Riptide

thirty

Jennifer sat in the detectives’ squad room amid the ringing telephones and the clatter of footsteps. Casey and Draper had left on separate missions more than an hour ago. She had no one to talk to, no one to share her fears with. Fears of what Richard might be planning to do when the sun went down. Or sooner.

She remembered missing Maura’s call. There were no messages on her voicemail. She tried Maura’s cell, then her home phone. No answer. Probably showing a house, not taking calls.

It seemed unfair. The one time when she needed companionship and reassurance, and she was alone.

She felt a presence beside her and looked up. Draper was there.

“News?” she asked, rising.

“I went to the library. Richard’s card was used on one of the computers during the appropriate time frame. And a patron found a cell phone in the stacks, turned it in to lost-and-found.”

“Richard’s phone?”

“Probably, but don’t get too excited. It’s one of those cheap throwaways with prepaid minutes that you can buy in any drugstore. No calling plan, no way to trace the owner.”

“Why would he leave it behind?”

“He was probably afraid we could identify the phone from your cell records and then zero in on his GPS signal.”

“Yes, he’s smart enough to think of that. How about the patrol units?”

“No sightings yet. Like Casey said, it could take days. Your brother could be anywhere. Living in an alley or on the beach-”

She remembered. “The beach.”

“What about it?”

“This morning I ran into a homeless man in a tent city on the beach. He claimed he’d seen Richard around, but he wouldn’t tell me where. Of course, he could’ve been shining me on.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Even better-I can point him out to you, if he’s still there.”

“I don’t normally bring along a civilian when I’m questioning a witness.”

“I’m not exactly a civilian, Roy. I’m a police consultant. I’ve been to crime scenes. I know how to keep out of your way.”

“You’ll just ID him, then stand back and let me handle it?”

She raised her hand as if swearing an oath. “Promise.”

He gave her a sour look. “How come I don’t believe you?”

“You’re very quiet,” Draper said.

She turned to him. He was driving south along the beach, the westering sun shooting orange spears through the passenger window. “Just thinking.”

“About Richard? The two of you must have been pretty close.”

“We were. Before…” She didn’t have to say more.

“You’re sure you can’t provide a better description of what he was wearing?”

“I didn’t pay much attention to his clothes. Loose shirt, faded color. Casual pants. They could have been jeans.”

“Okay.”

“You still think I’m wrong about the murders, don’t you?”

“Probably. It’s easy to get carried away when you’re under strain.”

“I haven’t been-” She stopped. Of course she had been under strain. The earthquake, the skeletons, the diary, Richard’s disappearance, Sirk’s revelation about her father… “I’m not imagining things,” she said.

“We’ll see.”

He parked within a short walk of Venice Pier. They trekked onto the sand, toward the sad scatter of trash-bag tents. The tent city was smaller than it had been this morning. Many of the inhabitants must be on the streets or the boardwalk, cadging spare change, and they’d taken their possessions-even the makeshift tents-with them.

But the man with the port-wine stain was still there. She saw him standing in a huddled group of men who watched their approach with hostile eyes.

“That’s him,” she said. “With the birthmark.”

“All right. You remember our agreement, right? You stand back and let me handle it.”

“Of course.”

“Stay right here.” He traced a line in the sand with the toe of his shoe. “Don’t cross this line.”

She looked at him and saw him grinning. His little joke.

Draper strode into the camp with an easy gait, his posture authoritative but unthreatening, his sport jacket flapping in the sea breeze. “Hey, buddy. Need to talk to you for a second.”

The others in the circle backed off but stayed near enough to take in the show.

“I ain’t done nothing,” the man with the birthmark said.

“Didn’t say you had.”

The man looked past Draper, at Jennifer. She knew he recognized her. “What’s she doing here? She a cop, too?”

Draper hadn’t identified himself as a cop, but the guy seemed to know it intuitively.

“She’s looking for her brother, and so am I. You told her you knew where he’s hanging.”

“Bitch is crazy. Jerking your chain.”

Draper was close to him now, and smiling. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie.”

