The Lost Witness (41 page)

Lena rolled behind the chair, keeping her eyes on the window behind them. When the two men reached the second floor, she didn’t recognize them. The only thing that clicked was that they
looked mean and angry. The only thing that mattered was that she knew that they were coming. She pulled the trigger on the .45 before they spotted her, felt the kick and heard the pistol roar.
Three quick shots. The glass shattered and began raining down on her. But she had hit her mark. She could see their bloody faces. She could see their bodies tumbling off the fire escape and heard
the thud when they hit the ground.

She turned, spotted Bloom crawling over the broken glass toward the window, and shouted at her to stay down. But the repeater was back—the shotgun on steroids—ripping away at the
chair and blowing out the lights. Rhodes signaled from the other side of the couch to hold her fire and take the shelling. After another barrage, the repeater shut down and the thunder faded
out.

Lena could hear them priming semiautomatics in the hall and laughing like devils. Then the front door burst open and two men entered the foyer. They stepped through the French doors, eyeing the
wreckage and searching for bodies in the darkness. And that’s when Rhodes reared up from behind the couch with everything his Glock had left. Thirteen rounds into the open targets. Thirteen
shots finding their mark.

Lena unloaded her clip, the .45 pounding. She could see the two men taking fire and shooting at the phantoms in the room. The shadows in the night. Remarkably, they were still laughing when
their pistols ran out. Still giddy until they finally dropped onto the floor. Then their bodies shuddered, their eyes blinked, and they lost their grip and passed into a sleep so dead, so silent
and still, the blood stopped flowing from their wounds.

Lena gazed out the front door into the hall. A man sat on the floor leaning against the wall. She noted the wounds in his chest and stomach, the splintered wood on his suit jacket. As her eyes
rose to his face, she realized that she knew him and that he carried a badge. The dead man had been Klinger’s young protege from Internal Affairs. The watcher, the listener—the one who
helped Klinger do the dirty work at her house.

“You okay?” Rhodes called out.

“Yeah.”

She stood up and looked over at Rhodes in the muted light feeding into the apartment. The air was thick with plaster dust and the strong smell of fresh gunpowder. As she dusted herself off, she
glanced at the two dead men on the floor but didn’t recognize their faces. When she turned to check on Bloom, her chest locked up.

Bloom wasn’t hiding behind the end of the couch. She wasn’t anywhere in the room.

Lena ran over to the window. The two guys she had shot through the glass were laid out on the ground, the fog sweeping over their dead bodies. Farther down the alley she could see a blur of
motion rounding the corner.

“She’s making a run for it.”

“We’ll cut her off,” Rhodes said.

They raced into the hall, hit the stairs two at a time, and ignored Jones screaming at them in the lobby. Bursting through the doors, they looked up the street through the swirling clouds. Lena
saw it and knew that Rhodes did too—Dobbs shoving Bloom into the Audi and jumping into the passenger seat, Ragetti throwing his gun on the dash and pulling out.

T
hey were heading east on Westchester Parkway.
Visibility was less than two car lengths through the murk, and the wipers
on the Crown Vic were unable to sweep the ice-cold steam off the glass. All Lena could see through the windshield were the Audi’s taillights burning through the fog, then vanishing again.
Rhodes pushed forward, concentrating on the road with both hands on the wheel. Every once in a while he would check the rearview mirror, hold the glance, then look back at the road.

“Who was in the Lincoln?” he said finally.

She turned and noticed that his eyes were fixed on the mirror again. When she gazed out the rear window, she understood why. The Lincoln was behind them, cruising eerily through the night with
its headlights off.

“How long have they been back there?” she asked.

“Ever since we left Navy Street. Who’s in the car?”

“Chief Logan,” she said.

Rhodes opened the glove compartment and reached for his emergency pack of cigarettes. When he offered her one, she shook it off and watched him light up.

“Who else?” he asked.

“Somebody I didn’t recognize. Probably another empty suit from Internal Affairs.”

“Anyone else?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Barrera. He’s driving the car.”

It hung there for three or four beats. Out in the open and sharp as broken glass. Rhodes cracked the window, working his smoke and thinking it over.

