Even though a forced entry on the second floor was unlikely, Cole checked the windows and doors leading out to the deck. He found them undisturbed, and moved to the master bedroom.
The master was large, messy, and disappointing. Cole had hoped to learn whether Smith left voluntarily by seeing if his clothes and toiletries were missing, but it was obvious the owner had left a huge wardrobe behind. The large master closet and bathroom were crowded with many more clothes and toiletries than a temporary house sitter would have brought. Cole had no way of knowing what belonged to Brown and what, if anything, belonged to Smith, so he couldn't tell if any of Smith's things were missing. There were even a few women's clothes, but these could as easily belong to a girlfriend of Brown's as Dru Rayne.
Cole found only one item he knew belonged to Smith. A battered metal file box was on the floor beside the bed. It contained receipts, invoices, and billing statements pertaining to the sandwich shop, a pink slip for a 2002 Tercel, insurance policies, and the other mundane paperwork of day-to-day life. Nothing that couldn't be left behind for a couple of weeks, and nothing anyone would steal.
Finished with the second floor, Cole went downstairs. He began in the laundry room, saw Pike's marks on the window, then quickly moved to the downstairs bedroom. Wilson up in the master, his niece in the lower. Unlike the master, the bed was made and the room was clean, neat, and orderly. The windows had not been tampered with. Cole found a few women's tops, dresses, and jeans in the closet. There weren't many clothes, but Cole had no way to know if this was everything the woman owned or if she had packed a few things for a trip.
Cole moved to the kitchen, which opened into a large family room lined with French doors showing a pleasant view of the canal. Another dead digital phone sat on the counter near a sink stacked with dishes. The dishes bothered him. It was like the goat heads and blood. Nobody would walk away from a mess like that, but Button claimed that was exactly what Wilson had done. Cole had a bad feeling about it, but in and of itself it proved nothing. Except maybe that Smith was a slob.
The fridge was scaled with takeout menus held on by magnets. Cole opened it and found the refrigerator stocked with milk, beer, soda, and what appeared to be fried oysters and shrimp in greasy white cartons. Would two people in the restaurant business leave food they knew would go bad in the refrigerator?
When Cole closed the fridge, he noticed a hand-printed note taped to the door. He hadn't seen it before because it was lost among the takeout menus.
IF EMERGENCY, CALL 911.
PLUMBING PROBLEM, CALL NICKY TATE – 323-555-8402 IF YOU NEED ME WHILE I'M IN LONDON STEVE – 310-555-3691London was eight hours ahead. It was late, but Steve Brown might be up. If Smith took the time to call Button, maybe he called his landlord, too. Cole dialed the number.
Brown's phone rang six times before voice mail picked up.
"Mr. Brown, my name is Elvis Cole. I'm in Los Angeles. Would you please give me a call about Wilson Smith and Dru Rayne?"
Cole left his number, hung up, then went to the window over the sink. It was the last thing he would check before leaving. He had found no hard evidence of either an abduction or a trip, and was already deciding which of his LAPD contacts to call about Mendoza and Gomer. The house had been a bust, and his head was out of the game.
He studied the window's latches and interior frame, and that's when he saw a single deep cut on an exterior part of the frame. A thin, bright groove sparkled across the metal near the latch, far shinier than the surrounding metal. Cole touched the handle, and the window slid effortlessly open. Once the window was open, he saw a deep dimple in the frame. Cole closed the window. He stared at it for a few seconds, then called Joe Pike.
"Did you check the kitchen window?"
"Yes. All the windows."
"The window over the sink."
"You found something?"
"Someone forced it open. I'm looking at it. There's a scratch on the frame where the screwdriver slipped, and the frame is bent by the latch. None of this was here this morning?"
"No."
"The latch is broken. The window slides free."
"Not this morning."
"Which means this didn't happen until three or four hours after Jared saw Mendoza."
"Find anything in the house?"
"Nada. No sign they were taken. No sign they went on a trip. Nothing."
"I understand."
"I don't."
"Understand later. I just left Button. You don't have much time."
Cole put away his phone and stared at the window. Maybe he did not find evidence of a crime because someone had already found it. Maybe there had been many signs of a struggle, but someone cleaned the crime scene.
Cole returned to the front entry and was about to let himself out when he noticed the empty bookcase. Steve Brown showed prudence by storing his valuable items. Maybe his books and computers weren't the only things he decided to hide.
Cole ran his fingers along the top of the bookcase and found a weathered key. He tried it in the front door, and found that it fit the deadbolt perfectly. Brown had stashed his spare key inside while he was gone instead of leaving it outside where a passing burglar might find it. A smart move made by someone who knew all the tricks because he had written so many cop shows.
Cole let himself out. He used the key to lock the deadbolt, then hid it behind the fence.
Cole cracked open the front gate, made sure no one was watching, then pulled off the vinyl gloves and let himself out. He took a single deep breath, released it, and let the tension he carried out with it. He had seen with fresh eyes, and now everything was different, and maybe everything Pike feared was true.
Cole crossed the alley for a better view of Smith's house, then looked from one end of the alley to the other. It was crowded by wall-to-wall houses, with only one way in or out for cars. A person could enter or leave by the pedestrian bridges, but for cars there was only one way out. It was a lousy place to do crime, but lousy places for crime were great places for witnesses.
A skinny guy with stringy black hair came to the upper window at the Palmer house. This would be Jared. He stared at Cole with a serious frown, and Cole stared back, thinking if there was one Jared, there might be more.
Cole had decided to knock on doors when a tan Crown Victoria turned into the alley, heading his way. A man was driving, with a woman in the passenger seat. Cole knew they were cops, and wondered if the man was Button.
The outsized Detroit sedan was so wide it filled the street. Cole stepped to the side to let them pass, and gave them a cheery wave.
"Beautiful day, isn't it? Great walking weather."
The man looked at Cole as if Cole was litter.
"Great if you don't have to work for a living."
The woman seemed embarrassed.
Cole continued on his way. Behind him, the Crown Vic stopped in front of the Palmers' house, and the man and the woman got out.
Cole strolled down the center of the street, checking the houses for large facing windows or decks with clear views of the street, but found something better.
A dark green contemporary home sat across the street and two doors down from the Smith house. It had sleek lines, a flat roof, and a large steel door. A security camera that looked like a black bubble clung to a wall beside the door.
Cole checked to see what the police were doing, and saw that the Palmers' front door was now open. Jared and his mother were in the street with the officers.
Cole drifted closer to the camera. Because it was focused on the gate, the camera probably did not have a full-on view of the street, but it might see enough for a glimpse of a passing car.
Cole felt a subtle electric tingle that came when he knew he was in the hunt. Many security systems were hooked to a DVR. Some only recorded when the bell was pressed, but others recorded continuously on a rewritable disk. The camera might give him nothing, but it also might give him everything.