The Watchman (26 page)

“If Meesh is dead, why haven’t you closed the warrant for his arrest?”

“The DEA. We knew Meesh was down there through under-cover agents in Lehder’s operation. If we tagged the file with a note about Meesh’s death, or named Lehder as a known associate, those agents would be compromised. Also, you can’t confirm a death without a death certificate, and we’re not likely to get one.”

“Why is that?”

“Lehder found out Meesh was lying to him about how much dope the Venezuelans were going to sell. Meesh was lying about it so he could steal the difference for himself. Lehder found out, he played like he didn’t know and sent Meesh up to Venezuela to pick up the dope along with three or four of his boys. Only Lehder’s boys shot Meesh to death in the jungle. It’s a big jungle. His remains were never recovered and aren’t likely to be.”

“Then how can you be sure he’s dead? Maybe he escaped or survived. Maybe he bought off Lehder’s men.”

“DEA and Colombian UC agents were present when Lehder’s boys got back. They brought Meesh’s head so Lehder could see. Left the body, but brought back the head. Both agents were standing there with Lehder when these boys pulled the head out of a bag. Lehder says, Good work, fellas, and that was that.”

Cole didn’t know what to say. But then Willis went on.

“At the time, we all believed Lehder really had sent Meesh up there to bring back the dope. We expected Meesh to come tooling back with a couple hundred kilos of raw cocaine, so the DEA and the Colombians planned to arrest them. They didn’t care about Meesh, but they wanted Lehder. I wanted Meesh for the murders up here, so they let me tag along. I was with’m in that room, Detective, I saw the head. Without the drugs present, the Colombians waved off the bust. They didn’t even wanna try busting the fucker for killin’ Meesh, so I hadda sit there and drink tea for another hour, makin’ like nothing was wrong. I still don’t know what Lehder’s boys did with the head, but I saw it. I recognized him. It was Meesh. So whoever you got there in L.A., he’s not Alexander Meesh.”

Cole felt hollow, with a faraway buzz in his head like he had gone too long without eating.

“Can I ask one more question, Mr. Willis?”

“Kinda takes your breath away, don’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your question?”

“Did Meesh have a speech impediment or maybe speak with an accent?”

Willis laughed.

“Why would he have a damned accent?”

“Thanks, Mr. Willis. I appreciate your time.”

Cole put his feet up, leaned back, and stared at the Pinocchio clock. The only sound in his office was the tocking of its eyes.

The call to Willis should have been simple. Cole went into it hoping to learn something about Meesh’s connection to Barone, and Barone’s connections to Los Angeles, and maybe even whether or not Meesh spoke with an accent—but not this.

Is this the man you saw, Ms. Barkley?

Yes. Who is he?

His name is Alexander Meesh.

Cole stared at the Pinocchio clock, then a small ceramic figurine of Jiminy Cricket a client had given him. Let your conscience be your guide. Everyone needed a Jiminy.

He flipped through the NCIC brief, which did not contain fingerprints or photographs or DNA markers. Why would you need those things if you believed what you were told?

PIKE DROVE slowly when they left the warehouse. He rolled the windows down so the air would wash them, and took a long, meandering route through Chinatown, driving for more than an hour. They hadn’t eaten breakfast, but she wasn’t hungry. He stopped anyway and picked up Chinese for later. Pike hoped the drive and the air would help her leave the bodies, but the first thing she did when they got to the house was go to the table with his gun-cleaning things. She poured powder solvent onto the cotton cloth and pressed it to her nose like a huffer sniffing paint.

She said, “I can still smell them. They’re in my hair. They’re all over me.”

The Kings.

He took the cloth from her.

“Take a shower and brush your teeth. Put on fresh clothes. I’ll clean up after you.”

Pike phoned Bud while she was in the shower, but Bud didn’t answer. Pike considered leaving a message, but a message might be discovered by someone else, so he decided to call again later.

When the girl returned with new clothes and wet hair, Pike took care of himself. He scrubbed hard, massaging the soap in deep, then rinsed and washed again, running the hot water until none was left. When he finished, he wet his clothes, rubbed in the soap, then left them soaking in the tub. He would have washed the girl’s clothes, too, but they were fancy. He didn’t want to ruin them.

