As a precaution I contacted the Malibu sheriff’s station, identified myself, and requested that local units keep an eye on the beach house. Afterward boredom set in once more. Idly, I spent the next ten minutes calling friends in the department. Not surprisingly, everyone was out. I finally reached Paul Deluca on his cell. He, along with several members of the OC sheriff’s surveillance unit, was spending the evening in a van across from Carns’s estate.
“Anything happened recently?” I asked once Deluca had completed a colorful complaint about working on Christmas Eve.
“Naw,” Deluca answered. “He left for a couple hours. Gave the mobile guys something to do,” he added, referring to the six-car surveillance team stationed at various points around Coto to pick up Carns whenever he left. “Otherwise, things have been quiet. After doing some shopping, he came home, made a fire, and stayed in the rest of the day. Lights are on in all the windows. No movement inside. No calls, either.”
“You guys get a GPS transmitter on his car?”
“Yeah.”
“Did the van or the Toyota show up?”
“Nope.”
I thought a moment. “A fire, huh? It had to be seventy, seventy-five out today.”
“Closer to eighty down here. Maybe he has air conditioning. We sure as hell don’t.”
“Tough,” I said. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you’re not doing, but I just found out that Kate and the kids have returned to the beach house. If there’s any change in the situation at Carns’s, I want to know.”
“Kane, I hate to bring this up, but you’re no longer on the case. Snead made a big deal outta nobody talkin’ to you. If he finds out you’ve been checking up like this, he’s gonna-”
“I’ll handle Snead.”
Deluca hesitated, probably realizing that wasn’t an answer. “No problem,” he said anyway. “Say hi to Kate for me when you see her. And Happy New Year.
“Thanks, Paul. You, too.”
Allison sat up in bed. Her throat burned; her head throbbed; her entire body ached. She felt terrible. With a pang of self-pity, she realized she hadn’t had the flu this bad in years. But something had roused her from the medicine induced lethargy that had kept her under the covers most of the evening. What?
Callie?
No. She’s at the vet’s.
She glanced at a clock on her night table. The numerals were out. Puzzled, she reached over to turn on a bedside lamp. She froze as she heard a thump downstairs. A prickle shivered up her spine.
Someone was in the house.
I had been chewing on it for the past twenty minutes. My mind kept coming back to it, wouldn’t let it go.
Eighty degrees out, and Carns makes a fire?
Finally I dialed Deluca’s cell phone again.
Deluca answered on the second ring. “What’s the matter, Kane? No parties to go to?”
“Listen, Paul. This may be important. Are you sure about his making a fire?”
“I’m sure. Smoke was pouring out one of the big brick chimneys for most of the afternoon.”
“Anything unusual about it? The smoke, I mean.”
“It was kinda dense part of the time. Like whatever he had in the fireplace wasn’t burning right,” Deluca answered. A long pause. “Different colors, too,” he added quietly. “Gray, white, black. Come to think of it, when the wind changed I caught a whiff. Smelled like burning plastic.” Another long pause. “He made us, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how, but he did. He got rid of his souvenirs.”
“Damn. What now?”
“It’s not up to me. I’m off the investigation.”
“Wait a minute. What the…?”
“What happened?”
“The lights just went off. Every single one. Hold on.”
Ten seconds later Deluca came back on. “I checked with the guys on the other side. They say the same thing. All the lights went off at once.”
“Probably on a timer. Call him.”
“Are you serious?”
“If he’s there, say you got a wrong number.”
“What are you talking about- if he’s there? He’s gotta be there.”
Suddenly I remembered the shooting tunnel in Carns’s basement. At the time I had sensed something odd about it. Now I knew what it was. Even with the tunnel light bulbs off, there had still been a faint glimmer coming from the far end. “He’s out.”
“No way. We’ve been sitting on the house all day.”
“He got out a tunnel in the basement,” I explained, trying to recall which direction the shaft ran. “Check the bushes in the vacant lot behind the house. There’ll be a vault of some kind. Search for a metal hatch, a manhole cover, something like that.”
“Shit. If you’re right-”
“Call him. If you don’t, I will.”
“I’ll get back to you.” An instant later the line went dead.
As I waited for Deluca to ring back, I phoned the beach house again. Still no answer. Next I dialed Catheryn’s cell phone. Same result. Finally I tried Arthur West’s number. Someone finally picked up. Arthur.
“Hello, Arthur. Is Catheryn there?”
Party noise blared in the background. “Sorry. You’ll have to speak up,” Arthur yelled.
“Is Catheryn there?” I repeated, raising my voice. “This is her husband.”
“Oh.” Arthur’s tone frosted noticeably. “Detective Kane.”
“Is she there?”
A hesitation. “She and the children left early. Something about Allison being home sick with the flu.”
“Allison didn’t come to the party?”
“No. Travis and Nate did, but not her.”
“Damn.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. Thanks, Arthur. I owe you one.”
“Anytime,” said Arthur, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
“How’s the hand?”
“Better. No thanks to you.”
“Listen, Arthur. I was out of line at the Music Center. I’m sorry. If it’ll square things, you’re welcome to take a free poke at me anytime you want.”
“An interesting proposal,” said Arthur, thawing slightly. “One day I may take you up on it.”
Victor Carns stood in the darkened living room. Fighting to control his growing excitement, he checked the glowing numerals on his watch: 12:31 PM. He was certain they would be home before long, returning from whatever celebration they’d attended.
As he waited, he reflected on his escape from the police cordon, surprised at how easy it had been. Out the tunnel, a crawl through the bushes to Via Pajaro, across several backyards, and a jog to the west gate. Once past the gate he’d met a taxi summoned earlier using one of his untraceable cellular phones. Twenty minutes later he had disembarked near the Mission Viejo rental garage. Simple. And returning would be just as easy, provided he got back before dawn.
He had driven the van to a number of disposal sites, getting rid of everything, even the spectrum analyzer. He saved only the few items he would need for this final encounter. As with the mementos burned at his estate, he regretted losing the playthings stored in his garage. His souvenirs from previous games often came in handy, like the police ID he had used to enter the reporter’s condo. Still, it had to be done.
And anyway, it was time to move on.
Afterward he drove to Malibu and stopped across the highway from the house, inspecting the weathered structure. No lights. No cars in front. Again using his stolen phone, he dialed the number he’d copied from the phone book. No one answered. Satisfied, he proceeded several hundred yards north, parked his car, and walked back along the highway.
He found the electric meter in a service niche near the front door. After turning off the power, he made his way down the side of the house. The flimsy lock on the back door yielded easily. A quick search revealed the residence to be deserted. Nothing to do now but wait.
As Carns savored thoughts of what was to come, a telephone on the coffee table jangled to life. He let it ring. Finally a machine in another part of the house picked up. “Kane residence. Leave a message and we’ll get back to you,” a woman’s voice said.