reason to arrest Zane and no chance to link him to the murders he had committed. But if Josh was hurt — I stopped myself. If they were there at all. They could be anywhere in this catacomb of a city and anything could be happening. My body grew cold.
I looked out the window to the ocean. The last time I had been out here, the sea was alive with light. Now it swagged against the shore illuminated only by car headlights as they flickered, briefly, across the ocean’s oily darkness. I thought of Sandy Blenheim, who had been disgorged by the sea only a few days earlier, and it was with relief that I turned away from the water as the highway twisted inland. Soon, the honky-tonk business district of Malibu sprang up around us. We passed the bar where I had stopped to call Freeman. The woman who had flipped me off might be there now, getting herself comfortably drunk.
Without warning, a seismic shiver worked its way up my spine. When it passed I found myself balling my hands into fists.
Freeman, sitting beside me, asked, “You okay?”
We skidded across an intersection. There was a Texaco station at the southwest corner and a road beside it that led off into darkness. Suddenly, I knew that that was the road that led to Zane’s place.
“We’re going the wrong way,” I said.
Cresly said, “What?”
“The road where Zane lives. We just passed it.”
“Sweetwater Canyon’s up a ways,” Daniels said tentatively.
“Don’t you understand?” I said impatiently. “She lied to us.”
“You sure?” Cresly asked, skeptically.
“I remember the gas station back there. That’s where I turned.”
There was silence in the front seat.
“We’re wasting time,” I snapped. “Cresly…”
Almost at that instant, the radio flared up. This time I could hear what was being said. Twenty-eight hundred Sweetwater Canyon Road was a vacant lot next to a trailer park.
“Turn around,” Cresly said.
Daniels pulled a U-tum in a flurry of lights, squealing brakes and horns. Two minutes later we were back at the road by the gas station.
Cresly looked over his shoulder. “Where to?”
“It’s not far,” I said. “Kill the siren. You don’t want him to panic.”
“Right.”
The dark trees swayed like ghosts along the road as the sea wind ripped through them. Out beyond the lights of Malibu, it was dark as a tomb. The landscape passed as if in a dream and yet I could feel we were coming to the place. The house behind the cypress. The ginger-colored cat. The charred wood in the fireplace. The trees came into view.
“There,” I said. “There’s a house behind those trees.”
Daniels pulled into the driveway and we came to a lurching stop, just missing the white Mercedes that blocked the Chevette ahead of it.
“Someone beat us to him,” Freeman said.
“That’s his wife’s car,” I replied.
Our headlights caught a dark-coated figure at the door. It was Rennie.
“That’s her,” I said. Daniels killed the lights and we were in total darkness but for a faint orange light coming from behind the curtain of one of the windows at the front of the house. The curtain seemed to sway a bit as if the window were open.
As we got out of the car, Cresly said to Freeman, “You armed?”
Freeman grunted an assent.
To Daniels, he said, “Radio Malibu. Tell them where we are. Is there a back way out, Rios?”
“Yeah,” I said, opening my door.
“Go around the back when you’re finished, Daniels. Take your rover, but don’t shine any lights. If he’s armed, we don’t want to give him a target.” Cresly picked up his own rover — a handheld radio — and got out of the car. Our feet crunched the gravel as we made our way to the back of the Mercedes.
“What’s she doing?” Cresly asked as we strained to see through the darkness. She made a movement. Cresly drew his gun.
“Mrs. Zane,” he said, “I want you to move back here, move away from the door.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“The police, Mrs. Zane.”
He’s listening to us, I thought, watching the fluttering of the curtain at the window. Zane was inside listening. Suddenly, the light went out and then there was an explosion. A bullet sizzled through the darkness, within inches of where I stood. I dropped to my knees.
Daniels, kneeling beside me, said, “Draw his fire, while I get around back.”
“No,” I said. “Josh might be in there. You’ll endanger him. And her.”
Cresly said, “Move around the cars, Daniels. Just go slow.”
“Tom! Tom! Let me in!” Rennie pounded on the door, shattering the stillness. Daniels scurried around the cars and quickly eased himself over the fence at the side of the house. Rennie screamed to be let in.
From within the house, Zane shouted. “Get back, Rennie! It’s all over. Just get away.”
She seemed to collapse against the door. I started toward her.
“Rios, stop,” Cresly said in a fierce whisper.
Ignoring him, I squatted and darted to the porch. She sat with her back against the door, her face barely discernible in the darkness but when I whispered, “Rennie,” she looked up at me, her eyes glittering.
“It’s Henry. Come on.” I reached my hand for her and she slapped it away.
“They’ll kill him,” she sobbed.
I half-lifted, half-dragged her up to her feet. “There’s no time for this,” I said. “The cops are here and more are on their way. You’ll get caught in the crossfire. Let’s go.”
She struggled for a moment longer. “He won’t let me in,” she cried, then she let me pull her back toward the cars. I sat her down on the ground. Freeman was there, his gun drawn, looking into the darkness.
“Where’s Cresly?”
“Out there,” he said, nodding at a shadowy flicker of movement between a couple of trees.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s gonna draw Zane’s fire while Daniels breaks in through the back.”
“Josh is in there,” I said.
Just then, we heard Cresly from the other side of the yard say, “Zane. If the boy’s in there with you, let him come out.”
He was answered with another shot.
“Is that his evidence?” I demanded. I started toward Cresly, but Freeman pulled me back.
“You can’t go out there, man.”
“We don’t know whether Josh is in there or not.”
“Then ask her,” Freeman said, jutting his chin at Rennie.
I knelt beside her. Her hair was disheveled and a silvery line of snot ran from her nose to her upper lip. Her face was slack and she looked old. Older than I had ever seen her before.
“Is Tom in there alone?” I asked.
She looked at me without apparent recognition and swayed her head back and forth.
I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Who’s in the house?”
She turned her head away from me, lay her cheek against the car and muttered, “What does it matter. They’re going to kill him.”
Cresly yelled out, “Let the boy go, Zane. If he’s okay we don’t have anything on you.”
I dug my hands deeper into her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me!”
She drew a long, shaky breath. “Is what he said true?” “Yes,” I said. “They know about the murders but they don’t have any hard evidence. Tonight was a set-up. The boy was bait. If he’s all right, they can’t charge Tom with anything.”
