The Blue Hour (7 page)

"And your neighbors
are supposed to be comforted by that?"

"I've never hurt them.
I haven't broken any law in seven years. I'm a good neighbor. A man with tits.
Just like you wanted me to be."

He saw his face again. It
was red and heated and looked like shame and anger put together. Sometimes he
just couldn't fake it.

Holtz: "Does that
piss you off, Moros? The breast enlargement?"

"Of course it
does, Al."

"Thank you for
the brutal honesty."

"How do
you
know how honest it is?" asked
Fontana.

Hole shook his head
sadly. "More pop, Moros?"

Colesceau unfurled from
the chair, accepted Holtz's glass and left the room. The sound of their lowered
voices followed him into the kitchen. He thought of the fog along the Olt and
how it hid your own thoughts and kept other voices from getting in. He poured
Holtz some more root beer and went back to the living room. With an almost
courtly movement he handed the PA the glass, then sat down again.

He could tell it was over.

Holtz: "That's really all I have for
Moros."

Fontana: "I'm
finished, too. Just one question, however. Mr. Colesceau, can you give me one
good reason why the people who live around here shouldn't know that you're a
twice-convicted sexual predator?"

He looked at her and brushed
the curl of hair off his forehead. "I can give you two. Number one, I am
sorry for the things of my past. And number two, I will never do anything wrong
again. I am a different man now."

By early morning the next day, both ATM searches had
come up empty. Hess wasn't surprised because this guy didn't seem to have money
on his mind. Other than the cash in the purses, which was gone of course. But
even that could be used to establish special circumstances for the death
penalty, if things got that far.

The soil percolation test
wasn't finished, so Hess helped Ike examine the antitheft systems of the Kane
and Jillson cars. In Janet Kane's car there was no alarm at all. A sticker on
the inside of each rear window proclaimed the car was protected by
"Electronic Engine Lock and Radio." All it meant was you couldn't
drive the car away without the key, or if you pulled out the radio it wouldn't
work again without entering a code. You could smash out a window and climb in
without setting anything off.

The Jillson Infiniti was
another story. It had a keyless entry and a loud horn that went off if the door
handles were pulled. The alarm worked well and hadn't been physically tampered
with, unless someone had taken the time to replace the cut wires, which would
have to be replaced or repaired before the ignition would work again. There was
no reason to do that, then abandon the car.

Ike held up a small
component bristling with pins and connectors. He was bright eyed and his thin
blond hair fell onto his forehead like a boy's. Hess wished he was Ike's age
again.

"This is the wiring
harness and the logic module from the Q, sir. There's a deactivate switch right
here—yellow wire to pin five. That's the positive input disarm wire for the
keyless entry. The brown pin is driver door, the gray is passenger doors, the
black is ground."

"And?"

"The unit is working
perfectly. Relays, switches, resistors, perfect. Which means a couple of
things. One, he could have gotten her key, opened the locks, then got it
back
to her before she got in her car.
Easy enough for a parking valet to do—but he wouldn't need a Slim Jim to get
in, then, so why the scratches on the windows? Good call on that, by the way.
It's low tech, so no one thinks of it anymore."

"I'm low tech,
too."

"I'm glad you are.
So, easy for a valet, but not so easy for anybody else. Or, he could have
bought a spare keyless unit to fit her car—but that means he'd have to have her
picked out way in advance. See, this system is awfully hard to beat. It's
designed to defeat the old code grabbers, keep them from grinding their own
keys from the vehicle identification or serial numbers. This has got rolling
codes that change every time the key is used. If he had his own keyless unit, I
don't understand why he would deactivate the alarm but not open the doors. I
don't understand why one and not the other."

Hess nodded and didn't
understand either. "Then he must not have had a keyless entry device. Not
one that was working."

Ike shrugged.
"Well, he didn't override the alarm mechanically—the good thieves can pop
the hood and cut the system before it sounds more than once or twice. They
usually work in pairs. But that's messy and there's no sign of forced entry at
all, other than the Slim Jim abrasions. This guy beat the alarm system
electronically, then used the Slim Jim. That would be his only chance, out in a
mall parking lot. People around, security. Two things cancel all
our bets, though: if she never turned on the security
system. Or if she knew him."

Hess sighed. His vision
blurred for just a second, then sharpened again. "Amazing what people
forget to do."

"Amen to
that."

Hess had already
cross-checked the Jillson and Kane lists. Both were still growing, but so far,
no friends in common. No shared business associates, retailers or service
companies except for gas and electric. They belonged to no common organizations
unless you counted the auto club, which had millions of members in the state.
But he understood that the observers of a person's life can be many and easily
overlooked. And that finding the shared point could be very difficult. He
needed to stand in the middle of Lael Jillson and Janet Kane's lives and look
out from there. See what he could see.

"We're looking,"
he said. "Could he make his own? Some kind of universal override device?
Something that would work on a lot of different makes and models?"

Ike's eyebrows and
shoulders raised and lowered. "The creeps are always finding a way. That's
what creeps do. You'd have to be pretty darned good with this kind of
stuff."

Ike set the module on the
floor, straightened and snapped his head left to get the hair off his face.
"I'll work the interiors again for the usual evidence, Lieutenant."

"Hit the space behind
the driver's seat extra hard." Yes, sir."

Hess looked at Janet
Kane's disassembled BMW.

"Lieutenant Hess? I
just want to wish you all the good luck in the world, with what you're going
through. It's good to have a low-tech guy around."

Hess smiled. The
chemotherapy made his lips feel too small and his teeth feel huge.

"Thanks, Ike.
It's good to be around."

