assassin’s outfit. He had an all-leather black outfit, and he had put it on, but he was really too damned hot in it. Except for the gloves, he had gone back to the James Dean look. You just couldn’t go wrong with James Dean, he decided. He thought about listening to the news on the way to the rendezvous, because they might have something on it about a double homicide in Del Aire. But then again, it was probably too early. He wondered if Everett was already at the rendezvous. He doubted Cameron and Morgan would have made it yet, because they were coming all the way from Palmdale, which was about sixty miles from where they were going to meet.
They were meeting at a little house Cameron owned. Frederick was right-Everett was already there. Frederick brought the tapes in, and they watched them together. They both laughed when Frederick got sick. Really, it was funny on the tape.
By the time Cameron and Morgan got there, it was getting dark. Frederick thought maybe the Bora had broken down, but Morgan got huffy about that and said that he had just gotten it back from the shop and it was running perfectly. They had hit a lot of traffic on the way in, Cameron explained, then said that the Bora was indeed running great. Morgan gave Cameron a dirty look, and that’s when Cameron told everyone that he had broken into Morgan’s place and ripped off the car. They had a good laugh over that.
Frederick and Everett got another laugh at Morgan’s expense, because he smelled like pee, and he kept trying to blame it on the prisoner. Frederick felt so sorry for him that after a while, he played the tape for him. Everybody got a kick out of that, too. It was just as funny the second time.
Cameron congratulated Frederick on doing the job just right and asked for his gun back. Frederick noticed that Morgan was looking unhappy again. He wondered what was eating him.
They sat around drinking toasts from a bottle of Dom Perignon Everett had opened, eating caviar, and hearing about how things had gone in Mexico. Morgan didn’t take more than a few sips of champagne. He said he needed to be sober to drive on Mulholland.
Finally, Everett said, “We’ll leave one of the vans here. I’ll ride in the other van with Cameron. Morgan, you take Frederick and follow us, all right?”
Morgan rarely let anyone other than Everett ride in the Bora, and Frederick could see it chapped him a little that Everett was going to ride in a van instead of with him, but he didn’t complain. He really was in a weird mood, Frederick thought.
He didn’t talk in the car. Frederick asked if they could roll the windows down, because, after all, there was this pee smell. Morgan wouldn’t even crack his open, but Frederick rolled his all the way down. It was noisy but worth it because it was a warm night, and the fresh air felt good. They were way up in the Santa Monica Mountains, past Seminole Hot Springs and still going. Frederick thought he knew the plan-they’d drive on Mulholland all the way back to Pacific Coast Highway, nearly to the Ventura County line, and then go back down the coast to Malibu. The air smelled great, and you could really see the stars. He was leaning his head out a little so that he could see them better, when Everett signaled them to pull into a turnout. Cameron and Everett got out of the van and walked back toward them.
Everett asked Frederick if he’d change places with him. Frederick had liked riding in the Bora, even with the smell, but he graciously got out of the car. Morgan was smiling as Everett got into the passenger seat.
Frederick wasn’t all the way to the van when he heard the shot. Cameron turned back toward the car, and Frederick followed him, although he had this sick feeling again. Everett stepped out of the Maserati, and Frederick moved faster. Cameron let him run past him.
“What happened?”
“Get in the car,” Everett said.
“What happened?” he asked again.
“‘What happened?’” Cameron mocked from behind him. “What happened is that this dumb ass left his DNA on the rope at the peninsula.”
Frederick felt all the blood drain from his face. He turned to Everett. “You shot him because of that? You’ve known him since high school! He’s on our team!”
“He lied to me, Frederick.”
“I don’t like this, Everett. I don’t like it. I’m not playing anymore.”
He suddenly felt the gun at his back. “It’s almost nine o’clock,” Cameron said. “Get in the car and turn on the news.”
He started crying, but of course they didn’t care. He tried not to look at Morgan as he got in the car. Cameron held the gun to his temple and made him turn the radio on. Frederick kept looking in the rearview mirror, hoping someone would drive by, would see them.
“Our top story this hour…Sources close to law enforcement say that a Malibu man, Frederick Whitfield IV, is being sought for questioning in the deaths of four criminals on the FBI’s Most Wanted list…”
He said, “I’m famous!”
Cameron pulled the trigger.
35
Manhattan Beach, California
Wednesday, May 21, 9:00 P.M.
“You’ve got everything?” John asked Chase, for at least the third time.
“Yes, sir,” Chase said.
“You could stay here tonight, if you’d rather. Alex won’t mind taking you back tomorrow. He’s going to have to be up there a lot this week, I imagine.”
“He’s right,” Alex said. “Want to stay?”
Chase hesitated, then shook his head. “They’re coming back early tomorrow. If I’m not home, my dad will be mad, and he’ll put me on restriction or tell me I can’t come here anymore.”
John sighed. “Probably right. But if you need us, you give a call, okay? I’ll come up there and talk to your dad about all of this as soon as I can drive again. Couple of weeks at most. Will you be able to hang tight until then?”
“I’ll be fine,” Chase said, and smiled, but Alex didn’t think it was a particularly convincing smile.
As he drove toward Sepulveda, he answered Chase’s questions about his day. He told him about the task force meeting-discussing the cases with the other investigators, assigning people to take on new areas of investigation, preparing for the press conference. He told him about the wallet and the milagros.
“Wow. So that was just like a gift from someone?”
“Sort of. In an investigation like this, you are always a little suspicious of gifts.”
His cell phone rang. “Brandon,” he answered.
“Alex? Dan Hogan.”
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
“We’ve got another one. Another two, actually, but only one of them has a number on him. How far are you from Del Aire?”
“You said Del Aire, not Bel Air, right?”
“Right. Near LAX.”
“Just a few minutes away, but I’ve got my nephew with me. I’m taking him home to Malibu. Then I was going to try to follow up on Whitfield.”
“I need you to stop by the scene as soon as you can. It’s indoors this time. Is the nephew old enough to wait in the car for a little while?”
“He’s fifteen.” He glanced over and saw Chase’s look of intent interest. “Yes, I suppose he could wait, but this doesn’t sound like a ‘little while’ kind of scene.”
“Maybe you can work something out with Ciara-”
“You’ve called her already?”
“No, is there a problem?”
He realized how close he had just come to causing her trouble. He said, “No, I just got back from giving her a lift to Long Beach, that’s all. Too bad we didn’t get the call half an hour ago.”