“And you thought what?” he asked.

“That this is a guerilla war and I can’t tell who my friends are anymore.”

“They don’t call them guerillas these days, Lena. They’re insurgents.”

“Okay, then we’ve got two traitors with a hostage in front of us, and three insurgents behind us. If we try to shake the insurgents off our tail, we lose the traitors and the
hostage. Does that sound any better?”

Rhodes looked at her and grinned. “Maybe we’ll get a drink later. Kick back and relax. I know a good bar down this way.”

The taillights broke through the fog bank, too bright and too close. Rhodes slowed down and got rid of the cigarette. They were passing signs for the Hollywood Park Casino and Race Track. The
Avenue of Champions was lost in the mist just ahead. Lena suddenly thought she knew where Dobbs and Ragetti were taking Jennifer Bloom. When they made a right turn heading south, it became
obvious.

The Cock-a-doodle-do was just two miles down the road.

“You see where they’re going?” she said.

Rhodes nodded. “The parking lot sweeps down from the building and sits against the 105 Freeway. Prairie runs over both. Across the street I remember seeing a vacant lot. I think we should
park there and come in from the back on foot.”

Lena agreed. They had just reached the overpass and she could see the neon rooster glowing through the haze. As the building began to break through, she realized that the windows were dark, the
parking lot underneath, empty. It was a Thursday night and the place looked like it had been shut down. Rhodes checked the mirror again. When Lena turned, she saw the Lincoln lose air speed and
fade back until it disappeared.

Rhodes didn’t say anything, but appeared shaken by the image. Easing into the right lane, he let the Audi pull to the end of the lane divider and made his turn. The empty lot sat beside
the building on the corner. Rhodes waited at the curb with the lights out until the Audi made its U-turn and doubled back. Once he saw the car pull into the lot at the Cock-a-doodle-do, he hit the
gas and parked behind the building.

Lena climbed out and drew her pistol. Rhodes did the same and they moved swiftly and silently through the vacant lot. The traffic on the freeway was so light, Lena wondered if it hadn’t
been shut down. She could see the pillars rising out of the mist at the back of the lot, the Prairie Avenue overpass clutching the clouds and holding them to the ground. As they approached, she saw
the vapor in the air wash with bright light and realized that the Audi had driven off the parking lot at the Cock-a-doodle-do and was headed their way. Even worse, she could see a large object
beneath the overpass. Something long and dark. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the shape took on more definition.

Dean Tremell’s limo was parked in the grass beneath the overpass.

She grabbed Rhodes and pulled him behind the first column. Tremell was there with his driver. She could see his son leaning against the hood with Klinger. The fact that it looked like a drug
deal seemed only fitting for the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. But Lena knew exactly what was going on. Tremell was buying Jennifer Bloom. And Dobbs and Ragetti were making the delivery. The old
man needed to talk to Bloom and find out who she may have spoken with. The interview would occur here because this was where he wanted the body found when he was through.

Lena felt the adrenaline spiking through her chest. She watched Klinger wave the Audi down the hill as he walked back toward the parking lot at the Cock-a-doodle-do. The clouds lit up with the
approaching headlights. Lena moved to the other side of the column, watching Dobbs drag Bloom out of the car and throw her onto the ground. Bloom screamed, but it was pointless. And after a short
time, she seemed to realize it herself and quieted down.

Ragetti switched off his headlights and the darkness returned. Then he walked over to Dean Tremell and shook his hand.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Rhodes whispered.

“No.”

“I don’t see Cava. Where is he?”

“Paradise,” she said.

The two men were walking around the limo. When they reached the trunk, the lid popped up and Lena could see a duffel bag inside. Tremell unzipped it and pulled the bag open. Then Ragetti moved
closer and examined the contents. In spite of the distance, in spite of the murk, Lena knew that Ragetti was counting his money. And from the size of the duffel bag, there was a lot to count. But
in the end, it didn’t really matter. Nothing did as Lena felt someone press a pistol against the back of her head and the world stopped.

“Breath too hard and you’re both dead.”

