In Dark Places

Chapter Thirty-three

The sun was dropping lower, flooding Brand's bungalow with hot orange light. He sat in his armchair in the living room, eyes unfocused, staring into the glare.

He was fucked.

That was the long and short of it. He had turned over the situation in his mind, trying to determine exactly where he stood, and this was his conclusion.

Things could have worked out differently. If Cameron had died today amp;

But she hadn't. And now everything had come apart at the seams.

Idly he noticed that the TV's remote control was still in his hand. He'd been holding it ever since he clicked on the local news and watched the story develop. Attack on a psychiatrist, unnamed in the newscast. Abduction of the psychiatrist's daughterher photo shown but name withheld. Serial killer on the loose. Deputy sheriff declared dead on arrival at the hospital ER. Huge dragnet being coordinated among municipal and county law-enforcement departments. Updates as they become available. Stay with Eyewitness News amp;

He hadn't stayed with them. He had clicked off the TV and stared at nothing while the day dragged toward nightfall.

Seriously fucked. That was pretty much all there was to say.

The phone rang. He let his gaze slide toward it. To answer, he would have to leave the chair and cross the room, a small room but one that now seemed immense, requiring a journey of heroic scope. He would let the answering machine get it. But after seven rings, he remembered that the machine was broken. Just another thing around the house he'd been meaning to fix.

On the tenth ring he roused himself and shambled across the room, blinking at the harsh, lurid light. He fumbled the handset off the cradle. "Yeah," he said.

"Where the fuck were you?" A familiar voice, one he didn't want to hear.

"Nowhere."

"You drunk?"

"Wish I was." He hadn't touched alcohol or food all day. "What the hell do you want?"

"Things have been clarified."

"What things?"

"Cameron doesn't know anything. We don't need the daughter anymore."

Brand frowned. "What do you mean, you don't need her?"

"You've got a job to do."

It took a moment for the words to make sense. "Me? No way. No motherfucking way."

"It's not like you've got a choice, Al."

His heart was beating fast, his grip on the phone suddenly unsteady. "I'm not killing any kid."

"She's in the boiler room of an old bottling works in South-Central. You can get there in twenty minutes."

"No way."

"One shot to the head. Or the heart, your pick. She won't feel a thing."

"Why the fuck don't you do it?"

"I'm a little busy right now. The job falls to you. You're elected."

"I'm not doing the kid."

"You've got no choice, Al."

"Stop calling me Al like we're friends. I'm not doing any damn fourteen-year-old girl."

"She's fifteen. This is LA, the city of angels. Fifteen-year-olds die every day."

"Suck my dick. I'm not doing it."

He almost hung up, but the voice on the phone was still speaking, exerting a hold that was almost hypnotic.

"If you won't, I'll find someone else who will. The kid will be just as dead, and you'll have missed your chance to prove yourself."

"Just leave me out of it, God damn it."

A pause. "There's still the problem of Cameron herself."

Brand was confused. "You said she doesn't know anything."

"Not about this afternoon." The words came slowly, as if addressed to a child. "She still knows what you told her yesterday."

"Right, right." This was obvious. He should have remembered. Wasn't thinking clearly.

"You need to prove your loyalty, Al."

"I'm not listening to this."

"Look"the voice was reasonable now, almost gentle"I can understand not wanting to do the kid. I get it. No hard feelings about that. But Robin Cameron's all grown up. She's plenty old enough to die."

Brand shook his head slowly. "Shit."

"She's at Parker Center right now. My advice is to watch the parking exit. She has to leave eventually. When she does, I'll send you an SOS on your pager."

"Fuck you." His words were barely audible.

"Think about it, Al. You could do yourself a world of good if you play this right."

Silence, then a dial tone. Brand hung up, his hand shaking. He thought about the scotch in the kitchen cabinet. He thought about calling Evelyn, having her drop by for another roll on the carpet.

Instead, he threw on a windbreaker, holstered his off-duty gun, and left the house, heading for Parker Center.