“You know what I think, Eddie? I think you’re the one jerking my chain.” His hand shot out and grabbed Eddie’s left arm, wrenching it behind his back. “That’s what I think,” Draper added conversationally.

Jennifer’s heart sped up. She remembered the excess force complaints in Draper’s file.

“Shit, man, lemme go.”

“Talk to me straight.” Draper twisted harder. “Where’s her brother?”

“Fuck, that hurts, let go!”

“I’ll let go when you talk to me.”

Eddie waved his free arm in surrender. “Okay, okay…ease up, and I’ll tell you.”

Draper complied, but only a little. “Talk.”

“I seen him flopping at the old hotel by the boardwalk. You know the one they red-tagged ’cause of the quake? It’s, what do you call it, evacuated.”

“He’s in there?”

“I seen him go in.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“How’d he get in if the hotel is closed up?”

“Anyone can get into that shit hole. You know that.”

“Just tell me how.”

“Side window. Half the windows in that place don’t even close, and the other half don’t open. He got in through one of the open ones. I seen him crawling through.”

Draper still hadn’t released his hold on Eddie’s arm. “You wouldn’t be shitting me?”

“No way, I swear.”

“Because I don’t like having my time wasted by bullshit. If your info doesn’t pan out, I’ll be pissed.”

“I can’t swear he’s still there, but that’s where he was yesterday.”

“And you just happened to notice him when he went through the window? It made a big impression on you? Come on, that’s a lot of crap.”

Eddie swallowed. Even from a distance Jennifer could see the heavy jerk of his Adam’s apple. “Okay, I was thinking-thinking I might roll him, you know? He had good shoes. Better’n mine.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“ ’Cause he gave off this vibe. This crazy vibe. You know what I’m saying? Like he’s a nut case. And crazy people, they ain’t worth the trouble.”

Draper let him go. Eddie staggered back, rubbing his arm.

“That wasn’t cool, man. I could make a call, get you in trouble for pulling shit like that.”

“Sure you could. Maybe you can use some of these guys as witnesses.” Draper’s arm swept the ragged crowd of onlookers. “Their testimony will be real credible, won’t it? Oh, I’m in some deep shit now.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Draper smiled. “Fuck me.”

He walked back to Jennifer, looking not at all perturbed, as if this were literally just another day at the beach. He took her by the shoulder, leading her away. After a moment she pulled free.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I never pictured you doing anything like that.”

“I worked patrol for ten years, Jen. I’m not a choirboy.” He read her eyes and added, “I wouldn’t have really hurt him. Not in any serious way.”

“It looked like you were ready to break his arm.”

“Not even close. It’s a standard maneuver. Well within departmental policy. They teach it at the academy.”

“To subdue a violent suspect. That man wasn’t violent.”

“It’s up to the officer’s discretion.”

“It was unnecessary. You could have gotten him to talk without hurting him.”

“Think so? Did he talk to you this morning?”

She couldn’t argue with that.

They climbed back into the car. Draper called the station and learned that Casey was out cruising, then used the radio to ask the RTO to hail 14-l-50 and request him to switch to tactical frequency five. Casey’s voice came on. “Go, fifty.”

Draper brought him up to speed. “It’s the Fortezza,” he concluded.

Casey grunted. “Where else?”

Jennifer didn’t have to ask what he meant. The Fortezza had a reputation, and it wasn’t good.

The hotel was among Venice’s oldest buildings, erected in 1905 in time for Abbot Kinney’s gala celebration of his new city on the Fourth of July. It had been elegant then, a four-story Italianate tower, home to visiting opera divas and yachtsmen.

Today it was a faded relic, a hostel and fifth-rate tourist trap periodically written up for health violations. The mattresses crawled with bedbugs. The drawers were lined with roaches. Vagrants gathered in the alley behind the building to drink and curse long into the night. Prostitutes rented rooms by the hour.

The earthquake had caused structural damage. The hotel had been condemned and vacated. Only squatters roosted there. Richard could be one of them.

If he was there now, he would soon be in custody.

In custody-or dead.