“Mr. Haddad claims you and Mr. Pike murdered a man named Dennis Orlato and a Colombian citizen named Pedro Ruiz not far from here in the desert.”
Jon made the shark smile grow wider.
“Sounds far-fetched. Live Scan kick back anything on my prints?”
Jon’s fingerprints were digitally scanned when he was booked, and automatically submitted to the Department of Justice for a criminal history and identification check. Jon knew what his record would kick, and waited for her reaction.
“It did. You have no criminal history, and an interesting military record.”
“Did it say ‘interesting’?”
“It was blank except for a note instructing us to contact the Department of Defense for additional details.”
“Huh. They do that sometimes. For people with special jobs, if you catch my drift.”
Jon arched his eyebrows and smiled again.
“I know why they do it, Mr. Stone. Mr. Haddad also claims Mr. Pike shot Orlato in the head at point-blank range.”
“Another far-fetched lie. See those green teeth? Drug addict.”
“Where is Mr. Pike now?”
“No idea.”
“Mr. Haddad says Mr. Pike was with you in the Jeep, and fled only seconds before you were arrested.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. You believe one lie, you’ll believe them all.”
She glanced down at her laced fingers, and Jon realized her fingers were laced because she was holding herself together. She looked up, and wet her lips.
“This isn’t a lie. A woman named Nita Morales hired Mr. Cole to find her daughter, a girl named Krista Morales. She hired Mr. Cole because she thought Krista was eloping with a boy named Jack Berman. Jack Berman is my nephew.”
Jon nodded one time, and it took all his training and discipline not to show more.
“Mr. Pike and Mr. Cole work together, and now we find you driving Mr. Pike’s Jeep with a bound man and a fully automatic M4 battle rifle. Do you see how these things link together?”
Jon Stone smiled, but this time he didn’t look like a shark.
“Funny how lies can start to look like the truth, isn’t it?”
“So you understand, I’ve been trying to find Mr. Cole to offer my help, but he hasn’t returned my calls, and now he appears to be missing.”
Stone nodded, and wondered how much she knew about her nephew’s situation.
“It may be he can’t return your calls.”
“So you and Mr. Pike were trying to find him?”
“One of us still is.”
“Okay, now here’s something I need you to understand. My interest is in saving my nephew and any other people who have been abducted. I have the full force and authority of the United States government behind me. Help me use that power, Mr. Stone. Let me help you.”
“I’m in jail.”
“This is where you’re going to stay. I’m going to find my nephew, but I can’t have civilians riding around with illegal weapons, killing people.”
“I understand.”
“Will you help me?”
Stone knew she wouldn’t like his answer, but he believed it with all his heart.
“Your nephew’s best bet is already on the hunt. Let Mr. Pike do his thing.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Ms. Stendahl, you can’t stop him.”
Stone gave her his very best killer smile.
“Now do your nephew a favor, and please call my attorney. I’m trying to make your life easier.”
She left without a word. Jon watched her go, and knew she would be back.
41
Joe Pike
Desert Gold Realty was a narrow storefront closer to Cathedral City than Palm Desert, wedged between a gift shop and a women’s clothing store. The shops and offices were closed, which suited Pike because the surrounding streets were deserted.
The realty office had a glass front with color flyers of available properties taped to the glass. The flyers suggested Megan Orlato’s primary business was vacation rentals for weekenders and snowbirds. The interior was dark. The only light came from a computer on a desk at the rear. A small round table with chairs for customers was up front, but there was only the one desk in back with posters above it, and a low filing cabinet behind it. Pike looked for the telltale red light from an alarm touch pad by the back door, but saw nothing.
Pike drove around to the parking area behind the office. The back door was the typical fireproof commercial door found everywhere, with a single commercial-grade deadbolt. He studied the lock, then drove to a Chevron station three blocks away to look through Stone’s gear. He found an electric pick gun and tension wrenches. State- of-the-art lock-picking equipment.
When the Rover was gassed, Pike drove back to the office, cracked the lock, and opened the door. He expected an alarm, but when nothing happened he assumed the alarm was silent.
Pike had at least four minutes inside if the breach registered at a top private security firm. The duty monitor would run a system diagnostic to make sure the alarm hadn’t been triggered by a malfunction, then phone the subscriber. If the subscriber could not be reached, the monitor would alert a mobile unit or the police, who would respond only after finishing their current call. Four minutes was the best-case response time, but Pike knew the real-world response times were much longer.
Pike turned on the lights. The posters he saw from the street were promotions for Desert Gold Realty. Serving the Desert Communities for 13 GOLDen Years!
Pike went directly to the file cabinets, and ignored the computer. Searching unfamiliar computer files could take forever, but the file cabinet contained only three drawers. The first drawer contained files with labels like Visa, Amex, License amp; Fees, Utilities, Autos, and Medical. Pike decided these were personal files, so he moved to the next drawer. The second drawer contained files alphabetized by street names and addresses. Pike quickly checked for the three addresses the Syrian used, but they were not among the files. He pulled two random folders to check the contents, and discovered signed leases. The files in the second drawer were of properties currently being rented.
The third drawer held a yellow box file labeled Available Properties. The three addresses the Syrian used were here. Each of the three folders contained a listing agreement between the property owners and Desert Gold Realty. Pike checked to see if the properties were owned by the same person, but saw the owners were different. All three also lived out of state, which meant they probably had no idea how their property was being used. Since the owners lived out of state, Desert Gold Realty was specified as the property manager. This meant Desert Gold oversaw maintenance, gardening, and repair for the absentee owners. This allowed the Orlatos to keep unwanted visitors away for the two or three weeks a property was used by the Syrian.
There were thirty or forty folders in the yellow file, including the three. This meant Cole was almost certainly in one of the remaining locations, and it would be a location with an absentee owner. Pike took the files, closed the drawer, and was turning to leave when he saw the picture.
A framed photograph stood on the desk showing a woman with Dennis Orlato. He wore a blue suit and she wore a tight, flowery dress. They were smiling, and posed with an array of white roses beneath a neon sign saying WEDDED BLISS CHAPEL LAS VEGAS. Megan Orlato wasn’t his sister or mother. She was his wife.
Pike checked the time. He had been in the office four minutes and twenty seconds.
