“One more thing. You checked my home in Palm Springs?”
The Arrowhead Trust owned the Kenter house, the Palm Springs house, and the remains of Bonnie and Mel’s estate, all held in trust for Jack, with Nancie as the trustee.
“Yes, ma’am. The chief sent a couple investigators. Everything looked all right.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Please ask the chief to call.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She ended the call, and stared into the aqua-blue glow of the pool, wondering where Jack was and how his Mustang ended up in a chop shop without him reporting it stolen. She had been wondering these same things since the Coachella chief contacted her, and she liked none of the possible explanations. After the chief’s call, Nancie immediately phoned, texted, and emailed Jack, and had been trying him every day, but had heard nothing. A couple of ATF buddies from the L.A. office had driven up to the house, but reported nothing unusual.
Nancie Stendahl said, “Damnit, Jack.”
She dropped her purse on the couch, took off her suit coat, then pushed open the glass slider and went out to the pool.
Jack was a minor when Bonnie and Mel were killed. Her sister and brother-in-law had done all right, both being lawyers, having the Kenter house and a second home in Palm Springs. Then, on top of it, the insurance settlement from the drunk who killed them had been enormous. Nancie set up the trust with herself as trustee and Jack as both co-trustee and beneficiary. She had been between husbands and living alone, so she moved into the Kenter house as his guardian until he started USC, then came the promotion and the transfer to D.C. Financially, Jack was set for life, but now Jack was gone.
Nancie scrolled through her contact list, and called the Special Agent in Charge of the Los Angeles Field Division. He answered immediately.
“Hey, JT. Is it too late?”
“Not for you, boss. Not ever. You here?”
“Up at Bonnie’s. Walked in five minutes ago.”
“No Jack?”
“Nada.”
John Taylor had been her A-SAC when Nancie ran the L.A. office. He was a sharp, tough agent with a stellar record and outstanding management skills. When she was promoted to Washington, JT rightfully took the reins.
“How can I help? You name it, you got it.”
“Coachella PD, Palm Springs PD, Riverside County Sheriffs. I want everything they have on the chop shop.”
“Done.”
She turned away from the pool, and moved back into the house.
“Set me up asap tomorrow morning with the investigating officers out there.”
“Will do.”
“Face time with the assholes they busted. Whoever made bond, I want them picked up.”
“Done. What else?”
She stopped in the living room. Clocked the cordless phone on the kitchen counter and the security monitor on the wall.
“I need an agent on my phone numbers. Jack’s cell, we have the two hard line numbers here in Brentwood, and the one hard line in Palm Springs. They’re in your files.”
“They’re in my phone. We’ll ID the incoming and outgoing calls for the past two weeks, and run off a list.”
“We have a video security system up here. It goes twenty-four/seven on a two-week wipe. I need a full two-week replay with stills of anyone entering or leaving the premises.”
“Can you access via the Internet?”
“Yeah. I’ll look up the codes.”
“Done deal. More?”
She turned back to the pool, and thought hard as she watched the aqua shimmer.
“No. No, that should do it for now. Thanks, JT.”
“When do you want to get started?”
“As soon as possible.”
“I’ll have Mo and Roach on your phones in two hours. Get me the access codes for your digital, they’ll run it from their laptops. Can’t find them, they’ll pull the hard drive there at your house. Just tell them when they get there.”
“Thanks, man.”
“We’ll find him, Nance. Trust me.”
“Always did. Always will.”
She ended the call, then walked through the house. Bonnie’s house. Her baby sister.
Nancie had wanted children, but was unable to conceive. She had doted on Jack, and loved him as fully as if he were her own. Maybe more. Nancie stood at the grave when Bonnie and Mel were buried, held Jack tight, and soaked him with her tears. She had silently promised Bonnie she would take care of their baby boy, forever and always, just as Bonnie would have done.
She had, until now.
“I’ll find him, Bon. You know I will.”
Part 3
28
Danny Trehorn
Danny stepped out of the shower at 6:21 A›M. that morning, rubbing the towel over his head and across his back and butt like a shoe-shine cloth; moving fast for a seven A.M. tee time, these four lawyers from L.A. who couldn’t play for shit, but enjoyed themselves and didn’t throw tantrums when they blew a gimme. Drama queens were lousy tippers, but these guys were solid.
Danny tossed the towel over the curtain rail, slammed on the anti-stink juice, and glanced at the time. If he was out the door by 6:30, he could make the clubhouse by 6:45, punch in, pick up the cart, stock his cooler with water and soft drinks, and be ready and waiting for his foursome by seven.
Perfect.
Shorts, club polo, socks. Good to go, and looking sharp.
Danny was tying his shoes when something pounded on his door so effin’ loud he damn near crapped his pants BOOM BOOM BOOM.
— at exactly the same time his cell phone rang.
BOOM BOOM BOOM.
Danny glanced at the Caller ID, and saw BATF, as a man’s voice outside his door shouted.
“Daniel Trehorn! Police! Please open the door.”
What the fuck? It sounded like a joke.
One shoe on, holding the other, Danny gimped to the door and peered out the peephole. A scowling man with short red hair was staring directly at him, and holding a badge.
Danny opened the door, and found five people waiting. Two uniformed policemen, and two men and a woman in suits.
The red-haired man lowered his badge.
“Daniel Trehorn?”
Danny was scared.
“Ah, yeah. What did I do?”
