The Prophet (Ryan Archer #2) (7 page)

“Shut up,” Danielle snapped, eyes turning glassy. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Had you been to Cecile’s house before?” Archer asked.

Danielle shook her head.

“Can you call her?”

“We aren’t that good of friends. Me and Chad were there for the weed. Cecile’s fiancé grows it. It’s amazing weed. So we just crashed there to smoke.”

“Do you think you could remember how to find the house?” Archer asked.

She shrugged. “Doubt it.”

“Call Chad,” Archer said, “and get directions.”

“We aren’t really speaking right now,” Danielle said. “I’m pissed at him.”

“Screw Chad,” Cory said. “Get the address.”

ELEVEN

Tom Webb kissed his wife on the cheek the minute he came through the door. He still had the serious hots for her even after twenty years of marriage. Karla had a knife in hand and was chopping vegetables on the counter beside the sink. Salmon was cooking in the oven; the kitchen smelled amazing. She smiled at the sight of him and kissed his mouth. He stood behind her for a moment, his hands encircling her waist, then quickly passing beneath her apron and finding their way up her shirt.

“Stop that,” she said. But no sooner had she protested than she put the knife down and turned to hug his neck. She pressed her face to his and kissed him deeply.

“You smell like work,” she told him.

“Where are the kids?” he asked.

“Homework.”

“Good. Let’s have a quickie on the dining room table.”

Karla rolled her eyes. “Will you ever grow up?”

“That’s what grown-ups do, babe.”

She turned back to her task and grabbed the knife. “Not tonight, they don’t. Check the fish.”

Webb opened the over door and leaned down. “Yummo,” he said.

“Mike and Barbara will be over in half an hour,” she told him.

Webb groaned with his forehead planted on the countertop. “No guests, please! Not tonight! I’m exhausted.”

“We’ve been promising for weeks. I’ve put Barbara off for as long as I can. They are the last of our friends to not see the new house.”

“Ugh,” he said.
 

“Sorry, babe,” she said. “Jump in the shower and then see if the kids need help.”

The new house was a year old and had taken three years to plan and build. He had given Karla carte blanche in the area of design and furnishings. He had never seen a woman so happy. It was her dream home. She’d been adopted and had grown up struggling in every way imaginable, and his greatest desire in life now was to spoil the woman he loved.

Webb showered, toweled off, then dressed in chinos and a polo shirt. The kids were done with homework and were leaping from the top bunk bed to a pile of pillows on the floor. They were six-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. Sonny was reserved and obedient, while Natalia was outgoing and adventurous. Webb told friends it was like raising five kids: Sonny was equivalent to half a kid, while Natalia was equivalent to four and a half kids. Webb found his joke much more humorous than his wife did.

When Webb stepped into the doorway of their bedroom, Natalia was preparing herself for launch. She was perched at the edge of the top bunk, crouched in a compact package of energy, clothed in purple socks, a billowing skirt patterned after a Disney princess, and a long nightshirt. Her hair was long and dark, and her eyes were filled with the wild glee of a daredevil. Sonny was positioned below, safely out of the way, watching expectantly for his sister to launch into action.
 

“Daddy,
watch!
” Natalia exclaimed.

Webb hitched his hands on his hips and rested his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Sonny, what is your crazy sister up to?”

“She’s going to
jump!
” Sonny proclaimed with delight.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Natalia let out a screech like a banshee, diving into the pile of pillows and rolling onto her back. Sonny clapped and laughed. Natalia sprang to her feet and ran to her father, wrapping her arms around his legs.

“You are a crazy woman,” he said. “Just like your mother.”

“Mom says I’m like
you,”
she responded.

“Well, your mother is delirious. Okay, so, let’s get this mess picked up and wash your hands for dinner.”

Mike and Barbara arrived, sans kids but bearing wine, and dinner was served. Webb allowed Sonny and Natalia to eat in front of the TV so the adults could talk freely. The men talked business, and the women talked about a million things. When the wine was nearly gone and enough lies and gossip had been exchanged, Mike and Barbara loaded in their Lexus and departed for home.