It was Klinger’s voice. Soft and low and rising out of the darkness behind them. He must have spotted them early, circling his way back to the Cock-a-doodle-do, crossing Prairie Avenue,
and following them into the vacant lot.

“Drop your guns,” he said. “Slow and easy.”

Klinger pushed Lena’s head into the concrete. She met Rhodes’s eyes. When she heard his Glock hit the ground, she dropped her .45. Then Klinger picked them up and jammed them
underneath his belt. He raised his gun and took a step back.

“Turn around,” he said.

Lena gave him a hard look. His cheek was still bruised from the beating Rhodes had given him the other night. And he had a crazy glint in his eye—a vicious glow about his face that she had
never seen before. Lena realized that his mask was finally off. He was out in the open and all amped up.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Down the hill like Jack and Jill.”

He flicked his gun to the left, clenching his teeth and ushering them toward the limo. Ragetti stopped counting his money. Dobbs pushed Bloom away, switched on a flashlight, and drew his gun.
Justin Tremell kept his eyes on his father. And the old man just stood there in the mist with his hands in his pockets.

Lena took it in, then turned to Tremell and sized the man up. It was too fucking late to be scared.

“Buying something?” she asked.

“You might say that, yes.”

“Is it really worth it?”

“With what’s at stake, Detective, I’d call it a bargain.”

She glanced at Dobbs with the girl, then Ragetti with the cash. Two bruisers who couldn’t make the grade.

“These guys are bottom feeders,” she said to Tremell. “How much are you paying them?”

Dobbs laughed. “The cunt’s got a mouth on her, huh.”

“Shut up,” Rhodes said.

Tremell raised his hand for silence and seemed amused. “One million dollars.”

“Tax free?” Lena asked.

He thought it over and grinned. “I guess that’s up to them. They’re freelance.”

Lena looked at Jennifer Bloom, then turned back. “When did you know?”

“When did I know what?” Tremell asked.

“That you killed the wrong one. That you murdered her friend.”

“But I’m a businessman, Detective. I haven’t killed anyone.”

Lena’s eyes flicked across the way and found Justin Tremell in the gloom. He was still staring at his father. From the look on his grizzled face, he didn’t want to be here. She
thought about what Cava had told her on the phone. The kid had been used as bait and didn’t know about the murder. But that was more than a week ago and now he did. Now he seemed repulsed by
his father’s shadow and wanted out.

Lena turned back to the old man and rephrased the question.

“When did you know who she was?”

“Early,” Tremell said.

“How early?”

“The night you met the reporter at that café. Sunday, wasn’t it? Ramira spent the afternoon on the phone. He figured it out. My friends were listening. I’m surprised
that he didn’t say anything to you.”

She thought it over. Thought about Denny Ramira, what he knew and the reasons he may have had for not telling her. And she finally understood why they had wired up her house even though she
spent so little time there. It was all about who talked to whom. It was all about covering the odds. Everybody’s house had been wired.

Tremell cleared his throat. “I enjoyed our lunch, Detective. You’re an attractive woman. I only wish that you had the brains to go with it. I believe they call it the total package.
I wish that you could have seen the situation for what it truly was. I wish that you would’ve agreed to work with us. Believe me, I take no pleasure in what’s about to
happen.”

“But you’re wrong, Tremell. I see it exactly the way it is. You kill people, and you’re in it for the money. Little kids or anyone else who gets in your way. You’re no
better than any other drug dealer.”

Tremell’s smile faded into a grimace. When he looked past her at Klinger and spoke, his voice shook.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “And we need to finish our business, Ken. Take them up the hill and earn your bonus.” Then he turned to Bloom. “Get in the limo,
Jennifer. I’d like to have a word with you.”

Lena felt Klinger jab his gun into her side, and they started walking. Not toward the vacant lot, but underneath the overpass toward the Cock-a-doodle-do. She could see his Caprice on the
hilltop. It looked like he wanted to earn his bonus in the parking lot. Like the last thing she would see before she hit the void was that stupid neon rooster glowing in the fog.

She glanced over at Rhodes. Klinger was playing it smart and keeping his distance. They didn’t have a move. Rhodes shrugged his shoulders and shot Klinger a look.