The sentry

17

Elvis Cole Standing in the alley between the canals as Joe Pike left to find Button, Cole knew Pike already thought the worst, and was in full-on Terminator mode. Pike had focused on a goal and would drive forward like a relentless machine. Back in Cole's Ranger days, they had called this mission commitment, and Pike's mission commitment was off the charts. But Cole wasn't convinced the worst was at hand. He wanted to enter the house without preconceived notions, and interpret the facts as he found them. Like Joe said-he wanted to see with fresh eyes.

Cole ambled to Smith's front gate as if he were just another resident out for an afternoon stroll. Pike had warned him about the problem with Jared and explained it was safer to hop the fence on the opposite side of the carport, but Cole wanted to see the gate Mendoza used. Jared's window was clear, so he studied the handle. It was set with a simple key lock that was weathered and scraped. A button on the post could be pushed to let people inside know you were here. There was probably another button inside the house that would unlock the gate. A metal shield covered the gap between the gate and the gatepost where the bolt fit into the post. The shield was designed to prevent someone from slipping the bolt, but Cole knew these were easy to beat. He saw no fresh cuts or scrapes on the surrounding metal, but Cole also knew it was easy to leave no marks.

Cole checked to see if Jared or anyone else was watching, then climbed over.

The front door was a standard wood entry, stained dark to match the house. A Master deadbolt was set in the frame above the knob lock. Cole pulled on a pair of vinyl gloves, selected a pick and a tension wrench from his pick kit, and went to work. Two minutes for the deadbolt, one for the knob. On-the-job training courtesy of the United States Army.

Cole opened the door slowly, and stepped into a small tiled entry. The house was cool. He smelled grease, seafood, and a flowery scent he could not place. Cole listened for several seconds, then announced himself with authority.

"Police department. This is Detective Banning with LAPD. Is anyone in the house?"

Cole gave it a full ten seconds, then closed and locked the door. The entry was the stressful part. Cole had walked into pit bulls, sleepwalkers, three naked men practicing yoga, seven abandoned children under the age of four, and, once, two cranked-up meth addicts with 12-gauge shotguns laying in wait for their dealer. That had not been one of his better days.

Without moving, Cole scanned the entry's floor and walls. He saw no blood, heavy scuff marks, shell casings, upended or out of place furniture, or other evidence of a struggle.

His plan of attack was to search the second floor first in case the police showed up, so he moved to the stairs, checking each step as he climbed. He cleared the landing quickly, then went to the office. Pike had already briefed him on the layout.

The office was nicely furnished, and clearly belonged to someone who had enjoyed a successful career in television. Framed credits from crime shows that were no longer on the air dotted the walls, most of which Cole recognized by the actors. The credits all showed the same name. Produced by Steve Brown. Written by Steve Brown. Directed by Steve Brown.

Though Cole didn't recognize the name, he liked the shows.

"Nice work, Steve. Well done."

Though the room was well furnished, Cole noticed empty places on the walls where pictures were missing and gaps on bookshelves where books had been removed. There was also no computer, typewriter, or other office equipment present except for a phone. These were probably items Brown had placed into storage while away. No sense tempting the guests.

Cole picked up the phone, but found the line dead. Brown had probably turned off the service.

Even though a forced entry on the second floor was unlikely, Cole checked the windows and doors leading out to the deck. He found them undisturbed, and moved to the master bedroom.

The master was large, messy, and disappointing. Cole had hoped to learn whether Smith left voluntarily by seeing if his clothes and toiletries were missing, but it was obvious the owner had left a huge wardrobe behind. The large master closet and bathroom were crowded with many more clothes and toiletries than a temporary house sitter would have brought. Cole had no way of knowing what belonged to Brown and what, if anything, belonged to Smith, so he couldn't tell if any of Smith's things were missing. There were even a few women's clothes, but these could as easily belong to a girlfriend of Brown's as Dru Rayne.

Cole found only one item he knew belonged to Smith. A battered metal file box was on the floor beside the bed. It contained receipts, invoices, and billing statements pertaining to the sandwich shop, a pink slip for a 2002 Tercel, insurance policies, and the other mundane paperwork of day-to-day life. Nothing that couldn't be left behind for a couple of weeks, and nothing anyone would steal.

Finished with the second floor, Cole went downstairs. He began in the laundry room, saw Pike's marks on the window, then quickly moved to the downstairs bedroom. Wilson up in the master, his niece in the lower. Unlike the master, the bed was made and the room was clean, neat, and orderly. The windows had not been tampered with. Cole found a few women's tops, dresses, and jeans in the closet. There weren't many clothes, but Cole had no way to know if this was everything the woman owned or if she had packed a few things for a trip.

Cole moved to the kitchen, which opened into a large family room lined with French doors showing a pleasant view of the canal. Another dead digital phone sat on the counter near a sink stacked with dishes. The dishes bothered him. It was like the goat heads and blood. Nobody would walk away from a mess like that, but Button claimed that was exactly what Wilson had done. Cole had a bad feeling about it, but in and of itself it proved nothing. Except maybe that Smith was a slob.

The fridge was scaled with takeout menus held on by magnets. Cole opened it and found the refrigerator stocked with milk, beer, soda, and what appeared to be fried oysters and shrimp in greasy white cartons. Would two people in the restaurant business leave food they knew would go bad in the refrigerator?

When Cole closed the fridge, he noticed a hand-printed note taped to the door. He hadn't seen it before because it was lost among the takeout menus.