Pike worked slowly, allowing his body to melt into the postures. The only sounds in his life were the gurgling water, his heart, and the brush of his skin on the towel. After a while he assumed the position of resolve, and meditated. His body calmed, his breathing slowed, and all he knew was the singular sound of his heart. Forty-two slow-motion beats per minute, like thunder alive in his chest.
Pike meditated for exactly fifteen minutes. He did not check his watch, but he had been meditating for most of his life. When fifteen minutes had passed, his consciousness floated to the surface, and Joe Pike was back.
Inhale. Exhale.
At eleven-fifteen that night, Pike brought his things up to his bedroom. His house was orderly and neat. His equipment was clean and squared away. He showered, dried himself, then pulled on a pair of white briefs. He went downstairs for another bottle of water, and noticed his cell phone on the kitchen counter. The screen showed a missed call. He studied the number until he realized it was Dru. She phoned while he was in the shower, but had not left a message.
Pike called her and got her voice mail.
"Hi, this is Dru. You know what to do, so do it."
Her message line beeped.
"It's Joe."
He was still thinking what else to say when the phone cut him off. He called back, and this time finished his message.
"Call whenever. Doesn't matter how late."
He brought the phone upstairs, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed. His mattress was hard. The sheets were crisp and tight as the skin of a drum. He listened to the water, softly bubbling downstairs in his empty home. He wondered what it would be like to have another person's sounds in his house.
Pike waited for her to return his call, but the phone remained silent.
Par Two
PRINCESS OF THE ANGELS
10
Hydeck called at 10:08 the next morning, identifying herself as if they had never met.
"This is Officer Hydeck with the Los Angeles Police Department. Sorry to bother you, but do you know how to reach Ms. Rayne?"
The professional lack of expression in her voice told Pike something was wrong.
"Why?"
Hydeck hesitated long enough for Pike to hear radio calls in the background.
"Someone trashed their place again. I have a number for Smith, but he isn't answering. I thought you might have a number for his niece."
Pike wondered why she thought he would have Dru's phone, but dropped the thought quickly. He was picturing Miguel Azzara at the coffee shop. Smiling. It's done.
"Are you there now?"
"Yes, Pike, I'm here now, and I'm trying to get them here, too. The place is a mess. Do you have her number or not?"
"Yeah, hang on."
Pike gave her Dru's cell, hung up, then immediately dialed the number. Like the night before, his call went to her voice mail. Pike left another message, then decided to see the damage for himself. Gomer had almost certainly broken the window on the first night, but Mendoza had probably wanted some payback of his own after he was released. After Pike saw it, he thought he might encourage Azzara to make Gomer and Mendoza clean it up.
When Pike arrived, he expected to find the new glass shattered, but Wilson's shop appeared undisturbed. The new window was bright, shiny, and intact, and the CLOSED sign hung in the door. An LAPD radio car was at the curb, but Hydeck and McIntosh weren't out front, so Pike rounded the corner to the service alley. He found them clustered at the back door along with Betsy Harmon and her son, Ethan. All four of them turned as Pike rolled up, and Hydeck walked over to meet him.
Pike said, "Did you reach them?"
Meaning Wilson and Dru.
"Left more messages. Those poor people will be walking into a nightmare when they see this place. The pricks really did a job."
McIntosh tried to make a joke.
"But the good news is, we can add B amp;E and illegal disposal of animal parts to the tab."
Betsy Harmon said, "You should see what they did. Disgusting."
She wore a bright lemon dress today. She stood with her arms tightly crossed, looking strained and rigid.
Pike saw that the metal security door was bent at the knob where the door had been levered open. The jamb above the lock was dimpled where the lever buckled the frame. It had taken a strong man or more than one man working hard to bend the metal.
"Ms. Harmon called when she saw the door."
"No, I called when I saw inside. Degenerates. What kind of people would do this?"
McIntosh widened his eyes at Pike.
"This shit is sick, dude. Check it out."
Pike stepped past the officers and opened the door.
The dank odor of blood and raw meat enveloped him. Pike moved through the storage room, but stopped by the counter as soon as he entered the dining room. Lumbering bottle flies had already homed on the scent and buzzed in slow loops past his head. The counter was red with a viscous pool of drying blood that traced darker red paths to the floor. Long thick pieces of what was probably beef liver, kidneys, and intestines floated in the blood like blue islands. More pieces were draped over the cash register and prep area, and what appeared to be a large gray beef heart was nailed to the New Orleans Saints poster. The skinless heads of three goats hung from the ceiling lights, their lidless eyes dull and bulging. Bottle flies fed on their eyes.
Behind him, McIntosh whispered.
"What if it's people?"
"It's not."
"I know these are animal heads, but this could be human blood. These organs could be from people."
"They aren't. Butchered people smell different."
McIntosh studied Pike as if wondering how Pike knew that, then pointed out the wall behind the counter.
"Check it. Your boys left a message."
Three words were written in blood on the wall above the prep counter.
I AM HERE.
I, not We. Singular. Pike wondered what it meant.
Hydeck came up beside them.
"C'mon, it's time to go. I got some snaps for the report. All we're doing is letting in flies."
Pike said, "Have you called Button?"
Hydeck's irritation turned to annoyance.
"Yes, Pike, I put in a call. I'm waiting to hear back from him, too. Right now I'm more interested in getting the owners out here so they can get this place cleaned up and secure."
Pike stepped around the goat heads to the front door. He studied the gas station and buildings across the street, and wondered if Straw's people had seen anything, and whether they had stood by and watched this happen.
Hydeck said, "Let's go, Pike. I mean it. You shouldn't even be in here."
Pike followed them out.
Betsy Harmon still had her arms locked across her chest.
"Are we going to have the CSIs out here and all of that?"
McIntosh said, "That's on TV. Our people are SIDs."
Hydeck pushed the door closed. The bent frame made it difficult, so McIntosh leaned in to help. It still didn't close all the way.
"Those are animal parts, Ms. Harmon. The people who did this probably robbed a Latin market. Latin butchers sell a lot of goat meat. What time does Mr. Smith usually get here?"
"Wilson is always here by nine, every day but Sunday. If they get a food delivery, he'll come in earlier, but one of them should have been here. They're always here by now."
Pike checked his watch and saw it was almost ten-thirty. Hydeck glanced at her watch at exactly the same time, then frowned with impatience.