Nine

48

Manhattan Beach, California

Thursday, May 22, 6:21 P.M.

“I thought you said he was here.”

John O’Brien didn’t bother to hide his impatience. “I left that message over an hour ago, Alex. And thank you very much for taking your sweet damned time.”

Alex saw Rusty try to hide himself under the coffee table. “You’re scaring the dog.” He sat on the couch and tried to coax the dog out. Failing that, he said, “Look, I don’t know when I’ve had a more hellacious day. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. So tell me what happened. You say an old army buddy of yours vouches for Kit Logan?”

“Never mind all the details of why I trust this kid. You don’t have time for that. Enough to say Kit Logan came here, and he’s hoping he can trust you. I told him he could. He wants to talk to you about Gabe Taggert. And he thinks his ward has been kidnapped.”

Alex sat up straight. “He knows where Taggert is?”

“Yes. He says Taggert’s alive, and he wants to make sure he stays that way. Turns out he became good friends with Taggert when they were in school together at Sedgewick.”

“Sedgewick…”

“But he thinks someone in the sheriff’s department or the FBI is working with some old rivals of his. It’s complicated, but mainly it boils down to a couple of guys who were good buddies of your supposed suicides up on Mulholland.”

“Everett Corey and Cameron Burgess.”

“You know their names?”

“While I was taking my ‘sweet time’-as you call it-I was going over everything I could lay hands on about Whitfield and Addison. Anyone that knew the two of them very well mentioned that the four of them had been nearly inseparable since high school-at Sedgewick. In fact, even though neither set of parents seemed to pay much attention to their sons, they mentioned those two.” He paused, then said, “I know Corey and Burgess.”

“How? From living in Malibu?”

“No. When I was first in detectives, I busted Everett Corey on an assault case. He was only about fourteen, but he had nearly killed this other kid. His father tried everything he could to prevent the case from going forward-even a not-so-subtle attempt to bribe me. That nearly got his own ass thrown in jail.”

“I remember this one now. Made you twice as determined to see the kid convicted.”

“Money still talks, though. He had a good lawyer. That’s how he ended up at Sedgewick instead of with the California Youth Authority. His father carried on as if I had ruined the kid’s future. He’s the one who ruined that kid. That wasn’t our last run-in, either. He was a real asshole.”

“Oh? You had other problems with him?”

“Later on, I caught another case up there-Everett’s friend, Cameron Burgess? His father was found dead. He had been strangled, supposedly by an intruder. I thought both boys might have been involved, but I didn’t have much more than a gut feeling to go on. Corey’s old man-who never forgave me for arresting his pride and joy the first time-swore both boys had been at his place all night when Burgess died.”

“Where’s the father now?”

“Looked that up this evening. While I was taking my-”

“Okay, okay-I realize you’ve been busy.”

“Thank you.”

Rusty eased out from under the coffee table. Alex stroked his fur absently and said, “Corey Senior was bedridden when Cameron’s father was killed, and it was clear that he didn’t have much time left then. He died a few years ago-cancer, I guess. Everett Corey has all the money now.”

John frowned. “Alex-when we spent that afternoon with Shay Wilder, and he asked me to talk to him for a minute-when you and Ciara were in the car?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“He said he thought someone had targeted you personally. From everything Kit Logan told me today, Everett Corey is not exactly the forgiving kind. Could bear a grudge for years. Used to walk around quoting the old saying about revenge-”

“That it’s a dish best served cold?”

“Right.”

“His father was like that, too.” Alex thought for a moment. “John, you realize Logan went to the same school?”

“Yes.” He shrugged.

Alex gave him a look of disbelief. “Don’t you get it? There is absolutely no doubt that there is some connection between these killings and that school. Maybe not the school itself, but let me tell you-it has one hell of an alumni association. And this morning I learned that an FBI agent who hasn’t been seen for a while is a graduate of the place. Now you tell me another Sedgewick grad has knocked on my front door and claims to be able to show me where the only living fugitive is hiding out-”

John interrupted. “You wonder why I trust him. It’s not just that I trust Moriarty’s judgment. Rusty likes him, too.”

“Rusty? Oh, for Christ’s sake-wait a minute. Describe Kit Logan.”

“You’ve met him.”

“Years ago. What’s he look like now?”