Pike dressed in his last set of clean clothes, then stepped out of the bathroom to find Cole and Larkin in the living room. Cole was holding a manila envelope.

“I missed you guys so much I had to come back.”

Larkin said, “He just walked in. He says he can still smell them, too.”

Pike knew something was wrong. The tension in Cole’s body was as obvious as a corpse hanging from the ceiling. Cole was pretending to be fine for the girl.

Pike said, “What’s up?”

“Got something here to show Larkin. Let’s take a look.”

Pike followed them to the table, where Cole opened the envelope. He put two grainy photographs that looked as if they had been run through a fax machine on the table. They were booking photos showing a dark-haired man with a round face, pocks on his nose, and small eyes. Cole stepped back so Larkin could get a good look, but Pike watched Cole.

“What do you think? Ever seen this guy?”

Conversational with a no-big-deal nonchalance. Would you like fries with that, ma’am?

“Uh-uh. Who is he?”

“Alexander Meesh.”

Larkin shook her head as if Cole had made an innocent mistake.

“No, this isn’t Meesh.”

“It’s Meesh. He was murdered in Colombia five years ago. These are his booking photos from the Denver Police Department.”

Pike put his hand on her shoulder. He felt the tension in her trapezius muscle. She didn’t want to believe it.

“Well, maybe he had plastic surgery. That’s possible, isn’t it? Don’t criminals do that?”

Cole shook his head.

“Larkin, I’m sorry. This is Meesh. The record Pitman gave you, it’s Meesh’s record, but the man you saw with the Kings wasn’t Meesh.”

“Then who was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would they tell me he was
this
guy?”

Pike said, “Same reason they lied about everything else.”

Cole looked at Pike.

“Better talk to your friend Bud. See what else they’ve been lying about.”

Larkin suddenly stiffened under Pike’s hand.

“Ohmigod, we have to tell my father.”

Pike hesitated. Whatever Pitman was doing, they had an advantage so long as Pitman didn’t know they were onto him. Pike didn’t trust Conner Barkley and his lawyers not to give them away.

“We can’t tell your father. Not yet.”

Larkin went rigid and flushed.

“I can’t not tell him! These people have lied about everything, and now Meesh isn’t even Meesh! Who is he? Why are they lying?”

“Larkin—”

She grabbed his shirt.

“They’re lying to him, too, and he still believes them! He’s my father. If you won’t tell him, I’ll tell him myself!”

Pike studied her, seeing both fear and hope in her eyes. Conner Barkley was her father. She wanted to protect him. And maybe by protecting him, he might finally see her.

Pike took out his phone and punched in Bud’s number. This time Bud answered. Pike told Bud they needed to see him and the girl’s father as soon as possible. It was serious, Pike told him. Pike set the location, then ended the call before Bud could ask questions. When he lowered the phone, the girl squeezed his arm. She was calmer by then, though not particularly happy. Pike couldn’t blame her.

Cole said, “When we were at the warehouse—”

Pike waited.

“I’m glad you didn’t tell her things couldn’t get worse.”

Pike looked at the girl.

“Get your stuff. Let’s go.”

THE WAR in California between Mexico and the United States had ended in Universal City. Far from the skirmishes still being waged near Mexico City and the Texas border, the treaty to end local hostilities was signed in a small adobe mission known as Campo de Cahuenga at the top of the Cahuenga Pass. The mission was preserved, but it now stood invisible and unnoticed across the street from Universal Studios, hidden in plain sight by freeway ramps, parking lots, and two strange towers marking the entrance to an underground subway station. It was a good place to meet.

Pike and the girl were waiting with the engine running when the black Hummer turned in from Lankershim.

The Hummer made its way past the mission, then through the parking lot. The doors opened the moment it stopped, and Bud, Conner Barkley, and Barkley’s lawyer, Gordon Kline, stepped out. Pike wasn’t pleased to see Kline.

Pike said, “Let’s do it.”

They got out as Bud and the others came to meet them.

Her father said, “Larkin, it’s about time—we’ve been worried sick. Let’s get you out of here.”

Larkin didn’t move.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her father seemed flustered, as if he feared she was about to explode.

