The Bricklayer - Boyd Noah - Страница 37

“First, hope he’s not at this address.”

“Why?”

“If he is running this operation, he’s smart enough to never have lived at an address listed on a state identification card. At least not since he’s been in the extortion business.”

The address was in Inglewood, and when they got there Kate pulled up under the shade of a tree a half block away. “Do you see what I see?” she asked.

Vail had already taken out the monocular and was examining the gold Honda in front of the address. “That looks like the same car.”

“I used to own the same model.”

“Congratulations on your good taste. I’m sure this guy steals only the most reliable means of getaway.”

“Does that mean he’s there?”

Vail picked up the radio mike. “Call Demick and have him get a phone number for the place while I run the plate.”

Kate got Tom Demick on the phone and gave him the address. He said he would call her right back. When she hung up, Vail was writing down the registration information from the radio operator. “Comes back to a fifteen-year-old Oldsmobile station wagon. Registered owner lives in L.A.”

“Which means the car and the plates are both stolen,” Kate said.

“But why leave it in front of an address that connects him to it?” Vail asked.

“Maybe he’s inside.”

“Hopefully we’ll find out as soon as we get that phone number.”

“Maybe—since you got Salton—he figured you were coming for him, so he just dumped it here and took off in his own car.” Her phone rang. It was Demick with the phone number. She wrote it down and, after hanging up, held it out to Vail.

“You call. A woman will be less suspicious if he answers.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Vail got a look of mischief on his face. “Since you can’t ask for him, ask for Steve. But you got to do it in a sexy voice if this is going to work. Let me hear you.”

Impishly, she shifted herself in the seat and, turning toward him, leaned in. In a throaty whisper, she said, “Hi…is Steeeve there?”

“Very nice, but you need to pucker your mouth a little more.”

“He can’t see my lips on the phone,” she said playfully.

“It’s called method acting.”

She leaned a couple of inches closer and puckered her lips. “Hello, I’m looking for big Steve Vail. Is he there, cowboy?”

Vail leaned back and closed his eyes. “Once more with more emphasis on ‘big.’”

She turned forward and dialed her phone. “If you want more, it’s twenty dollars a minute.”

She put it on speaker and Vail listened as the phone rang four times before a beep sounded to leave a message. She hung up. “Apparently nobody’s home.” Vail opened the car door. “Where are you going?” He went to the trunk and took out the pry bar, holding it up to her as an answer. “Dr. Halligan, I presume,” she said.

“Call me on my cell if anyone shows up.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Only if you promise to call me big Steve the whole time.”

“I hope he is in there, waiting for you.”

“Then how about ‘cowboy’?”

“And heavily armed.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Vail got back in the car. “Anything?” Kate asked.

“Not a thing. No furniture. There’s nothing touching the floor except a cell phone in a charger. It’s either a mail drop or safe house.” He punched 911 into his cell phone and, after identifying himself, requested that a marked car be sent to their location. “I got the VIN number. When they get here, we’ll have them run it and get it towed to where we can search it without being surprised.”

“Why don’t you have the office run it?”

“If Kaulcrick or the SAC hear that we’ve found a stolen gold Honda, our little clandestine operation will be over.”

“Which reminds me, while you were hunting-gathering, Kaulcrick called and left me a voice mail. They’re going to execute search warrants on Pendaran. He wants me there.”

“You want to go?”

“And what, ruin my career as a lookout?”

WHEN THE TWO Inglewood police officers arrived, Kate and Vail got out and flashed their credentials. “Thanks for coming out so fast,” Vail said, and handed the driver a slip of paper. “That’s the VIN on the Honda. Could you run it? We’re pretty sure it’s stolen.”

The driver had that threadbare look of an experienced cop. “FBI working stolen cars now?”

Vail smiled. “We think it’s tied to some homicides.”

“In Inglewood?” the cop asked.

“No.”

The cop gave him one last evaluative look and turned to his onboard computer, punching in the VIN number. Almost immediately, it came back as stolen. “Out of L.A.,” the cop said. “What do you want to do?”

“Any chance we could get it towed to someplace a little more private than this?”

The cop smiled. “Sure. We wouldn’t want anyone breaking into it. You know, illegally or anything.”

TWENTY

ARE WE GOING TO COMPLETELY PROCESS THIS CAR?” KATE ASKED AS she continued to drive, her eyes lazily following the towed vehicle in front of them.

“At this point, we’re just looking for leads to find Radek, so we’ll give it a quickie and then have Inglewood store it. There’s no immediate need to be concerned about trace evidence. At some point we’ll want ERT to give it a good going-over in case it was used to transport Bertok. But I’d be surprised if someone like Radek would be driving a car that had that kind of evidence in it.”

“So this little reconnaissance, it’s supposed to never have happened.”

In a soothing voice, Vail said, “You’re getting drowsy. Your eyelids are heavy.”

They pulled around behind the Inglewood Police Department, and the tow truck driver waved them into a parking space marked Visitor. Then he backed his truck into a large garage before unhooking the Honda. Vail took the Halligan bar out of his trunk, and he and Kate walked inside the building. The truck driver came up to them. “Do you need anything else?”

“Can you slim-jim the door for us?” Vail held up the pry bar. “I don’t want to use this unless I have to.”

“These newer models are a little more resistant, but I’ll get it open. The department mechanic’s off today, but he made this tool specially for these push-button door releases.”

Kate said, “If he gets the door open, you won’t need the Halligan. There’s a trunk release alongside the driver’s seat.”

The driver went to a workbench and came back with a thin steel rod that had a series of severe angles welded together smoothly. He inserted it between the door glass and the frame and then manipulated it while feeding more of it inside, making the tip change direction until it hovered over the door lock button. He carefully pulled it toward him a fraction of an inch, and the electric lock inside the door thumped open.

Vail pulled on a pair of evidence gloves. Carefully he leaned inside the vehicle, opening the console compartment without sitting in the driver’s seat. He could smell the vague odor of air freshener masking an odor of gasoline. “Do you smell gas?”

“We’re in a garage.”

“No, it’s definitely inside the car.”

“Is it important?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, I guess so. Do you want me to start dusting the outside?” Kate asked.

“Ah, no. Why don’t you hold off for a minute?”

“Something wrong?”

“In a minute.” Walking around to the other side of the car, he opened the passenger’s door. Across the carpeted mat on the floor he could see lines of recent vacuuming. The mats in the back were also freshly vacuumed. “This car is cleaner than when it was new.”

“Is that unusual? I thought a lot of ex-cons were neat freaks because of living in such a small space.”

Vail didn’t say anything but walked back around the car and leaned into the driver’s seat area again. Using a flashlight to check several locations where fingerprints couldn’t help but be left, he said, “There are no prints. Neat freak or not, this car has been dry-cleaned.”