number registered to a Louise Escalante in Diamond Bar.”

“I don't know her.”

“I figured you wouldn't. She says her purse was stolen this afternoon, along with her phone. She says she doesn't know you or anything about this, and her billing records support that the call to you was out of her pattern of use. I'm sorry, but I think she's a dead end.”

“Did you think about calling the number?”

Her voice cooled.

“Yes, Mr. Cole, I did. I've dialed it five times. They've turned off the phone.”

Stealing a phone meant the man who took Ben had criminal experience. He had anticipated the line trace, which meant he had planned his action. Smart crooks are harder to catch than stupid crooks. They are also more dangerous.

“Mr. Cole?”

“I'm here. I was thinking.”

“You getting those names together for me?”

“I'm doing that now, but I'm thinking about another possibility, too. I've had run-ins with people, Starkey, doing what I do. I've helped put some people in jail or out of business, and they're the kind of people who would hold a grudge. If I make a list, would you be willing to run their names, too?”

“Sure. Not a problem.”

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

“I'll see you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”

“Like that could happen.”

The darkest part of the night stretched through the hours, but little by little the eastern sky lightened. I barely noticed. By the time Starkey arrived, I had filled twelve legal-sized pages with names and notes. It was six forty-two when I answered the door. She was early.

Starkey held up a cardboard tray with two cups from Starbucks.

“I hope you like mocha. This is how I get my chocolate fix.”

“That's nice of you, Starkey. Thanks.”

She passed one of the cups to me. Morning light filled the canyon with a soft glow. She seemed to consider it, then glanced at the Game Freak. It was on the dining table with the pages.

“How far down the hill did you find the toy?”

“Fifty, sixty yards, something like that. You want to get going down there now?”

“The sun as low as it is, we'll have indirect light. That's not good. When the sun is higher, we'll get direct light. It'll be easier to see small objects and reconstruct what happened.”

“You sound like you know what you're talking about.”

“I've worked a few scenes.”

She brought her coffee to the table.

“Let's see what you have with the names. Show me the most likely candidates first.”

I showed her the list of people from my civilian cases first. The more I had thought about it, the more it seemed likely that one of them was behind what had happened to Ben. We sipped the coffee as we went through their names. Beside each name I had written down the crimes they had committed, whether or not they had been sentenced to prison, and whether or not I had killed anyone close to them.

Starkey said, “Jesus, Cole, it's all gangbangers, mobsters, and murderers. I thought you private guys did nothing but knock down divorce work.”

“I pick the wrong cases.”

“No shit. You have reason to believe that any of these people are familiar with your military history?”

“So far as I know, none of them know anything about me, but I guess they could find out.”

“All right. I'll run them through the system to see if anyone's been released. Now let's talk about these other four men, the guys who died. Could their families blame you for what happened?”

“I didn't do anything for anyone to blame me.”

“You know what I mean. Because their kid died and you didn't.”

“I know what you meant and I'm telling you no. I wrote to their parents after it happened. Luis Rodriguez's mother and I corresponded until she died. That was six years ago. Teddy Fields's family sends me Christmas cards. When I mustered out, I went to see the Johnsons and Ted's family. Everyone was upset, sure, but no one blamed me. It was mostly just sad.”

Starkey watched me as if she was convinced there had to be more, but she couldn't imagine what. I stared back at her, and once more thought she looked familiar.

I said, “Have we met? You looked familiar last night and now you look familiar again, but I can't place you.”

Starkey glanced away. She took a foil packet from her jacket and swallowed a white tablet with the coffee.

“Can I smoke in here?”

“You can smoke on the deck. You sure we haven't met?”

“Positive.”

“You look like someone.”

Starkey studied the deck longingly, then sighed.

“Okay, Cole, here's how you know me: Recent current events for a thousand. The answer is:
Ka-boom
.”

I didn't know what she meant. Starkey spread her hands like I was stupid.

“Don't you watch
Jeopardy
? Bombs. Bombers. The Bomb Squad lost a tech in Silver Lake a couple of months ago.”

“That was
you
?”

“I gotta have a smoke. This is killing me.”

Starkey pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket and broke for the deck. I followed her.

Carol Starkey had bagged a serial cop-killer who murdered bomb technicians. Mr. Red had been headline news in L.A., but most of the stories were about Starkey. Three years before Mr. Red, Starkey herself had been a bomb tech. She had been trying to de-arm a bomb in a trailer park when an earthquake triggered the initiator. Both Starkey and her partner had been killed, but Starkey was resuscitated at the scene. She had literally risen from the dead, which had yoked her with lurid nicknames like the Angel of Death and Demolition Angel.

