Two feet from his ear, the RoamZone charged on the nightstand. He’d been waiting for the sonar ping to announce Katrin’s location, bracing himself for a noise that kept not coming.
The night suddenly felt colder than it was.
Promise me. Crimson filming his fingertips. Where are you, Evan? The shattered burner phone. The sob tangled in Katrin’s throat. Where are you, Evan?
Where are you?
He threw back the sheets, dressed, and made his way to the Turkish rug. He sat cross-legged, veiled his eyes, and tried to meditate.
For the first time in his life, he could not.
40
Blind Spots
By first light of morning, Evan had already run a full check of his security systems, fine-tuning the motion detectors’ sensitivities, testing the alarms, assessing the surveillance camera angles, and searching out blind spots.
Right now he could not afford any blind spots.
Still no GPS ping from Katrin’s microchips. Had they already broken down and passed from her body? Was she not being fed? Had she sweated off the hidden patch behind her ear? Perhaps she was being held underground, the signal muffled by concrete walls.
He kept moving. He extracted the SIM card from his RoamZone and dropped it down the garbage disposal, letting the blades whir until he heard only bits tumbling. He pulled them out and trashed them, then jumped online, moving his phone service from the outfit in Bangalore to one in Marrakech. No longer could he rely on domestic-violence-inclined Joey Delarosa. After Joey had called 911 last night, the cops had arrived and removed the excavated mobile phone from between the studs, puzzling over it as if it were an artifact from outer space.
After slotting a fresh SIM card into his phone, Evan grabbed a Pelican case from a cabinet beside his weapons locker and took it up onto the roof. He selected a hidden spot behind the metal shed protecting the generator. Despite the Southern California blaze overhead, a December wind numbed his fingers as he worked.
From the top of the case, he telescoped out a yagi directional antenna, then plugged in a coaxial cable with an omni stubby antenna mounted on a tripod. He pointed the yagi at the horizon and—voilà. His very own rogue GSM site. The little base station dodged all authentication between itself and the nearest cell tower, making it untraceable — literally off the grid. Next Evan enabled the Wi-Fi hot spot on his RoamZone, forming a gateway to the LTE network. Ordinarily he would power up the base station only when making a call, turning it off immediately afterward, but he’d have to leave it running until he received Slatcher’s call.
“Evan? Is that you?”
He rose quickly in time to see Hugh Walters approach.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Oh,” Evan said. “It’s a hobby of mine. Trying to track comets. I always hoped to discover one, have it named after me.”
Hugh brightened with an inner light that Evan hadn’t thought him capable of. “I was in the shortwave-radio club at my prep school,” he said.
“Were you, now?” Evan said.
“I was indeed.”
“Look, I know it’s outside of regs for me to—”
Hugh waved him off. “Hey, let’s call it a secret between amateur scientists.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Evan said. “It’s a bit embarrassing.”
Hugh offered a hand, and they shook on it.
Evan asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Checking the roof. I need to be mindful of any and all repairs before going into an HOA meeting. Today’s is right about…” A gold Rolex shot out from beneath Hugh’s cuff. “… now. I assume you’ll be in attendance this time?”
“Today’s not the best for me,” Evan said.
Hugh punished him with a well-directed frown. “Why? You’re off for the holidays, aren’t you? What’s so pressing that you can’t attend?”
“Just some personal issues.”
Hugh nodded soberly. “Well, I can tell you one person who’ll be disappointed you won’t be there.”
“Who’s that?”
“Mia Hall.” Hugh mistook Evan’s expression of surprise. “That’s right, fella. I know there seems to be some interest between you two. But this morning she seemed…”
“What?” Evan said.
“I don’t know. She just wasn’t her usual self. She seemed really upset about something.”
“I’d imagine being a single parent isn’t a breeze.”
“It’s not that,” Hugh said. “She seemed scared.”
Evan felt the breeze cut right through him.
Hugh wet his lips. “Maybe you could drop by the HOA meeting and check on her?”
Evan’s mind assembled snippets of his conversations with Mia over the past couple of weeks. As a DA I sometimes get threats. I have a work emergency. This is a real crisis. As in life or death.
He pushed the thoughts away. He didn’t have time for this. This wasn’t the mission. It wasn’t his concern. There was Katrin to consider and the Seventh Commandment and a whole lot more.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t.”
Evan took a seat halfway down the length of the imposing conference table, perpendicular to Mia so he could watch her without being obvious. She’d offered him a cursory nod as he’d entered, averting her eyes. Odd. Peter was nowhere to be seen.
Piped-in “Jingle Bells” played softly through hidden speakers, Hugh’s pleased grin leaving little doubt that the cheery Muzak stylings were his handiwork.
Most of the usual suspects were in attendance, except for Johnny with his martial-arts warm-ups. Johnny’s father, with the strained pride of a parent accustomed to inflating his child’s achievements, explained that he was belt-testing today. For the next black stripe.
Several measures had been robustly voted on already — enhancing the porte cochere with outdoor carpeting, new boxwood hedges for the north wall of the building, amending the morning beverage initiative in light of the kombucha disappointment. Selecting the new cushion colors for the lobby had pitted Mrs. Rosenbaum and Lorilee Smithson against each other in a vicious battle. Throughout the proceedings Evan kept his attention on Mia, who held her gaze tensely downward, her mouth set.
Ida Rosenbaum was yet again irritated. “—with what we pay in fees, the manager can’t fix the frame to my front door? It’s falling to pieces.”
“Again with the doorframe,” Botox-riddled Lorilee said. “I thought your son was handling that for you.”
Mrs. Rosenbaum’s cheeks quavered — a flash of emotion she tried to cover. “He can’t make it this year. He’s very busy, very important. He wanted to be here for the holidays, said he’s coming first thing in the New Year.”
Lorilee chewed her gum triumphantly. “We’ve heard that before, haven’t we, Ida?”
Mrs. Rosenbaum seemed to deflate in her chair. Her lips parted, but no response was forthcoming. The remark had cut the legs right out from under her.
Even Hugh took pity on her. “I will speak to the manager for you, Ida,” he said. “As soon as things settle down in the New Year, we will get your door fixed.”
Clearly devastated, she managed only a quick jerk of a nod.
Evan peered across at Mia to see if she noticed the exchange, but she was uncharacteristically oblivious, lost in the haze of her thoughts.
“Moving on,” Hugh said, directing a stare at the twenty or so weary souls in attendance, impressing upon them the gravity of the upcoming matter. “As I’ve intimated for some time, everyone will need to be assessed three thousand dollars for the new earthquake policy.”