Bones

CHAPTER 40

Moe Reed explained.

Sitting behind a rough-edged, smoked-glass-slab desk, Aaron Fox listened.

Fox’s office was hermetically silent.

Milo had directed Reed to sum up the situation, maybe as part of training the younger detective.

Or, was there a chance he wanted to get the brothers talking?

No sense conjecturing; he’d never admit it.

Fox remained expressionless. When Reed finished, he said, “Murderous little bitch. I knew she was bad news but not that bad. You’re sure Huck’s up to it?”

Reed said, “We’re not, but he says yes.”

“And that’s worth something?”

“He’s what we’ve got, Aaron, and we’ll be watching, okay? She’s the one suggested the beach, it really is an open spot.”

Fox said, “It’s open all right, but what’s to stop her from paying him off, then having him followed?”

“If she does, we’ll be ready.”

Fox tamped down the collar of a white-on-white silk shirt. “Another possibility is Weir positions himself on the deck of the house with a nightscope rifle and nails the poor sucker. Shots synchronize with the incoming tide, noise wipes out the sound.”

Reed said, “We’ll be watching Weir’s office and the house. He shows up there, we reevaluate.”

Not mentioning Robin’s call to Weir’s office, claiming to be a prospective client. The secretary taking her bogus name and volunteering that Mr. Weir was in meetings all day, she’d be sure he got the message.

Fox said, “Reevaluate as in call it off?”

“Reevaluate as in reevaluate.”

“ La Costa ’s private sand, Moses. How’re you going to get access?”

Reed’s neck swelled. “All of a sudden you’re Dudley Downer?”

“I’m a realist, bro. Leads to longevity.”

“We got access from a neighbor. Our watch car’ll be stationed across PCH. Everything’s covered. This is the plan, Aaron. Up to you.”

Fox ran a finger around the circumference of a silver-disk desk clock. “It’s already four, what’s to say Weir hasn’t gotten there and hunkered down?”

Milo said, “We’re on it, Aaron.”

“Okay, okay… Malibu neighbor, huh? You guys have the right friends. Anyone I might have heard of?”

Reed said, “Someone Dr. Delaware knows.”

Fox stretched. Onyx cuff links gleamed. “Sounds like Dr. Delaware and I need to get better acquainted. Okay, I’ll go get the toys.”

After he left the room, Milo said, “Nice work space, sure beats civil service.”

Fox’s place was on San Vicente near Wilshire, the southeast corner of Beverly Hills. The décor was skinny Italian leather seating, charcoal felt walls, chrome and brass and glass and cubist lithographs. The building was a twenties duplex, one of the last carryovers from the street’s former life as a quiet residential byway. Now the structure shared space with commercial and professional buildings.

Fox’s “Workland” had once been a master bedroom. Big and bright, with a rear view of a cactus garden, soundproofed padding beneath the felt. Playland-his living quarters-was on the second story, accessed through a teak spiral staircase, probably salvaged from a yacht.

Reed said, “He probably writes the whole building off. Aaron needs his deductions.”

Fox returned with a brown suede carrying case, settled back behind the glass desk. Fishing out a black box the size of a cigarette pack, he laid it down, added what looked to be a pen, then a tiny white button attached to a cord and a pin-jack. Similar wires spaghettied from the other components. The whole kit could fit in a trouser pocket.

Fox’s mocha hands passed over the equipment, like a battle priest blessing armaments. “One-stop shopping, gentlemen.”

Milo said, “That’s all of it?”

“Plus my laptop. Feed’s programmed to interface, one keystroke and we’ve got DVDs for posterity.”

“Cute.”

“Private enterprise.”

Milo pointed to the little black box. “That’s the recorder?”

“Recorder and transmitter,” said Fox. “This here”-touching the white button-“is the camera. Don’t ask me what it cost. We’re talking high-def infrared, cuts through the dark like a knife through trans fat.” Deft fingers rolled to the pen. “Decent mike, but truthfully, not spectacular. Manufacturer claims a two-thousand-foot range, I’ve found one thousand to be closer to the truth, and sometimes it blanks out. High-tech industry’s like Congress, promises more than delivers. For best results, have your mope stay no more than ten feet from her. I’ve got another one, a little more reliable, but it’s embedded in a jeans jacket, if he gets hugged hard enough, it could be detected.”

“How much wiring of our mope do we have to do?” said Reed.

“Recorder goes in his pants pocket, we cut a hole in there, run one cable up to the pen in his shirt pocket, I substitute the button for one of his and install the video feed. Any of you guys sew?”

Silence.

“Great, so now I’m your tailor. Be sure he’s wearing a shirt with a pocket and that it already has buttons the same color. And don’t even think of asking me to donate one of mine. There are limits.”

Reed said, “He’s wearing a blue button-down with white buttons. Brand new, courtesy his lawyer.”

“Wallenburg,” said Fox. “I thought she was corporate. What’s her connection to him anyway?”

“It’s complicated,” said Milo. “Ever work with her?”

“I wish-hey, maybe if this works out, you can put in a good word and she’ll send me some of those Enron-Worldcom cases.”

Reed said, “Maybe if?”

“I wish you the best,” said Fox, “but hardware’s one thing, the human factor’s another. When I play with these toys I’m in charge-wearing it myself, or rigging up one of my freelances. My people usually have SAG cards. You’re working with a guy with mental problems.”

“He’s motivated,” said Reed.

“Good intentions, and all that?”

Milo said, “Road to heaven.”

“If you say so.”

Travis Huck’s reaction to the plan had changed his demeanor. Evaporation of fear, a smile almost broad enough to hide his lopsided mouth. I wondered if his concept of heaven included early arrival but said nothing. What would be the point?

Aaron Fox said, “You’re sure all you want me to do is sit on my ass and check the feed?”

“That’s it,” said Milo.

“Aw, shucks.”

“You want action, Aaron, you can always come back to the real job.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that. I guess billing for my time on this-not to mention having the department insure my gear-is a fantasy.”

Milo said, “I’ll guarantee full coverage of the hardware on my own ticket. And who knows, everything works out you might get the dough Simone owes you.”

“Oh, I’ll get it,” said Fox. “One way or the other.”