• • •

He parked in front of
Janet Kane's Laguna Beach cottage. It was slat construction circa 1930 and
painted white with gray trim. There was a shaded front porch with beds of
flowers in front of it. Two adirondack chairs by the door. The garden hose was
coiled on a crank stand and ended with a sprinkler spiked into the ground. The
walkway across the lawn was bordered by river rocks with purple lobelia and
white alyssum sprouting up between them.

Hess took the two missing
persons files and got out. The air smelled of flowers. On the way up the steps
he stopped and looked down at the flower beds. They were dry and dying in the
warm August sun. He turned on the water and collected the mail before letting
himself into the house.

Inside he confronted the
personal surroundings of Janet Kane. Hardwood floors and pale green walk.
Rich-looking red French furniture with curvy legs, but not a lot of it.
Paintings, sculptures, stacks of art books on the shelves. A red plastic TV
with a seven-inch screen. The kitchen was small but light, with big squares of
alternating white-and-black tile, just like his. Hess noted that there was a
painting in the kitchen of her living room and a painting in the living room of
her kitchen. Her file said she was a sales representative for a New York
publisher of art books.

He pushed the message
button on her answering machine and turned up the volume all the way:

Janet,
this
is Dale. We just got a 1,500'copy order from
Borders for the Cezanne and a lot of that is thanks to you. Just wanted you to
be the first to know. See you at pre-sales.

It angered Hess that
whoever had taken Janet Kane out to the Ortega probably had no idea that she
was artistic and joyful and a little bit unconventional. He probably knew
nothing about her except the way she looked. He probably didn't know her name
until late in the process. Hess looked at her picture in a frame on the
bookshelf—Janet Kane and two girlfriends about her age standing three across at
a party of some kind. An art opening, Hess speculated, a reception. She was in
the middle. She would be the brave one of her group, Hess thought, the one
quick to laugh, chide, take a stand or

take a chance.

Hi,
Jan, this is Pete again. Just checking in. Hope
we're still on for dinner Friday. Looking forward to it. Keep in touch, now.

The bedroom smelled
of woman. It remained cool and i dark at the back of the house with the shades
drawn. Her bed was unmade and there was a coffee cup on the nightstand by the
clock. Something on the ceiling caught his eye. Hess turned on the light, then
turned it off. To the ceiling plaster Janet Kane had affixed luminescent stars
of plastic, the kind made for children's rooms. Children, he thought, or anyone
who had a sense of humor left.

Hi Candy Cane, this is Sue 'Happy, you home1 Pick up. Piiick uuup...
okay, look—let's have a late one at the Zoolo Cafe tonight.

I've got to tell you about last
Sunday and I want to hear about Pete the Peeve. Cheerio, ding-dong . . .

Hi,
Jan, this is Pete. It's Thursday and I know you're work' ing hard but give me a
call. I want to get Friday nailed down or not
—got
some things I'd like to talk
about. 'Bye for now.

Jan, Pete again. I'm at
555-4459
today. Later!

Rayborn had interviewed Pete
Carter. According to her notes he was saddened, shocked and not to be
suspected. He'd claimed to have been out in local bars the night she died and
Rayborn had already confirmed it. He was a popular guy— people here knew him.
Hess heard sincerity in his voice— maybe a little too much of it, maybe that's
why she hadn't called him back to begin with.

Hess turned on the light
again, then sat on the bed and looked through Janet Kane's mail. Bills. Junk.
Invites to art events. A card-sized envelope with a return address for "P.
Carter" scribbled on the back. He remembered from Rayborn's notes that
Kane's mother and father had arrived here the day after the missing person
report was filed by Kane's friend, Sue Herlihy. Kane owned the home. Hess wondered
idly if she was interstate but assumed that either way, her folks would be
around for a few more days.

A
pea-sized part of my brain says they still might
be alive.

Hess tried hard to think
of a way this might be possible. He couldn't reconcile the amount of blood he
saw under the oak tree with the continuation of human life. But maybe the crime
lab would come up with different results in the saturation test. The Jillson
site was too old for a reliable estimate. The Kane site would be their gold
standard.

Janet,
this is Sandy at Prima Printers. Your cards are finished and ready to be picked
up. Bye.

Janet
Kane1 This is Brian at Len's Wine Cite. The Brunello you liked came m today.
Steve said
it's
the best he's had. We'll hold a
case for you if you're still interested. Thanks.

Hess slid open the closet.
A soft puff of perfume and leather. Half her clothes were still wrapped in
plastic from the cleaners. Suits and trousers, dress blouses and casual ones.
Lots of blue jeans. Toward the back was a black leather bodice of some kind,
with big stainless zippers. There was a hanging shoe rack with each compartment
occupied. A hamper held the things you would wash at home. In the bathroom he
found her prescription medicine: an outdated antibiotic for cough and some
ointment for a rash. He looked in the shower at her soaps and hair care
products. Under the sink he found the bulk-sized bottles she refilled them
with. Frugal, he thought. Organized. Efficient. Good at living alone.

End of messages.

He found her banking
statements and canceled checks in a cardboard file in the spare bedroom. It was
more or less an office, with a bed for guests. Her checking account had just
over $3,000 in it. A savings account had $15,500 and her KEOGH was just over
$65,000. Doing all right, he thought, especially for thirty-two. Living well.
Drinking Brunello. Saving some. Friends. Good job. Going to the mall late for a
new CD and makeup remover.

He went through her
cleared checks and wrote down the names of the garage where she took her car,
all service people—hair stylist, landscape maintenance, plumber—and a few
others that caught his eye for reasons he neither understood nor questioned.