In Dark Places

Chapter Thirty-five

Hammond stood under the glare of portable arc lamps at the entrance to a mid-Wilshire parking garage, facing a bank of microphones from every local radio and TV news operation. Reporters stretched before him in a semicircle of faces and lenses. He imagined that he could see his reflection in each lens, and he wished again that he were wearing his dress blues.

Behind him was Captain Turkle, commanding officer of the Wilshire Area station, a man who plainly did not enjoy being upstaged. Hammond couldn't blame him. Turkle's people had done the work and made the connections, and now the deputy chief had swooped in to steal the glory. Life was unfair sometimes. But Hammond didn't feel too bad about it. He looked a lot better on camera than Turkle. He was better able to represent the department. And it was the department that mattered, not anybody's personal ambitions.

Yeah, right.

"The Saab was recovered at seven-thirty this evening," he was saying in a smooth, measured cadence. "A security guard at this garage was making his rounds when he saw the vehicle parked in a reserved space. He recognized the car and its license plate number from media reports. Because there was a possibility that the suspect was still in the garage, the building was immediately sealed oft. LAPD's D Platoonour SWAT unitthen executed a floor-by-floor search and determined that the garage was clear.

"Since the fugitive had abandoned the car at this location, he most likely obtained another vehicle from the same garage. A Pontiac Firebird had been reported stolen here earlier tonight. We believe it to be entirely possible that this Firebird was taken by the fugitive, Justin Hanover Gray. The vehicle is a 1995 model, blue amp;"

He recited the plate number, then gave out the number of the telephone tip line and thanked the public for their cooperation. Thanking the public was something you could never do often enough. Joe Six-pack, lounging on his sofa with a tub of microwaved popcorn in his lap, just loved to picture himself as part of the heroic fight against crime.

When Hammond was sure he had covered every fact and squeezed every possible advantage from this update, he magnanimously surrendered the spotlight to Captain Turkle, "who may have a few remarks to add."

Turkle, of course, had nothing to add and was reduced to reiterating Hammond's announcement and spouting vague generalities about law enforcement. The impression was left that Hammond was the man in command of the facts while Turkle was an empty suit hogging airtime. When the questions began, all of them were directed at Hammond, leaving Turkle to sulk in the background. It was beautiful.

"How confident are you in your ability to locate Gray?" Susy Chen asked. He caught her fleeting smile when their eyes met, maybe as a tacit recognition of the softball question she'd just pitched.

He knew that everybody thought he was fucking her. He wasn't. Theirs was a relationship of mutual convenience. He needed a reliable media conduit. She needed a reliable source.

"I have complete confidence in the professionalism and thoroughness of the Los Angeles Police Department," he said. "We will find the fugitive. He can run, but we'll hunt him down. He can hide, but we'll sniff him out."

There was a sound bite for the late local news.

"What precautions should the public be taking?" That was Henderson from the Fox affiliate. Hammond wondered if the man was even aware of the absurdity of the question. In a typical twenty-four-hour period there were five or six homicides in Los Angeles County. Hundreds of killers, thousands of them, were at large in the city and its environs at all times. Did the escape of one highly publicized bad guy change the odds that much?

Obviously he couldn't say any of that. "The public is advised to be alert and calm," he answered, the words coming by rote. "No citizen should take any action to approach or apprehend the suspect. Anyone with any information as to the whereabouts of Justin Hanover Gray is urged to call amp;"

He took a couple more questions and dismissed the reporters with the air of a man whose time was too valuable to waste.

Away from the media, he conferred with Lewinsky and Banner. "How'd I do?"

"Home run," Lewinsky offered.

That was predictable. He turned to Banner for a less obsequious response.

"You did good," Banner said. "The 'run and hide' line worked. They'll all use that. Some of them may lead with it."

"If I was so great, why do you look like you just buried your best friend?"

"I'm still not sold on this, Chief. You're doing greatif you find Grayand if he doesn't commit some major mayhem in the meantime. But if the guy proves elusive amp;"

"He won't. As I said before, Gray's a mope. He hasn't got the brains to stay lost for long."

"Boosting another car showed some brains. He was a marked man in that Saab."

"Now he's a marked man in the Firebird."

"Unless he's already ditched it for a new ride."

"Phil, you're a pessimist. Have a little faith. I know what I'm doing. I will get Justin Gray." He turned to Lewinsky. "What's the latest on the manhunt?"

"We've got sheriff's choppers over the Mojave using infrared tracking gear. Foot patrols of deputies are watching desert locations with night-vision scopes. The sheriff is talking about bringing in the National Guard if Gray isn't found by morning."

"The National Guard? What for?"

"Searching the back roads for the girl's body."

"Won't be necessary. We'll have Gray in custody before then. He'll tell us where he left the girl. Unless," he added quickly, "we recover her with him, alive and unharmed."

"What are the odds of that?" Banner asked, looking troubled.

Hammond shrugged. "I don't know. It might be too late for her."

"You sound real broken up about it." Banner's sudden vehemence surprised Hammond. Then he remembered that the former traffic cop had a teenage daughter of his own. Candice or Catherinesomething like that. The one with the music recital.

"We have to keep our personal feelings out of this," Hammond said. "We can't afford to get emotionally involved."

"Has that ever been a problem for you, Chief?"

Banner said it with just the slightest inflection of disgust. Hammond didn't like it. "Don't you think you should be working the media?" he asked. "We wouldn't want them to spin this story the wrong way."

Banner nodded, accepting his dismissal, and walked toward the milling cluster of reporters.

"He's an asshole," Lewinsky said. "If I were you, I'd have him back cutting tickets."

Hammond didn't answer that. He said quietly, "I do care about the girl. But we can't afford to lose our focus."

"Sure. I get it."

"When we find Gray, we'll make him take us to Megan Cameron."

"Right."

"We'll get her back. Maybe alive, maybe not. There's nothing we can do about that right now."

"I hear you, Chief," Lewinsky said.

Yes, Hammond thought. You hear me. But do you believe me?

He headed for his car, where his driver was watching highlights of the news conference on a portable TV. Through the open window his own voice was audible, saying, "He can run, but we'll hunt him down. He can hide amp;"

Hammond supposed he ought to hate himself for thinking itbut damn, that really was a good line.