Webb rinsed everything at the sink and loaded the dishwasher, then prepared the kids for bed. Sonny was out like a light, and Natalia closed her eyes, pretending as always to be asleep so her dad would leave the room. Webb hit the light and eased the door shut. He came down the stairs and found Karla curled up on a sofa in front of the TV with the sound off. Dr. Drew was talking to a panel of shrinks about the mind of the most recent serial killer to surface in California.

“He’s so dreamy,” Karla said.

“Drew Pinski?” Webb asked, sliding in beside her.

She nodded.

“Last time I talked to him he said to tell you hello,” Webb said.

Karla smiled. “You didn’t, though.”

“I didn’t want it to go to your head.”

She passed him a glass of wine. “That’s the last of it,” she said.

He kissed her mouth.

“You are yummy,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yes, indeed.”
 

They stared at the TV, the city lights shimmering in the distance through the trees beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. His Blackberry chirped as text messages piled up. Webb ignored it.

“Rosemary?” Karla asked.

“Probably. I need to fire her.”

“I would divorce you if you did.”

Webb kissed her forehead. “I think all the women in my life conspire against me, even your daughter.”

“How is work?”

Webb watched the crawl at the bottom the TV screen. It mentioned something about Jimmy Cloud’s missing daughter. Webb’s eyes tracked from the screen to the lamplight reflected in the floor-to-ceiling glass. Another text rolled in. He put it on silent and turned up the sound of the TV. Setting work aside at home was the eternal struggle. His thoughts automatically drifted to Archer, Jimmy Cloud, and Tatum. For the moment, he didn’t have a feeling about the case one way or another. Archer’s gut feelings were always more precise and accurate, so Webb had learned to trust him, but that didn’t make the waiting game any easier. Tatum’s face floated in the reflection in the glass with the lamplight. Webb blinked it away.

He put his arm around his wife and hugged her to him. She purred contentedly.
 

“I love this house,” she said, “but I love you more.”

Webb set his empty wineglass on the floor and closed his eyes. Tatum Cloud’s face hovered in the darkness behind his eyes. He kissed Karla’s forehead again, lost in the perfume in her hair.

“I love you too, baby,” he said.

* * *

The address was in Culver City as Danielle had promised. Archer went alone. He didn’t need any of the girls tagging along for this. Danielle had given him a good enough description of Cecile that he thought he could pick her out of a small crowd. He watched his mirrors and spotted the Mercedes with the strange plates again. He had memorized the plate number and would call Webb in the morning to have him check it out. He had spotted the car hours ago and kept an eye on it. Whoever was driving had done a moderately good job of being discreet, but Archer’s eye was too sharp not to notice the tail.

Archer found the street and made a pass in front of the house but didn’t stop. He didn’t want the Mercedes to know where he was going. He double-checked the house number then drove several miles away and left the Land Cruiser in a massive Costco parking lot. He went inside and slipped out through the tire department exit. He hopped over the chain-link in back and grabbed a taxi a block away. The taxi dropped him at Cecile’s place and he tipped the driver to circle the neighborhood for ten minutes then pick him up at the top of the hour. He hoped the crowd at Costco would keep his friend in the Mercedes distracted long enough to buy him some time.

The address turned out to not be a house but one-half of a duplex. It was a two-story unit with windows on top and bottom. Danielle had said Tatum had slept in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He noted the second floor window overlooking the street and envisioned Tatum alone up there hidden away from the threatening rays of the sun. He couldn’t imagine what her days were like. All day, every day.

There was a light on downstairs. The porch light was missing the bulb. He wondered what kind of hardware Cecile and her fiancé kept by the door for unexpected visitors. He decided to take a quick peek inside to see what he was dealing with before ringing the doorbell.
 

The blinds were shut on the downstairs window in front and the garage door was down. Archer walked across the driveway and hooked around the corner into shadows. The blinds on the side window were also closed, so he continued on to the back of the duplex. The short patio in back was cluttered with crap. He didn’t want to risk making noise trying to get close enough to press his face to the patio door. So he returned to the side window. The blinds were closed but one of the lower horizontal bars had gotten mangled and was cocked up at a slight angle. It was enough for Archer to be able to hoist himself up and get a limited view of the kitchen. He couldn’t see much, but there was movement. A minute passed and eventually an adult male in long shorts and a gray T-shirt walked past, grabbed something from the refrigerator, then returned in the opposite direction.
 

