Frederick felt all the blood drain from his face. He turned to Everett. “You shot him because of that? You’ve known him since high school! He’s on our team!”
“He lied to me, Frederick.”
“I don’t like this, Everett. I don’t like it. I’m not playing anymore.”
He suddenly felt the gun at his back. “It’s almost nine o’clock,” Cameron said. “Get in the car and turn on the news.”
He started crying, but of course they didn’t care. He tried not to look at Morgan as he got in the car. Cameron held the gun to his temple and made him turn the radio on. Frederick kept looking in the rearview mirror, hoping someone would drive by, would see them.
“Our top story this hour…Sources close to law enforcement say that a Malibu man, Frederick Whitfield IV, is being sought for questioning in the deaths of four criminals on the FBI’s Most Wanted list…”
He said, “I’m famous!”
Cameron pulled the trigger.
35
Manhattan Beach, California
Wednesday, May 21, 9:00 P.M.
“You’ve got everything?” John asked Chase, for at least the third time.
“Yes, sir,” Chase said.
“You could stay here tonight, if you’d rather. Alex won’t mind taking you back tomorrow. He’s going to have to be up there a lot this week, I imagine.”
“He’s right,” Alex said. “Want to stay?”
Chase hesitated, then shook his head. “They’re coming back early tomorrow. If I’m not home, my dad will be mad, and he’ll put me on restriction or tell me I can’t come here anymore.”
John sighed. “Probably right. But if you need us, you give a call, okay? I’ll come up there and talk to your dad about all of this as soon as I can drive again. Couple of weeks at most. Will you be able to hang tight until then?”
“I’ll be fine,” Chase said, and smiled, but Alex didn’t think it was a particularly convincing smile.
As he drove toward Sepulveda, he answered Chase’s questions about his day. He told him about the task force meeting-discussing the cases with the other investigators, assigning people to take on new areas of investigation, preparing for the press conference. He told him about the wallet and the milagros.
“Wow. So that was just like a gift from someone?”
“Sort of. In an investigation like this, you are always a little suspicious of gifts.”
His cell phone rang. “Brandon,” he answered.
“Alex? Dan Hogan.”
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“We’ve got another one. Another two, actually, but only one of them has a number on him. How far are you from Del Aire?”
“You said Del Aire, not Bel Air, right?”
“Right. Near LAX.”
“Just a few minutes away, but I’ve got my nephew with me. I’m taking him home to Malibu. Then I was going to try to follow up on Whitfield.”
“I need you to stop by the scene as soon as you can. It’s indoors this time. Is the nephew old enough to wait in the car for a little while?”
“He’s fifteen.” He glanced over and saw Chase’s look of intent interest. “Yes, I suppose he could wait, but this doesn’t sound like a ‘little while’ kind of scene.”
“Maybe you can work something out with Ciara-”
“You’ve called her already?”
“No, is there a problem?”
He realized how close he had just come to causing her trouble. He said, “No, I just got back from giving her a lift to Long Beach, that’s all. Too bad we didn’t get the call half an hour ago.”
He wondered how difficult it would be for her to make arrangements for Laney’s care. She must have had to do this a thousand times already, of course, but still-
“Alex, you there?”
“Yes, Dan. Sorry-tell me where I’m headed.”
He wrote down the address on a pad on the dashboard.
“The place belonged to an air freight company that went out of business,” Hogan said, “so everyone thought it was an empty warehouse. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. The damned press got wind of it through a radio call-we’ve already reprimanded the deputy-so we’ve had to set up a bigger than usual perimeter to keep the media the hell away. Once we knew that it was one of the ten, we cordoned off the area. But be prepared.”
“Any idea who the victims are?”
“The one with the number on him is Seymour Merton-the sniper who’s been killing doctors.”
“The anti-abortion fanatic?”
“Right. No idea about the other one. There are things worth noting about the scene, but I’m not going to discuss them with you over the phone. I’ll be down there myself soon.”
“You’ve contacted Hamilton from the FBI?”
“He’s my next call after Ciara,” Hogan assured him.
“Okay. See you in a few.”
He hung up. He calculated the distances. He needed to get to the scene in Del Aire as soon as possible, to see it before all the world had tramped through the place. He definitely had to get there before the FBI showed up, or they might use it as an excuse to take control of the scene-Captain Nelson would never forgive him. If the press was already there, Hamilton could have already learned of it, too. No time to go back home. “Chase, I’m sorry-I’ve got to stop by a crime scene. I can’t take you in with me. Do you mind waiting in the car?”
“Oh man! No, I don’t mind.”
Alex laughed. “Trust me, Chase, this will not be exciting for you.”
“I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”
Alex saw one of John’s old friends among the deputies who were keeping the press and onlookers from getting too close. Alex parked the Taurus near where he was standing guard. He brought Chase over to introduce them to each other. “Chase is going to wait in the car for me, but if he should need me for any reason, can I ask you to make sure the message gets relayed to me?”
“No,” the deputy growled. “I’ll personally go in there and I’ll personally drag you out.” He turned to the boy and smiled. “Your uncle John never shuts up about you-but probably only because we told him he’d have to stop bragging about Alex here.”
Chase grinned and dutifully returned to the car.
Inside the building, Alex wondered if they were about to see a change in approach from the killers. One of the members of the Most Wanted list, all right, and with a number three written on his chest-but tied up in a specially constructed cell, shot to death, and not left hanging upside down. He almost questioned whether it was the same group, until he saw the other victim.
“Ricky Calaban,” he said. “One of Adrianos’s bodyguards.”
Kit sat in the rented Jeep Cherokee, waiting until he saw the signs of boredom on the faces of the sheriff’s deputies who were keeping watch on the perimeter of the crime scene. That might not be for a while yet. He watched members of the press attempt to get more information out of the lieutenant who had made a brief statement some minutes ago, but none succeeded.
Kit had been here almost before any of them. He heard the call go out on a scanner-supplied to him by Moriarty. He had been listening nonstop, hoping for a little piece of luck, and he got it.
Getting out of the house hadn’t gone as smoothly. Spooky caught up with him just after he had talked to Meghan. Meghan had been a few steps behind him, and only Moriarty’s quick intervention had prevented Spooky from launching herself at Meghan.
“What did you do to make Kit cry?” she had shouted. Kit couldn’t convince her that Meghan was not to blame, but at least she hadn’t been violent. He made her promise not to start any fires, or hurt Meghan (she nearly wouldn’t give him that one), or rob anyone who was in the house. He remembered to add, “Or on the grounds.”
Meghan had long since retreated to her room. He stood outside her door, not knowing if he should talk to her again or just leave. He had eventually gone into the study and used the phone there to call her on the intercom line-almost every room in the house had a speakerphone that was also part of the intercom system.