“But you have to come home. We were so worried.”

He looked at Kline.

“Tell her, Gordon. Tell her to stop this.”

Pike was already tired of them. He faced Bud and spoke only for him.

“Pitman hasn’t been straight. The man he named as Alexander Meesh is not Meesh. Meesh died five years ago.”

Gordon Kline threw up his hands. Pike had seen plenty of that when he was a cop. Courtroom Theatrics 101.

“We’re not going to listen to this. I will have you prosecuted for kidnapping. I knew you were a lunatic the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Larkin raised her voice, and now it had a hard, angry edge.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Barkley was still looking at Kline. Larkin grabbed her father’s arm.

“Will you
listen
to me? Will you please just
look
at me and
listen
? We came here to
warn
you.”

Conner Barkley looked pained.

“Don’t be like that, Larkin. Everyone’s worried.”

Kline said, “We’re bringing you home—”

He reached for her, but Pike caught his hand and rolled it. Kline jumped back.

“You sonofabitch! Flynn! Do something—”

“He could have ripped it out by the root, Gordon. Let’s see what they have.”

Pike took the faxed booking photo from his pocket and gave it to Flynn.

“This is Meesh. This is not the man in the pictures Pitman showed Larkin.”

Kline and Barkley both peered over Flynn’s shoulder to see. Barkley seemed uncertain, but Kline was impatient and stepped away.

“No, it isn’t, but so what? For all we know, you made this yourself.”

Bud slowly looked at him.

“But why would he do that?”

“To milk us for more money.”

Larkin was focused on her father.

“This isn’t the man in their pictures. They told us that man was Alexander Meesh, but he isn’t. They lied to us, Daddy.”

Daddy. It didn’t seem like a word she would use. Pike liked her for it, but her using it left him sad.

Kline took a breath, then softened his voice.

“We all saw those pictures, and I agree with you—the man in those pictures was not this man. But you’re making it sound as if they misled us. Two people can have the same name.”

Bud glanced through the attached pages.

“Same name, maybe, but not identical arrest records. This record matches what Pitman gave me when I came onboard.”

Gordon raised his eyebrows.

“Really? Then here’s what we need to do—we need to cut Pike loose here and now. Pike has to go. We need to get Larkin home and then we can ask Mr. Pitman. Believe me—I have plenty of questions.
Believe
me—if I don’t like the answers, he’ll regret the day he was born.”

Conner’s head bounced up and down as if all of this was the best idea he ever heard.

“Why don’t we go home, sweetie? We’ll see what this man Pitman says after we get you home.”

“I’m not going home.”

Kline stared at the ground as if he couldn’t believe the trouble she was causing.

“Flynn. Would you please put her in the car?”

“No, sir. Not unless it’s voluntary.”

Pike said, “She isn’t safe at home, Kline. Don’t you get that?”

Gordon Kline gazed up at Pike from beneath bushy eyebrows, and his voice was still carefully soft.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

Pike’s mouth twitched, but he watched Conner Barkley. Barkley did not react, and Pike felt even more sad for the girl.

Larkin said, “Fuck you, Gordon.”

“This is obstructing justice. You’re a witness in a federal investigation. This man, Pike, he’s putting you in dangerous situations—”

“This
is
a dangerous situation.”

“—and he’s alienating the people trying to help you. All I’m suggesting is maybe Pitman has a good reason for doing what he’s doing. We’ll ask him, and he’d damn well better explain.”

Pike said, “Ask him why he pretended he didn’t know who was with the Kings the night Larkin hit them.”

“Are you saying he knew?”

“He was flashing pictures of the man the day after the accident—two days before he approached Larkin. Ask him why the man he claims to be Meesh is still trying to kill Larkin even though the Kings are dead.”

Kline glanced at Conner Barkley, then shook his head.

“I spoke with Agent Pitman this morning. He said they were still looking for the Kings.”

“They’ve been dead more than a week. We just found them.”

“I don’t understand.”

Larkin said, “We found them—as in, we looked, and we found them. Someone put their bodies exactly where I had my accident, Gordon. Would you like the address? 18185. I think it was a message. That I’m going to join them.”