At the bottom of the slope, the Chevy’s high beams illuminated a narrow strip of sand bordering the lake. The Kents’ private dock extended out over the water, two small sport boats bobbing in moorage.
Tyler steered the squad car onto the dock and drove to the end, boards rattling under the wheels. He shifted the gear selector into neutral, then killed the engine and lights.
Wordlessly he got out and walked to the rear of the car. The lake stretched into darkness, walled in by high wooded hillsides devoid of light.
No one lived nearby. Cain had explained in one of their many briefings that all the land around the lake once had been owned by the Ashcroft family. Barbara Kent’s parents had ceded most of it to the county as a wildlife refuge and a public park, retaining ownership of the fenced estate and an easement for the path and dock.
Blair, still ticked off and not talking, joined Tyler at the back of the car. Together they put their weight against the bumper and pushed.
The dock was flat, and the sedan rolled easily at first. Then with a downward lurch the front wheels slid into space. The Chevy dipped, chassis scraping the dock.
They shoved harder, but the car’s underside kept catching on gaps between the planks.
“Put some muscle into it,” Tyler grunted.
Straining, they forced the Chevy forward another three feet until it was half off the dock.
It teetered briefly, balanced between the weight of the engine up front and the combined weight of Wald and Robinson in the rear.
A groan, a teeth-gritting squeal of metal on wood, and the car pitched headlong into the lake.
Water flooded through the front doors, open on both sides. The blue-and-white Caprice submerged ponderously like some immense aquatic creature returning to its element.
The rooftop light bar was last to disappear below the surface. Then the car was only a dim ghostly image retreating into the gloom.
It sank deeper than Tyler would have expected. The lake floor shelved down steeply just past the dock.
He waited. When clouds of silt rose like swirls of cream in coffee, he knew the Chevy had touched bottom.
“So long, officers,” he said softly. “Have a nice day.”
Leaving the dock, Tyler paused to look back at the lake’s wide expanse, mirror-smooth and starlight- silvered.
He wondered if the car trunk was watertight. It was a small matter, merely the difference between suffocation and drowning for the woman inside.
“You patrol this area,” he told Blair. “Any trouble, get on channel three.”
“I know the drill.”
“Just like your brother” Tyler asked, and started up the path without waiting for a reply.
The night was clear and still. Stars burned holes in the black sky. Somewhere a bullfrog sang, its croaking solo sonorous as a snore.
Tyler climbed higher, toward the house. He forgot Blair and Gage Sharkey, forgot the scuttled Chevy and the unlucky lady in the trunk.
He thought about his Porsche.
Red, he decided. Definitely red.
A smile brushed his lips. He was young, and it was summer in California, and life was good.
20
In the den Cain kicked his duffel bag behind an armchair, out of his way, then released a hinged section of oak paneling to expose a wall safe with a combination lock.
“Open it,” he told Ally.
The girl hugged herself, arms crossed high on her chest, as if conscious that her white dress was dangerously revealing. “Nothing’s in there except stock certificates. I don’t think you can fence those.”
“Open it anyway.”
“I don’t know the combination.”
He studied her in the spill of light from a green-shaded brass banker’s lamp. Her hair was teased into ringlets of dark curls. Freckles splashed her round face. Still a child’s face-but the tanned, supple legs below her hemline were the legs of a woman.
“Yes, you do,” he said evenly. “I saw you open this safe last Saturday night. Only you didn’t take out any stock certificates. You took out a string of pearls. They looked pretty on you.”
There was something comical in the way her brown eyes widened and kept on widening in a caricature of surprise.
“You … saw…”
“I’ve watched this house on and off for weeks. With these.” He showed her the binoculars. “You people never close your curtains. I guess having no neighbors makes you sort of careless.”
“Oh, God …”
“What did you want the pearls for, anyway”
She responded mechanically, her thoughts still focused on her shattered illusion of privacy. “Some charity thing. My mom’s on the board. We had to go to the dinner.” Then her eyes cleared as a question occurred to her. “How come you didn’t just break in and rip us off while we were out”
Smart girl, but he had a ready answer. “Because I needed to know the combination. And because I wanted to spend time with you. Ally.”
“M-me” A stammer broke the word in half.
“You interest me. I’ve watched you at other times. I went around to the woods out back, scoped you out through the fence. You don’t close your bedroom curtains either.”
Mingled outrage and embarrassment flushed the girl’s face.
“Sometimes,” Cain added, “you walk around naked, right in front of the windows. You put on a hell of a show.”
Her knees shook. She reached out to grasp a table for support, and a Tiffany’s catalogue, robin’s-egg blue, slapped to the floor. “No …”
“Hey, don’t blame me for peeking. Couldn’t help myself. You’re hot, sweetheart. That tight little ass, and those nice firm titties-“
“Stop.”
“I’ll bet you let your boyfriend talk about your tits. Touch ‘em, too.”
“I … I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Well, you should. Ally. You really should.”
She blinked back tears, catching the obvious implication.
Cain slid a gloved hand into his side pocket and fingered Wald’s handcuffs.
It would be so easy. Wouldn’t take long at all.
But he was playing for bigger stakes tonight. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked.
His hand withdrew from his pocket, leaving the cuffs within.
“Open the safe.”
He watched as Ally rotated the dial. The combination was 4-15-54.
“That number mean anything” he asked.
She wouldn’t look at him. “It’s my mom’s date of birth.”
“Your mom looks younger than forty-three.”
“Did you watch her get naked, too”
“You’re more my type.” Cain smiled, amused by her bravado. She reminded him of the rookie cop-young and scared and trying desperately not to show it. “Now clean out whatever’s inside.”
“How do you know my dad doesn’t keep a gun in there”
“Maybe he does.”
“Then how do you know I won’t grab it and shoot you”
“You’ve got better manners than that.”
