ROBERT CRAIS
'Did Joe kill that man?'
'No.'
'Are you sure of that?'
'Yes. Yes, I'm sure.'
She nodded, but then her voice came small and from far away.
'I don't think I am. I think that he could've. Maybe I even think that he did.'
We stood without speaking for a time, and then I went into the living room and put on the radio. I did not return to the kitchen.
I sat on the couch, staring out at the darkening sky, and realized that where Joe Pike sat this night, he could only see walls.
I wondered what the killer could see.
Number six
The hot breeze carries the stink of the public rest room to where the killer hides in a stand of red oleander. Mac Arthur Park is quiet this time of night, a perfect time for hunting.
The killer is flush with excitement at how well things are going. The Task Force still has not connected the five homicides, Hollywood Division detectives have begun turning evidence in Edward Deege's murder, and killing Dersh has proven to be inspired.
Joe Pike is in jail, and will stay there for the rest of his life, until some rat-house lifer pushes a shank between his ribs.
And won't that be fitting.
The killer smiles, just thinking about it. The killer doesn't smile often, learning that trait from Pike, from having studied Pike for so long now, Pike, whom he hates more than any other. But this is a special time, and there is plenty of hate to go around.
Pike, in perfect control.
Pike, in absolute command.
Pike, who took everything from him, and then gave him purpose.
Payback is a motherfucker.
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The only possible fly in the ointment is this girl Trudy. The killer did what he could to protect himself from someone like her: He staked out Pike's home, making sure Pike was alone, waiting until the lights went out, then waiting longer still to be sure Pike was asleep before setting off to kill Dersh. The killer suspects that there is no Trudy, and that Pike is making it up, but he can't be sure, and thinks that he may have to find Trudy himself. He could run her name on the NCIC computers, and on VICAP through the FBI. And if someone beats him to her, well, he'll know as quickly as anyone. And deal with her then.
Still, the heavy lifting is done, and now all that remains is killing the rest of them, and ensuring with absolute certainty that Pike is convicted.
That means preparing for Pike's partner, Elvis Cole.
What a stupid name.
The killer is considering how he might deal with Cole when he hears Jesus Lorenzo approaching, and grips the .22 caliber pistol that he's taped into a plastic Clorox bottle. There is no mistaking Lorenzo. He is five feet ten, wearing red pumps with four-inch heels, a red satin micro-sheath, and a platinum wig. The killer has watched him cruise MacArthur Park on six separate nights at this time, waiting for this moment.
When Jesus Lorenzo disappears into the men's room, the killer steps out from the oleander and follows. No one else is around, no one is in the men's room. The killer knows this because he's been here for almost two hours.
The plan continues.
Payback, you motherfucker.
25
Lucy and I started the next day with a careful hesitancy that left me uncomfortable. Something new had been introduced to our relationship that neither of us knew how to approach. We had slept together, but we had not made love. Though she appeared to sleep, I think it was feigned. I wanted to speak with her about Joe. I wanted her to be all right with him, but didn't know if that was possible. By the time I decided to plunge in, she had to leave for work.
As she was walking out, she said, 'Are you going to see Joe today?'
'Yes. Probably later.'
'Would you give him my best?'
'Sure. You could come with me, see him yourself.'
'I have to get to work.'
'Okay. 1 know.'
'But maybe.'
'Luce?'
She looked at me.
'Whatever Joe is, that's what I am, too.'
She probably didn't want to hear that.
'I guess what bothers me is that you're not disturbed by these things. You accept them as ordinary, and things like this aren't ordinary.'
I didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound self-serving, so I didn't say anything.
Lucy pulled the door closed and went to work.
Another fine day in the City of Angels.
I wanted to call Charlie Bauman's secretary to tell her what 238
L.A. REQUIEM 239
I had already done, but she probably wasn't yet in the office. Charlie would tell her, but I wanted to tell her, too. I also wanted to contact both the FBI and the California State Sheriffs to access the data bank they keep on missing and runaway children. I wanted to see if I could get any hits on the first names, Trudy and Matt, and I also wanted to run the stolen vehicle reports for a black Dodge minivan. I decided to call Dolan first, and got Williams.
'Hey, Williams. Is Dolan there?'
'What's it to you?'
'I want to talk to her.'
'Haven't seen her. You wanna know what I heard Krantz say?'
'I'm not going to like this, am I?'
'Krantz says you were probably in on it with that bastard, Pike. He says if he can tie you into it, maybe you and Pike can do the IV tango together.' Williams chuckled when he said it.
'Hey, Williams.'
'What?'
'You're the whitest black man I ever met.'
'Fuck you, Cole.'
'You, too, Williams.'
I hung up, thinking that if the day got any better my cat would die.
I was on my way upstairs to take a shower when the doorbell rang. It was Samantha Dolan, looking hungover.
'I just called you.'
'Was I there?'
'You know what, Dolan? Today isn't a good day for humor.'
She walked in past me, again without being invited, and peeked into the kitchen. She was wearing a navy blazer over a plain white tee shirt and jeans, and oval Italian sunglasses. The shirt looked very white beneath the dark
