She had expected Bosco’s place to be empty. She wasn’t sure why because it made more sense that someone would be here. Still, it threw her.
She turned the car around and kept things slow, taking another look. The lights were on in the room closest to the water, and she could see the flicker from a television in the same room. But that was about it. The rest of the house remained dark, and no one had bothered to turn on the exterior lights.
Lena pulled into the drive and got out. She could smell the ocean in the cooler air and was grateful for the breeze. As she walked up the steps, she noticed that the front door had been left partly open. The door was made of glass, the view limited to the foyer. But she could hear two men talking over the sound of the TV, and rang the doorbell.
She waited a good ten seconds. When no one responded, she opened the door and noticed that the men had stopped talking and the TV had been turned off. She called out in a firm voice, identifying herself as a police officer. When the men inside switched off the lights, she backed out and returned to her car.
She moved with determination and purpose.
She grabbed the flashlight out of her briefcase, and wrote down the plate number on the Chrysler. But when it came to making a call for officer assistance, she hesitated. Malibu was serviced by the Sheriff’s Department, not the LAPD. The station was a long way off in Agoura Hills. If their response began from there, it would take them too long to get here. She thought it over for all of about five seconds. Then she made the call and gave the deputy Bosco’s address.
After that, it was play as you go.
She jacked the slide back on the.45, moved up the steps, and entered the house. For several moments she didn’t move, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness and trying to quiet her rapid breathing. Once she settled down, she listened to the house and concentrated on the silence. Her flashlight was small enough that she could hold it against the grip of her gun. She switched it on, moving through the foyer quickly.
When she hit the corner, she noted the open floor plan and realized that Bosco’s house had been ransacked. She could see CDs and DVDs strewn all over the couch and coffee table. While the kitchen remained undisturbed, the contents of a closet beside a large flat panel television had been dumped on the floor.
The two rooms took up most of the first floor, faced the ocean, and included a massive fireplace. Lena worked her way through the darkness. The silence remained steady and true. But when she reached the staircase, she sensed something had changed, and stopped.
She could hear the waves crashing against the rocks below the cliffs. The sound seemed too loud and too clear.
She turned around, bolting through the living room. One of the sliders was cracked open. Switching off the flashlight, she looked outside and saw two men running across the lawn. The property extended all the way to the edge of the cliffs and was fenced in.
Lena raced off the terrace into the yard. Both men were peeking over their shoulders and appeared panic-stricken. She could hear their deep and rough breathing. She could see their short and choppy steps. When they finally reached the wooden fence, they made a leap for the top and used their feet to help push them over. Unfortunately for both, they were big men-too big for the climb.
Lena switched on the flashlight and raised her gun.
“Stop,” she said, “or I’ll shoot.”
The two men froze-still hanging from the top of the fence with their feet dangling above the ground. It was dark and windy. A dog was barking from somewhere in the neighborhood. Lena moved closer, shining the flashlight on them and measuring them. Several moments passed before one of the men finally spoke, his voice strained.
“I can’t hold on any longer,” he said. “I need to drop down.”
“Me, too,” the other one said.
“Then drop,” she said. “Drop and turn around with your hands raised. And think real hard about what you’re doing. You guys pull anything, you’re both dead.”
She stepped back far enough to give herself room if she needed to fire her weapon. She hoped that they weren’t stupid. Hoped that they wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do tonight. She watched them drop to the ground. It was all of about two feet, but they had to steady themselves against the fence. And they were taking too much time doing it.
“Turn around,” she said. “And raise those hands.”
They hesitated. Lena could feel her heart pounding.
“I said, raise those hands.”
Time ticked by. She couldn’t see their hands. They were stupid. They were fucking around. She pulled the trigger, driving a.45 slug into the fence one foot above their heads. Both men almost leaped out of their skins. Then slowly, as the sound of the gunshot faded over the ocean, both men raised their hands and turned around.
Lena’s heart almost stopped.
It was the district attorney of Los Angeles standing beside that goon he’d brought back from the dead. Jimmy J. Higgins and Jerry Spadell. And the ocean breezes hadn’t been very kind to Spadell. That bad dye job turned out to be a cheap toupee after all, and it was flapping up and down on his buffed head like a bird with a broken wing.
Higgins took a step toward her. “Lower your gun, Detective. This farce is over.”
Lena grimaced, feeling the anger well up from a place so deep inside her that she wasn’t sure she could control it. Higgins was two or three light years past being a piece of shit. She jerked the muzzle at him and he stopped.
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready to lower the gun, Mr. District Attorney. Let’s go into the house and talk. Same rules apply. You guys do anything stupid, and I’ll shoot.”
Her body was going numb, the situation over the top. But she could tell that she wasn’t showing it. Her voice didn’t break and her hands were rock steady. She turned to Spadell, who seemed too quiet. He was staring at her with those eyes he’d brought back from the other side. And he was a scary-looking guy when you got this close-mean and rough.
“Do you realize what you’re doing?” Higgins said, shaking with fury. “Do you understand who I am?”
Lena jerked the.45 at him again. Spadell’s eyes were still on her.
“Do what the woman says, Jimmy. Let’s go inside and talk.”
Higgins hesitated-thinking it over and incensed-but finally started walking back to the house. Spadell fell in line, with Lena keeping a safe distance. As they passed through the slider and entered the living room, Lena switched on the lights and steered them over to the fireplace.
“Okay,” she said. “Now put both hands on the mantel and take two steps back.”
“I’m the fucking district attorney, you bitch.”
“I know exactly who you are,” she said. “Now lean against the mantel and step back.”
Spadell gave Higgins a look. “Do what she says, Jimmy. Do it.”
The two men grabbed hold of the mantel and stepped back until their bodies were at a forty-five-degree angle to the floor. Lena wasn’t too concerned about Higgins, but she knew Spadell would be carrying so she frisked him first. She found the piece holstered behind his jacket-an old.38 that had the look and feel of a throw-down gun.
“Is this thing registered?” she said.
Spadell shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
“Somehow I didn’t think you would.”
He looked back over his shoulder and winked at her. Lena slipped the revolver into her jacket, patting him down quickly and tossing his keys and wallet on the floor. When she found a case containing a set of lock picks, she slipped it into her pocket with Spadell’s gun. Moving over to Higgins, she took a moment to reel in her anger before frisking him as well. Higgins remained livid, his neck and face swelling out of his shirt collar like a hot-air balloon in the middle of a long burn.