“Good-looking kid. In his twenties, but I guess you know that. About six three, dark hair, light eyes.”

“I think I saw him last night-I asked Chase about him. He talked to Chase in the alley, gave him food for Rusty. He was at the crime scene in Del Aire, John. How do you think he got word of that?”

“The scanner?” John said, but he looked uneasy.

“Maybe.”

John’s brow suddenly cleared. “Wait a minute. He told me he’s been trying to find someone in the department he could trust. He said he watched you at a press conference and was the one who tipped you off about Whitfield. Said he left little good-luck pieces for you-or, not exactly that, but some kind of Mexican prayer objects. I forget what he called them.”

“Milagros?”

“That’s it!”

Alex stood and paced. Rusty tried to follow, then abandoned that effort to sit at John’s side.

“You know that it’s typical for killers to be among the onlookers at a crime scene.”

“Yes. But I know Moriarty, Alex, and he would never-not in a million years-team up with someone like that. And no matter what you think about Logan, you have to be worried about this kid-she’s just thirteen, for God’s sake.”

“Are you sure there is a little girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“He suspects a kidnapping, but he hasn’t called the sheriff’s station in Malibu?”

“I told you! He’s not only housing a fugitive, he thinks there may be someone in the department who’s involved in this.”

The phone rang.

“Brandon,” Alex answered.

“Alex?”

It was a voice he hadn’t heard in years. “Hello, Clarissa.”

John, who had been petting Rusty, looked up at that.

“Alex,” she said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’d like to talk to Chase, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, but he’s not here.”

“Not there!”

“No. Didn’t your current husband tell you? He picked Chase up this morning.”

If she heard the word current, she ignored it. “I know-I know-but listen, Alex. I’m worried. One of the staff tells me Chase left here hours ago on his bicycle-late this morning.”

“Maybe his old man took another swipe at him, like the one he gave him this morning. Ask the staff.”

There was a silence, then she said, “I was so sure he’d go to your place. If not to see you or John, at least to be with the dog.”

“Hang on.” He put a hand over the receiver and said to John, “You hear from Chase this afternoon?”

“No. What’s going on?”

He told him what Clarissa had said.

John motioned for the phone. Alex wasn’t sorry to hand it over.

“Clarissa?” John said. “Now, don’t worry. He probably just got mad and went off to pout somewhere. You know how those Brandon men are. Did you try his cell phone?”

Alex watched John’s eyes narrow. John covered the phone, swore fluently, then drew a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was remarkably calm. “Tell you what-get the cell phone from Miles and use the call-back feature to reach that kid who called Chase. Chase is probably just with his friends. Meanwhile, we’ll keep an eye out for him. What kind of bike was he riding?…If he doesn’t show up soon, we’ll go looking for him, okay? Let me know what you find out.”

He hung up.

“Chase decided to run away from home?”

“Hard to tell. Miles took his cell phone from him, but I don’t think that’s what made him take off. Miles gave him some bullshit about Rusty, saying he’d tell us to take the dog to the pound.”

They both looked down at the dog, happily panting up at them.

“No way,” Alex said. “And what the hell makes Miles think I’d let him tell me what to do with my-with Chase’s dog?”

“Damn straight,” John said, for a brief instant looking suspiciously as if he might be amused. “But Chase doesn’t know that, does he?”

“I guess not.” He shook his head. “You say Kit Logan went back home to Malibu?”

“He left the address for you. When you get to the gates, say ‘the frumious Bandersnatch!’”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Jabberwocky…”

“You are a weird old son of a bitch, you know that? And I think this Logan kid is just about as weird as you are. Why couldn’t he wait here for me?”

“When that ninth fugitive got shot right through the eye in front of God, the FBI, and the L.A. Times-the last two believing they are the same as the first-Mr. Logan wisely considered the possibility that number ten on that list might be a little freaked out by events and might even need convincing that he could be safely delivered to the L.A. Sheriff’s Department. Alex Brandon or no Alex Brandon. Promise me you won’t make a liar out of me-I told him he could trust you to hear him out. That’s all he’s asking.”

“Fine, I promise to hear him out, but-”

The phone rang again. John answered this time. “Clarissa? Oh-sorry, Ciara. Yes, he’s here.”

Alex took the phone. “Hi, Ciara. I was just about to call you. Want to take a ride with me to Malibu?”