The Watchman

22

PIKE PULLED into a shopping center near the base of Griffith Park. A high-pitched whine hummed in his ears from the gunshots, and his shoulders ached. Later that night when the girl was sleeping, he would put himself in a peaceful green forest. Jorge and Luis would fade like spirits between the trees, but now the shooting lived in him and kept him on edge. It was a good edge. It helped him stay groovy.

The motel manager would describe him as a man wearing sunglasses, a brown shirt, and jeans. Anonymous. He had been careful to leave no prints. Nothing about the bodies or crime scene would point to Eagle Rock or Malibu or himself, until-and if-the bullets were matched, and that would take weeks. The police would have no reason to make the connection, and Pitman would have no reason to take notice. Jorge and Luis would be two more unidentified bodies in the City of Angels; an open homicide with questions but no answers, likely a drug buy gone bad.

Pike reloaded his pistol, then looked through the things he had taken. He went through the papers and maps first, searching for something immediately useful like Meesh’s name or the name of a hotel, but found nothing. He would go over these things more closely with Cole, so for now he put them away.

He gave a cursory glance to the watch and the guns, but hesitated with the girl’s picture. He imagined Luis showing it to the others; telling them, This is the one. He saw Meesh giving the picture to Luis; saying, We’re gonna kill her. Pike stared at the picture, thinking, No, you won’t.

Pike brushed over the other things because he wanted the phones. The phones might give him a direct and immediate connection to Alexander Meesh.

The two cell phones were identical and not unlike the phone Pike now used-bought anonymously with cash and front-loaded with prepaid calling time. Pike studied Jorge’s phone first, then used the menu to bring up Jorge’s number and calling history. Jorge had made only three calls, and all were to the same number. Pike guessed it was probably Luis’s number-the new guys got into town, Luis would give them his number, tell them, Here, this is how you reach me. Pike pressed the send button on Jorge’s phone to redial the number. Luis’s phone rang. Pike turned off Jorge’s phone and returned it to the backpack.

Luis had made many calls. Pike scrolled through a lengthy list that included at least a dozen calls to Ecuador. Each entry showed the number called, the date, and the time of the call. Later, he and Cole would copy the numbers, but now Pike was more interested in the recent calls.

Luis made his final call only four minutes before he died. Luis would have been at the motel, and had likely called for help or to inform the others. Pike scrolled back through the call history and found Luis had called this same number five or six times every day. No other number had been called as often.

Pike wondered if it was Meesh.

Maybe Luis had heard him with Jorge and called Meesh to see how Meesh wanted him to play it.

Pike pressed the send button to redial the number. The phone at the other end rang four times. The person at that end would see the number and think Luis was calling. Calling back to report what happened in the room.

A man answered on the fifth ring.

“Did you get the sonofabitch?”

The man had a deep, resonant voice, but did not sound like a gangster from Denver or Ecuador. His voice was cultured, and held a trace of something Pike thought might be French.

“Hello? Did we get cut off? Can you hear me?”

Pike said, “Alex Meesh.”

“Wrong number.”

The man hung up.

Pike pressed the send button again.

This time the man answered on the first ring. “Luis?”

“Luis and Jorge are dead.”

The line was silent. This time when the man spoke, his voice was wary.

“Who is this?”

“The sonofabitch.”

The man hesitated again.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

Pike turned off the phone.