"Maybe they're not coming in, him with the concussion. He should be in bed, anyway."
Betsy Harmon held herself even tighter.
"In bed doesn't mean you turn off your phones. Someone has to clean up that mess."
"We've left messages. There isn't anything else we can do."
"What if they don't check their messages? That mess in there is going to rot. I can't have my customers smelling it. People can see it from the street."
Hydeck's cell phone buzzed. She glanced at the incoming number, then turned away to take the call.
Pike said, "Is it them?"
"It's Button. Let me see what he wants to do."
As Hydeck walked away, Betsy Harmon turned to Pike.
"They can't just leave it like this, can they? Aren't they supposed to do something?"
Pike had nothing to say. He didn't like it that Dru and her uncle weren't answering their phones. The blood and heads and the message on the wall felt like more than an act of malicious vandalism. There was a darkness to what had been done that left him feeling as if a shadow had passed beneath him out on the open sea.
Hydeck glanced over as she spoke with Button, and Pike could see something was wrong in the way she held herself. Her agitation grew as their conversation went on, then she put away the phone and returned.
"Mr. Smith and Ms. Rayne won't be coming in today. They're leaving for Oregon."
Betsy Harmon stepped back as if she had been kicked.
"Oregon? Who said they're going to Oregon?"
"Mr. Smith. Apparently, he came by earlier and decided enough was enough. He phoned Detective Button about it this morning."
"He's going to leave it like this?"
"I don't know."
"But who's going to clean up the mess?"
"I'm sorry, but that's all I know. I'm sure he'll take care of it before they go."
Pike was surprised, and wondered why Dru hadn't called him.
"Were they threatened?"
"Pike, look inside again and open your eyes. I'd say that's a threat. The guy's scared. He wants to get out of town until these idiots cool down, and he says he won't cooperate with any further investigation. I don't know any more than that, and frankly, if he doesn't give a shit, neither do I."
She glanced at McIntosh.
"We're done here. Let's roll."
Pike said, "Is Button coming out?"
"Don't hold your breath. He was pretty pissed off."
Betsy Harmon's face pulled tight with anxiety.
"But Wilson isn't answering his phone. What if he leaves it like this?"
"If it's determined to be a health hazard, Mr. Smith will be cited. If Mr. Smith doesn't take care of it, I suggest you call the landlord or leasing agency."
"That's it? That's all you're going to do?"
"That's all we can do. I'm sorry."
Pike watched Hydeck and McIntosh head back to their radio car, then took out his phone and tried Dru again. His call went to voice mail, but this time he did not leave a message.
Beside him, Betsy Harmon said, "I don't think they would leave it like this. I just don't believe it."
Pike didn't believe it, either, thinking that anyone who would dump goat heads and blood in the man's shop might not stop with vandalism. He put away his cell.
"You know where they live?"
Betsy Harmon brightened for the first time that morning.
"Yes, I do. They're only a few blocks away."
She had once helped Wilson and Dru bring home perishable food when the shop's refrigerator failed. She didn't remember the street address, but gave Pike directions and described a house on the Venice Canals. She also gave him the cell phone number she had for Wilson Smith.
When Pike turned to his Jeep, Betsy Harmon called after him.
"I saw you."
Pike glanced back, and saw her smiling.
"You and Dru. I saw you kissing yesterday. She looked very happy."
Pike nodded once, such a small nod she might not have seen, then climbed into his Jeep. Dru would have called. He didn't understand why Dru hadn't called.
11
The Venice Canals were the dream of a man named Abbot Kinney, a tobacco millionaire from back East who developed the area as a beachside resort. The canals were originally dug to drain marshy land, but Kinney reasoned that one Venice was as good as another, so he decided to re-create Venice, Italy, complete with gondola rides. Sixteen miles of canals were dug, but over time they were filled or shortened. The remaining six were laid out in a perfect square with four canals running side by side and the fifth and sixth canals laid across their tops and bottoms, cutting the land between the canals into three identical, rectangular islands. What began as an amusement park became weekend getaway housing in 1905 that eventually devolved into run-down bungalows on tiny lots in the fifties and sixties occupied by hippies, beachside denizens, and artists. But proximity to the beach and rising property values eventually elevated the area, and the shabby bungalows were replaced by expensive homes.
Pike followed Betsy Harmon's directions into the grid of narrow alleys that lined the canals. He crossed an even more narrow arched bridge, then turned onto an alley lined by houses. According to Betsy Harmon, Wilson and Dru lived in the third house from the end on the left side, a redwood home hidden behind an ivy-covered fence. Pike found the house easily, and parked.
The lots along the canals were small, so the houses all had two or three stories and were built shoulder-to-shoulder out to the street, with their front yards facing the canals and their garages flush on the alleys. A carport was carved into Wilson's house next to a wood gate, but the house and its entrance were hidden by the fence. The carport was empty. Pike was surprised by the house. This was an expensive address.
Pike went to the gate, but found it locked. He pressed a buzzer. A chime sounded inside the house, but no one answered. As he pushed the buzzer again, he noticed a thin young man with straggly black hair watching him from a second-story window at the house next door. The watcher turned away when Pike saw him.
Pike still got no answer, so he went into the carport and banged on the wall. If Wilson and Dru were going to leave, one of them might be inside packing while the other was shopping for last-minute necessities. Hence the missing car.
Pike pounded hard on the wall three times, got no response, and was pounding again when a woman came out of the house next door and called out to him.
"Excuse me!"
She was in her mid-forties with leathery skin, tight jeans, and a tighter T-shirt that highlighted her breasts. She had large breasts, and wanted them seen.
"Are you trying to knock down that house? I can hear you all the way over here."
"Is this Wilson Smith's house?"
"Hardly. They're house-sitting. The owner is in London. He goes there a lot."
She rubbed her thumb and fingers together.
"Made a load in television."
This explained how they could live at such an expensive address. House-sitting.
"But Wilson and Dru live here now?"
"That's right. Is something the matter?"
"There's been some damage to his place of business. I need to speak with him about it."
The woman came out into the alley far enough to peer into the empty carport.
"Well, their car isn't here, so I don't know what to tell you. I'll let them know if I see them."
The thin man came to the door. Close up, he looked like a teenager. He was eating a banana, and squinted as if the sun was overly bright. Pike read them for mother and son.
"S'up?"
"He's looking for Wilson."
He headed back into the house.
"I'm gonna lay out."
"How about looking for a job instead?"
She made a big show of acting disgusted as her son slouched away.
"Three years at Berkeley, and all he does is lay out. My fault, I guess. No man around to set an example."