The sentry

31

Elvis Cole Cole watched Pike drive away, then returned to his desk for the pictures of Dru and Wilson, who weren't really Dru Rayne or Wilson Smith. People change their names to hide, but hide from what, and who? Cole had been an investigator long enough to know people sometimes had good reasons to hide, but most of the time their reasons were bad. Cole had a bad feeling about these people, and the more he learned the worse his feeling grew.

The woman's picture was best. She was turned to her left as if she was speaking with Mendoza or Azzara, so she was facing the camera. Wilson was peering over the steering wheel, which gave a three-quarter view with part of his face blocked by the side view mirror.

Something about their expressions bothered him, but Cole couldn't decide why. After a few minutes, he put the pictures aside, and called Bree Sloan at the phone company to follow up on the cell numbers. Sometimes they called back right away. Sometimes he had to nag.

She said, "Are you a mind reader? I was just about to call."

"Good news?"

"No, you're going to hate it, but I still get the tickets, right?"

"Of course."

Cole got premium Dodgers tickets from a former client, and shared them with people who helped him. Especially people like Bree, who was a regional manager at a midsized local telecommunications provider. Seats in the exclusive Dodgers Dugout Club worked better than search warrants.

"You at your computer?"

"Staring at it. It isn't as sexy as you."

Bree laughed. She had an excellent laugh.

"Man, you're something."

"Amazing, aren't I?"

"Okay, now stop that and listen. These three numbers you gave me-8272, 3563, and 3502?"

Cole glanced at his notes. These were the last four digits on the numbers for Wilson's shop, Wilson's cell phone, and Dru's cell.

"Uh-huh. I'm with you."

"8272 is a landline with ATT billed to Wilson's Takeout Foods. I'm going to send you the inbound and outbound records for the past forty-five days, okay? That's all they have."

"I understand."

Phone service providers usually kept call histories for only forty-five days, though they kept billing information longer. Cole had expected this when he examined the bills he found in Smith's file box.

"Now the bad news. 3563 and 3502 are prepaids out of a small provider based in Phoenix. You owe me big-time for these two-the guy I talked to over there was a monumental jackass."

"These are the cell numbers?"

"Yeah. The provider is a company called Electrotelepathy. They rent antenna space from the larger companies like we do, but on a way smaller scale. They specialize in prepaid options. Keeps their infrastructure down."

"Did you get the histories?"

"I'm sending them in the email, but this is the part you aren't going to like. The numbers were activated only twelve days ago. There isn't much in the way of history."

Cole tipped back in the chair. Wilson and Dru used throwaways, which probably meant they changed numbers often. Fake names. Untraceable numbers. How much more perfect could it get?

"Was there a text history?"

"Electrotelepathy doesn't keep texts or emails. That isn't unusual. Some of the big companies don't, either. And before you ask-because I'm a mind reader, too, and I know you're going to ask me-these phones are not GPS-enabled. Electrotelepathy is a low-end company, so they sell a low-end product."

"How recent are the histories?"

"Through this morning. That's when I spoke with him. For the third time."

"Okay, pal, thanks. I appreciate it."

"A Giants game, right?"

"The Giants."

Bree was a Dodgers fan, but her life partner, Estelle, was a Giants fan from San Francisco. Theirs was a mixed marriage.

"You're my hero, Elvis. Estelle will love it."

"Tell her she's the luckiest woman alive."

"I do. Every night."

"Go Blue."

"Go Blue."

Cole laughed as they hung up.

When Bree's email appeared, Cole opened it and found three attached documents, one for each of the three phone numbers. The two cell histories were short, just as Bree warned. Cole didn't know which was Dru's and which was Wilson's until he skimmed them and found Pike's cell number on the 3502 log. 3502 would be Dru's phone. Her last call was made to Pike's number almost three days earlier at 11:32 P.M. Cole decided this was the missed call Pike had told him about. She had made no calls on the phone since that time. Cole checked 3563, and found no entries since earlier that same day, which meant Wilson had made no calls in the past three days, either. This coincided with the abduction, but Cole knew Wilson phoned Detective Button after seeing the carnage at his shop. No such call was listed on the call list. Cole checked to see if the call had been made from Wilson's shop phone, but found that no calls had been made from the shop that morning, either. This left Cole puzzled and suspicious. If the call to Button did not show on any of the three records, how many phones did Wilson Smith have?

Cole printed all three documents, then found himself staring at the two pictures again. It was as if the pictures were trying to tell him something that he couldn't quite hear.

Frustrated, he put them aside, poured himself another cup of coffee, then went through the call histories looking for recurring numbers. He was making a list of the most frequently called numbers when his phone rang.

John Chen said, "Can you talk?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

"On my way to Los Feliz. Some idiot lost a game of Russian roulette. This is the only time I get any privacy, man, driving to a crime scene. I've been waiting all morning to call."

"You get some prints?"

"Am I not the Chen? Eleven distinct samples, and I'm pretty sure some belong to a female. That's based on size, so I'm only guessing, but whoever it is isn't in the system. You don't have to worry about her. The other guy is a different story."

"You got a hit on the man?"

"Kinda."

"What's kinda, John? C'mon. What's his name?"

"I don't know. That's why I said kinda. I got a sealed file. All you get is a file number and a directive telling you who to contact."

"What does that mean?"

"Could mean anything. The guy could be a cop, a federal agent, maybe in witness protection, something like that. We see these with military personnel, too, like when it's a Delta guy or a SEAL or one of those top-secret things."

"Are you telling me this guy is a spook?"

"I was just giving examples. I'm guessing the guy is a criminal or a cop."

"Why?"

"The directive. It says to contact the FBI or the Louisiana Department of Justice for information. That kinda rules out him being a spook."

"Did you?"

"Hell, no! They'd know I'm involved. It's bad enough they're gonna ping our computer for submitting the print. They might come snooping around to see why we had his prints."

Cole felt a stab of concern.

"Are you going to get jammed up because of this?"

"Nah. I used Harriet's password when I logged on. It can't get back to me."

Harriet was John's boss.

Chen said, "Sorry I couldn't get the information, bro, but this is as far as I can take it. I really wanted to help. Tell Joe, okay?"

"You helped, John. You really did. What's that file number?"

Cole copied the file number, then immediately phoned Lucy Chenier. She was in a meeting, but had left instructions to be interrupted. When she came on the line, Cole explained what he needed.

"Does Terry have a contact in the Louisiana Department of Justice?"

"Probably more than one. Why?"

Cole told her about the sealed file with its directive to contact the Louisiana DOJ.

"The DOJ and the FBI. I don't like these things we're learning."

"Me, neither. Can I give you the file number?"

Cole read it off, waited as she copied, then listened as she read it back to make sure she had the correct number.

"Okay. I'll see how Terry wants to handle it."

"Thanks, Luce."

"One thing-"

He waited.

"These sealed files can mean anything, but one thing they always mean is that it's important to someone that this individual's identity is protected. Once Terry makes the inquiry-even through one of his sources-we can't put the genie back in the bottle. The people who are hiding this man might turn out to be a very pissed-off genie."

"I understand."

"Are you sure you want to go forward?"

"Yes."

"We'll get back to you when we can."

Cole put down the phone with an uneasy sense that his legs had been swept from beneath him by a furious river of unknown events and unknowable people, and the river was carrying him with it. He stretched until his shoulders cracked, then remembered the pictures, and realized what had been bothering him.

He placed the pictures of Wilson Smith and Dru Rayne on his keyboard, and studied their faces again. Their eyes didn't show the anxious tension of people with a gun at their backs. They didn't look scared. Cole wondered why.