Archer dropped to the ground. The guy looked about thirty, with wiry arms and narrow shoulders. He looked pale, like he spent most of his time indoors.

Archer returned to the front door and pushed the button. He glanced down the street in both directions—still no sign of the Mercedes. Good.

He could hear movement inside. He could feel eyes assessing him through the small lens in the door, and stood far enough away for the guy in the shorts to get a sufficient look. Then he heard the bolt slide and the door opened against the chain. A third of a face glared at him through the gap in the door. The face didn’t look thirty. Late twenties at best. With fuzz on the chin and watery eyes.

“Can I help you?” the guy with the blond chin fuzz asked.

“I’m friends with Tatum,” Archer said. “Is she still here?”

“Who?”

“Tatum. She stayed here the other night. Short girl in a hoodie.”

“Don’t know her.”

“Do you remember her being here?”

“No.”

“I have a photo with me. Let me show you.”

“Buzz off, dude.”

Before chin fuzz could shut the door, Archer stepped forward and shoved his foot into the gap.
 

“Let me talk to Cecile,” Archer said.

“Take your foot out of my damn door!”

“Tell Cecile she has a visitor.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“What’s your name?” Archer asked.

“Glen.”

“Word of advice, Glen. Open the door before I kick the door and snap the chain. It’s your choice, choose wisely.”

“What do you want, man?”

“Take the chain off and give me two minutes.”

Glen blinked a half a dozen times, his mind clearly a blizzard of indecision. Finally, he said, “Okay, take your foot out.”

Archer removed his foot. The door closed and he heard the chain slide, then the door opened and Glen stared at him with all the brain wattage of a single Christmas tree light.
 

“What do you want, man?” Glen repeated.

“Where is Cecile?”

“Gone, man.”

“Where is gone?”

Glen shrugged. “Haven’t seen her today.”

“She’s your fiancée?”

Glen shrugged again, then nodded. “Sure, I guess.”

“What is there to guess about, Glen? Are you engaged to marry her or not?”

Glen nodded hesitantly.
 

“Did you give her a ring?” Archer asked.

“No.”

“Did you propose?”

“What do you mean?”

Archer decided Glen had best lay off the weed.

“Never mind,” Archer said, genuinely uninterested in the details of Glen’s relationship status. “Does Cecile work? Does she have a job?”

“No.”

“Where does she spend her time?”

“Here, mostly.”

“But you haven’t seen her today.”

“I’ve been out all day. Been back like an hour and she was gone when I got here. So I guess I haven’t seen her since sometime yesterday.”

“Does that concern you?”

“Not really. She does what she wants, and so do I.”

“When do you think she’ll be back?”

“No clue, man.”

“Do me a favor. Call her cell.”

Glen’s watery eyes blinked several times. Then he stepped away from the door and turned toward the kitchen. His cell was on the kitchen counter.

“What’s the problem, man?” Glen asked.

“I’m looking for a friend,” Archer said, “and I’m hoping Cecile can help.”

Glen put the cell to his ear.
 

“No answer,” he said.

“Try again.”

“Still no answer. Straight to voice mail.”

Archer glanced around. The interior lights shone through a haze of cigarette smoke. A white cat was perched on the back of a leather recliner.

“Mind if I take a look around upstairs?”

Glen shrugged. “Just be quick, man.”

Archer went up the stairs and found the bedroom with a view of the street. He hit the light. A mattress was on the floor against a wall with a pale blue sheet partially stripped off. He felt a ping in the back of his mind that told him Tatum had been there. He could feel it in the hairs on his arms.

“Thanks, bro,” he said on his way out the door. He wrote his number on a scrap of paper. “Have Cecile call me when you hear from her.”

The headlights of the taxi appeared from the south and Archer put out his hand. It parked at the curb and he got inside.