“You are free to listen in,” he said, picking up a receipt that was lying with a pile of mail on the coffee table and scribbling STING OPERATION IN PROGRESS on the back of it. He folded it into his badge holder and stood up, some of his previous equanimity returning. “Now, I suggest you all stay out of sight.” Without waiting for our response, he moved toward the door.
It looked like I was either going to let him try this, or things were going to get violent. Normally I’m in favor of violence as an easy answer, but with cops involved—fuck.
I kept my gun out and ready, but stepped back.
The living room was separated from the house’s foyer by a wide, open doorway. I tucked myself into the corner just on the other side of the archway from the door, where I’d be able to hear every word. Tresting herded Leena to the opposite side of the living room, where they’d also be out of line of sight from the porch.
I heard Finch unlock the door and swing it open. “Is something wrong?” His nasally voice had the tone of a concerned homeowner.
The cop on the doorstep hesitated way too long. I imagined him taking in Finch’s badge and the scribbled-on receipt and trying to figure out what to say. “Uh, we had a report of a disturbance,” we finally heard. “Do you live here, sir?”
“Yes, I do. Uh, my wife was screaming at me a little while ago for breaking some plates; maybe the neighbors heard it.”
“Very well, sir,” said the officer. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“No problem, Officer.” I could hear people moving around outside. “You all have a good day, now,” called Finch, and shut the door.
He hurried back into the living room. “We’re in trouble,” he said. “Someone give me my mobile back, now.”
Tresting squinted at him, but did as he asked.
Finch hit a few numbers. “Indigo,” he said into the phone. “Verification needed, Los Angeles Police Department. Eight five oh three two bravo.” He paused, then added, “And Saturn. Used Redowa as a threat. They want to meet.”
I snapped my fingers in his face. “Cut out the code words, superspy. What’s going on?”
He whirled on me furiously. “Look, missy, they’ve got SWAT out there. They’re not going away just because I waved a badge at them. And meanwhile you and your friend are a couple of children playing at something you know nothing about, and you’re going to get a lot of people killed unless I clean up your mess here, so now would be a good time to shut up.” He turned back to his phone. “Yes, sir. Yes. No objection. I’ll let them know. Thank you, sir.”
He hung up the phone and I punched him.
“What the hell!” cried Finch. His nose was fountaining blood. It was getting all over his suit.
“That’s for calling me ‘missy,’” I said. “Now, clearly you have some super string-pulling powers, so I’m not actually that worried about those police anymore. Like you said, that’s your mess now, with my thanks. What I am worried about is you thinking this is your game to run. It’s not. So I’ll thank you to talk to me like the heavily armed person I am.”
Finch glared at me, trying to staunch his bleeding nose.
Tresting touched my arm. “This gets us nowhere,” he murmured.
“Maybe,” I said. “But it felt really good.”
Tresting shook his head at me slightly, warning me back, and I felt a flare of resentment. He had no call to tell me how I ought to conduct myself. This wasn’t his game to run, either.
“Everybody calm down,” Tresting said to the room. “One crisis at a time. Let’s find out what’s going on.” He pulled out his phone and hit a button; as soon as someone picked up, he said, “We’re at Kingsley’s place. Everything’s under control, but I’d like some intel.” There was a slight pause, and then the person on the other end swore copiously and creatively, loudly enough for all of us to hear over the speaker. Tresting winced and held the phone away from his ear a little. “I said everything’s under control,” he tried to insist over Checker’s tirade. He looked at the rest of us. “Be right back.”
He headed through the foyer and into Leena’s kitchen, trying to get a word in edgewise. He didn’t close the door, however, instead leaning against the counter still in sight of the living room. I wondered if he was keeping an eye on me to make sure I didn’t punch anyone else.
The rest of us stood uncomfortably. I tried not to think about Dawna Polk and what she might have done to Leena Kingsley.
What she might have done to me.
Fuck. My head pounded like someone had driven an ice pick through the back of it.
Finch was still bleeding on Kingsley’s carpeting. “Can I get him a towel?” she asked hesitantly.
“No,” I said.
Dr. Kingsley went over to the window and peeked around the blinds. “It looks like the police are leaving.”
I studied her. She was walking and talking and functioning like a normal human being. But then, I had been, too. “Are you going to call them back after we leave?” I asked.
She shook her head, not meeting my eyes. “Just don’t bother me again. I want to be done with this.”
Pithica never wants an investigation, I remembered.
Leena Kingsley couldn’t be threatened into submission. Killing her to keep her quiet might have made people look more closely at her husband’s death. So someone had done something else to silence her. Something that had made it seem like she’d changed her mind on her own.
Something that Dawna Polk had also done to me in the coffee shop, when she’d asked me where I would be.
Drugs? Hypnosis? Was I still under her influence? I had a feeling Finch knew, and he was going to tell me or I would beat it out of him.
The fact that Pithica had acted now scared the shit out of me. Kingsley had been on this crusade for months, and today they had suddenly decided to kill the PI she’d hired and convince her to give it all up? Sure, maybe Tresting’s investigation had started to close in on something important, but Tresting was right: this was all happening right after they had hooked up with me. Dawna had targeted me to go in after Courtney and had targeted me on the road to Camarito, and I was a fool if I didn’t assume she was targeting me now. I just didn’t know why.
Tresting came back into the room, hanging up his mobile and tossing a roll of paper towels at Finch, who caught it clumsily and started mopping up his face.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Trouble.” Tresting hesitated and glanced at Finch before continuing, but probably decided that this guy had enough connections to find out everything on his own anyway. “Turns out the neighbors ain’t seen our hostage dance. The cops who was here earlier got back to the station and saw composites of two people suspected in a brutal multiple homicide at an office building. Happened they recalled noticing two suspicious characters who looked mighty similar to the sketches in a truck outside an address they just reported to. Told you not to flinch,” he added to me.
“Wait, so this is my fault, Mr. Let’s Report Everything to the Proper Authorities?”
He shot me an expression of thinly veiled disgust. “Good news is they ain’t ID’d us, just got composites from the lobby guy at the building.” He turned to Leena. “Doc…”
“I told your new friend already, I won’t tell anyone anything.” She sounded exhausted. “Just make this go away, please.”
He hesitated, then nodded. I supposed there wasn’t much else he could do but trust her. “Guess we better get while the getting’s good,” he said to Finch and me. “They going to find out you’re not a real FBI agent and come back?”