The twilight sun melted into a magenta haze as Cole crept up the hill toward home. The traffic on Laurel Canyon was brutal, so Cole took a neighborhood bypass, winding between the trees and gated homes up Outpost Drive to Mulholland. Cole drove a yellow 1966 Stingray Convertible, and liked it a lot. It ran well and was fun to drive, but Cole didn't wash it often, so it was dirty. Pike washed his Jeep every day. Its immaculate red skin was so slick with polish, Cole joked that dirt probably blew off with the wind. Thinking about Pike's gleaming Jeep left Cole feeling sad. It would have been a lovely drive home, any other night, with the Stingray's top down and the cool canyon air scented with eucalyptus and wild fennel. Any other night, it would have been fine.
Home was a redwood A-frame on a narrow street off Woodrow Wilson Drive at the top of a canyon. The little house was a two-bedroom, two-bath fixer Cole bought during a flush year before prices went crazy. If he wanted to buy it today, he couldn't. There was no yard to speak of, what with being perched on a drop-away slope, but a deck across the back of the house gave Cole a great view of the canyon and glimpse of the city.
Cole pulled into the carport, and let himself in through the kitchen. A black cat was on the counter. It looked at its bowl when Cole walked in, and made a soft mrp.
"Okay. Let's get you squared away."
Cole put out fresh food and water, then helped himself to a beer. Negro Modelo. The cat looked up from the food.
"Mrp."
"Okay, but not too much."
Cole poured a little beer into a saucer.
The cat had come with the house, and had been part of Cole's life longer than any living thing except Joe Pike. It was a mean animal, and given to attacking people. Cole did not know why. Once, a heating and air-conditioning repairman was working on the forced-air unit in Cole's hall closet. The repairman was kneeling in the door with his back to the hall when the cat climbed his back and bit him on the neck four times. Cole's insurance company settled the claim, but Cole had to do a personal job off the books for his broker to get a new policy.
"It's going to be a tough night, bud."
The cat bumped his hand with surprising gentleness, then went back to eating.
The house was warm from being closed all day, so Cole opened the big deck doors. He took a small skirt steak from the freezer to thaw, then rinsed a large can of white beans and put them aside to drain. The first Modelo was gone by then, so he helped himself to a second, drinking it while he sliced zucchini, Japanese eggplant, and two large tomatoes for the grill. The joy of cooking was oblivion. Slicing and seasoning made it easier not to think. The Modelo went a long way toward helping that, too.
When the vegetables were good to go, Cole went upstairs, changed into a T-shirt, then returned to the deck to fire up his Weber. The sky was a beautiful sangria by then, and inspired him to have another beer.
When Cole went in, Joe Pike was in the kitchen. Unannounced and silent as a ghost. The cat was twined between his ankles, purring. Pike was the only person besides Cole the cat would abide.
Cole tipped his empty toward the vegetables.
"White bean salad with grilled veggies we can share. Maybe a little couscous. Carne asada for me. Sound good?"
"Good."
Sure.
Notice how the loyal friend prepares his subject for the evening's festivities.
"I'm having a beer. Get one, then you can fill me in while I'm prepping the coals."
Pike took a beer from the fridge. Cole grabbed a third, and followed him out. The cat trailed behind them. He liked to watch the slope for field mice and gophers.
Cole pushed at the coals, which was a completely unnecessary act. Notice the immaculate technique as the World's Greatest Best Friend stalls the moment of truth.
"You go first, then I'll go. What happened with Mendoza and Gomer?"
Pike related what he knew about Mendoza, then moved on to Gomer. At first Cole only pretended to listen, but the graphic nature of their murders drew him in. Gomer's body was found behind the wheel of a car parked near the north end of Grand Canal. The blood in the vehicle suggested Gomer was killed at the scene. The first cut was likely a downward stab wound on the left side of the neck that sliced through the carotid artery, the esophagus, most of the surrounding musculature down to visible bone, and into the upper thorax. The second cut was drawn from the right ear across the throat to the base of the left ear, also exposing visible bone.
Pike said, "They didn't have a good time-of-death on Mendoza, but Gomer probably died between eleven P.M. and one A.M. this morning. When the cops cut me free, I checked the spot where they found him. He had a head-on view of Wilson's house. Mendoza was probably set up on the other side."
When Cole realized what Pike was saying, he held up a hand.
"Waitaminute. Are you telling me these guys were watching the house?"
"Yes."
"But that doesn't make sense. If they grabbed Wilson and Dru this morning, why go back to the house? What did they want?"
"Maybe someone Wilson and Dru told them about, but that's only a guess. It was probably the man who killed them. The light I saw in the upstairs bedroom when I called you this morning, that was probably the killer. The same man who jimmied the kitchen window."
Cole didn't like it, or what it might mean.
"Mendoza and Gomer came back for this guy, but he was already there. He saw them first, and took them out?"
Pike cocked his head the other way, and the tangerine sunset gleamed on his glasses.
"Yes. I think he was still watching the house when I was there this morning. I could feel him."
Cole prodded the coals, and watched firefly embers swirl in the heat. Everything had changed in the space of a day. A neighborhood shakedown had become an illusion. Vandalism and assault were a sleight-of-hand trick to hide something worse, and now Cole knew the magicians were liars. None of it was real, and probably never had been.
Pike's voice came from the embers.
"Now you."
Cole looked at his friend.
"I spoke with Steve Brown today, the man who owns Smith's house, and I had another talk with Jared. I have to tell you some things, and you're not going to like it. I don't think Dru has been honest with you."
Cole paused for Pike to react, but Pike gave him no more reaction than a department store mannequin. The cat left the edge of the deck, twined once through Pike's legs, then sat, its eyes narrow and watchful.
Cole put his bottle on the rail.
"Brown has never met Wilson Smith or heard of him. He let Dru use the house because they had a relationship. She was supposed to be there alone, and Brown was furious when he found out someone was living with her. He knew nothing about her uncle, or Dru working at Wilson's food place, or any of it. He believed she was living on alimony. Until we spoke this morning, he expected to resume their relationship when he returns."
Pike remained motionless, floating at the edge of the deck. Cole wished he could see behind the black glasses, but that view was hidden.
"After I spoke with Brown, I talked to Jared. Jared told me things that put the lie to everything this woman told you about herself. It's not good, Joe. It's pretty damned bad."
"What?"
The cat crouched at Pike's feet. Its tail snapped and twitched as Cole repeated Jared's story. Cole kept it brief, but left nothing out.
"If you want to talk to him again, I'll go with you, but I believe Jared is telling the truth. When I left him, I took some things from their house that should have their prints, and gave them to John Chen. I don't know that these people are in the system, but they might be, and the prints might help us figure this out. Also, I spoke with Lucy. Until we hear back from Chen, all I could give her were their names, but her investigator is going to see what he can find in New Orleans. That's it. That's been my day."