Maybe she read what I was thinking. She shook her head as she fired up the cigarette, scowling at me.

“Don't even dream about asking, Cole. Don't ask if I saw white lights or pearly gates. I get that out the ass.”

“I don't care about that, and I wasn't going to ask. All I care about is finding Ben.”

“Good. That's all I care about, too. The bomb squad stuff, that's behind me. Now I do this.”

“I'm happy for you, Starkey, but the bomb squad stuff was only a couple of months ago. Do you know anything about finding a missing boy?”

Starkey blew a geyser of smoke, angry.

“What are you asking, if I'm up to the job?”

I was angry, too. I had been angry since last night and I was getting more angry by the second.

“Yeah, that's exactly what I'm asking.”

“I reconstructed bombs and bomb scenes, and traced explosives through the most perverted landscape you can imagine. I made cases against the assholes who built bombs and the dickwads who trade the components those assholes use.
And
I nailed Mr. Red. So you don't have to worry about it, Cole. I know how to detect, and you can bet your private-eye ass that I'm going to find this boy.”

The sun was high now. The slope was bright. Starkey snapped her cigarette over the rail. I looked to see where it hit.

“Hey, we have a fire hazard up here.”

Starkey faced me like the mountain was already an inferno and couldn't get any worse.

“We got plenty of light. Show me where you found the toy.”

time missing: 15 hours, 32 minutes

S
tarkey changed shoes outside at her car, then met me on the side of my house wearing a pair of beat-up Asics cross-trainers with her pants rolled to her knees. Her calves were white. She stared warily down at the slope.

“It's steep.”

“Are you scared of heights?”

“Jesus, Cole, I was just saying. The soil here is loose, I see a lot of irregular ground cover, and you've already been tramping around down there. That's going to make it harder. I want you to be careful not to contaminate the scene any more than you already have, which means all you're gonna do is show me where you found the Game Freak, then get the hell out of my way. We clear?”

“Look, maybe I was out of line. I'm good at this, too, Starkey. I can help.”

“That remains to be seen. Show me.”

When I stepped over the edge, she followed, but she looked awkward and uncomfortable.

Ben played on the hill so much that he had worn narrow paths that flowed with the rise and fall of the earth like trickling water. I led Starkey down the slope by following alongside the paths so that we wouldn't disturb his footprints. The ground was rugged and unbroken where I walked, and I noticed that Starkey was using the path.

“You're walking on his footprints. Walk where I walk.”

She stared down at her feet.

“All I see is dirt.”

“Just walk where I walk. Come over by me.”

Ben's trail was easy to follow until we reached the base of the trees, then the soil grew rocky. It didn't matter; I knew the way from yesterday. We cut across the slope. Starkey slipped twice and cursed both times.

“Put your feet where you see me putting mine. We're almost there.”

“I hate the outdoors.”

“I can tell.”

I pointed out the patch of rosemary where I had found the Game Freak and several of Ben's footprints. Starkey squatted in place as if she was trying to memorize every rock and spike of rosemary. After all the slipping and cursing, she was careful at the scene.

She glanced at my feet.

“You wearing those shoes yesterday?”

“Yeah. New Balance. You can see the prints I left yesterday.”

I pointed my prints out to her, then lifted a foot so that she could see the sole of my shoe. The soles were cut with a pattern of raised triangles and a large
N
in each heel. The triangles and
N
were obvious in some of my prints. Starkey studied the pattern, then a couple of my footprints, then frowned at me.

“Okay, Cole, I know what I said when we were up at your house, but I'm more your city-type person, you know? My idea of the outdoors is a parking lot. You seem to know what you're doing down here, so I'm going to let you help. Just don't fuck up anything, okay?”

“I'll try not to.”

“We just wanna figure out what happened. After that, we'll bring in SID.”

Criminalists from LAPD's Scientific Investigation Division would be responsible for identifying and securing any evidence of the crime.

Starkey divided the area into a rough grid of squares which we searched one square at a time. She moved slowly because of the poor footing, but she was methodical and good with the scene. Two of Ben's prints suggested that he had turned around to return to my house, but the impressions were jumbled and could have meant anything; then his prints headed downhill.

She said, “Where are you going?”

“I'm following Ben's trail.”

“Jesus, I can barely see the scuffs. You a hunter, or what?”

“I used to do this.”

“When you were a kid?”

“In the Army.”

Starkey glanced at me as if she wasn't sure what that meant.

Ben's footprints led through the grass for another eight feet, but then I lost his trail. I went back to his last print, then spiraled out in an expanding circle, but found no more prints or any other sign of his passing. It was as if he had sprouted wings and jumped into the air.