The Promise: An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel (15 page)

Scott James

S
COTT BOUGHT
a 1981 Trans Am two-door sport coupe as a project car, but the project languished once he was shot. The interior was tattered, the right rear fender was dented, and rust pimpled the paint, but it ran well enough, and he didn’t worry about Maggie ruining the seats. They were already split.

With his K-9 vehicle in the hands of SID, Scott drove the Trans Am to see Cole. Maggie rode in front, straddling the console and blocking his view. The Platoon required their K-9 service dogs to be transported in a secured crate, but Maggie had perched on the console since their first day together. Scott had tried to make her ride in the back, but she seemed happier in front. Scott reasoned she had ridden this way with the Marines, so he gave in and let her. He had to push her out of the way to see and to shift, but Scott didn’t mind. When he pushed, she pushed back. He liked that about her.

Scott didn’t need to check the address when he reached Elvis
Cole’s home high in the canyon. Cole and two men watched him pull up from a deck off the back of the house. Scott didn’t expect Cole to have company.

“Could our luck be any worse?”

Maggie panted hot breath on his neck.

A red Jeep Cherokee and a black Range Rover were parked in front of Cole’s house. Scott’s first impulse was to keep driving, but racing away probably wouldn’t inspire Cole to cooperate.

Scott parked in plain view by a gnarled podocarpus tree, nose to nose with the Jeep. He tucked the suspect sketch into his pocket, got out, and went to the edge of the slope. Cole and his buddies were watching him like three crows on a fence. A rumpled black cat with a crooked ear was watching him, too. The cat’s eyes were hateful.

Cole raised his hands.

“If this is a raid I give up.”

“Scott James, Mr. Cole. Remember me?”

“I do. Thanks again for not shooting.”

Cole looked as if he had been exercising, but his friends were neatly dressed. The taller man wore sunglasses and a sleeveless gray sweatshirt, exposing red arrows tattooed on his arms. The shorter was a gel-spiked blond about Cole’s size, wearing desert utility pants and a black knit shirt tight across his chest and biceps.

“I’d like to talk to you about the other night. Could I have a minute, just you and me? Without your friends.”

The blond made a smirky grin.

“Who said we’re friends?”

Cole ignored the man’s comment.

“Carter and Stiles talked to me yesterday, Officer. I’m a suspect. You shouldn’t be here.”

Cole was clear-eyed and direct, same as the first time they met.

“I know what Carter thinks, and I don’t agree. Can we talk? Carter doesn’t know I’m here.”

The blond man laughed.

“And on that point, you would be wrong.”

The blond had an edge Scott didn’t like.

“On that point, this is between me and Mr. Cole.”

Cole pointed at the hills behind his home.

“Carter has a surveillance team watching me. They can see you.”

Scott fought the urge to look. He suspected Cole was jerking his chain, but still tried to make himself smaller so the podocarpus would hide him. The man with the arrows read his mind.

“They have a clean sight line. The tree won’t help.”

Scott felt a flush of guilt and anger, but if he’d screwed himself, he might as well keep going.

“I still need to talk. The man you chased is trying to kill me. He put a bomb on my car.”

Cole darkened, and the blond stopped smiling. The change in their body language was obvious. Scott felt a rush of hope, and pushed forward.

“The device was made with a plastic explosive, similar to what we found in Echo Park. It was sophisticated. The person who built it knew what he was doing.”

The blond glanced at Cole, and Cole moved to the rail.

“I’d invite you in, but it wouldn’t look good. We’ll come out.”

Cole and his friends disappeared into the house.

Scott let Maggie out, and clipped her lead. She parked herself by his left foot, happy to be out of the car, but her ears spiked when Cole and his friends came out the front door.

“Settle, girl. Easy.”

Then Cole’s cat growled, and drew Scott’s attention. It was
creeping sideways along the edge of the deck, glaring at Maggie. Its back was arched, its fur stood on end, and its eyes were nasty slits. Maggie fidgeted but held her stay.

Cole shouted, as if this kind of thing happened every day.

“Stop it!”

The cat leaped from the deck, charged toward Maggie, then jammed on the brakes and spun sideways again, howling as if it had rabies. Scott tightened Maggie’s lead.

Cole clapped his hands, and shouted even louder.

“Get out of here! Go!”

The cat spit, jumped sideways, and scrambled up the podocarpus. The howling continued high in the leaves. Maggie swiveled her head, trying to see.

“What’s wrong with your cat?”

“Forget the cat. Who’s the man I chased?”

Cole’s interest was a tell. He wasn’t expressing casual curiosity. He was all business, and carried himself like a man with a need to know. Scott didn’t like the way Cole’s friends were staring, like a couple of lions waiting to pounce.

“I’d rather speak alone.”

“We’re good.”

Cole tipped his head toward the man with the arrows and the blond.

“Joe Pike. Jon Stone. Who is he?”

“I’m hoping you know.”

Scott unfolded the sketch and gave it to Cole. Pike and the blond leaned close, bracketing Cole like a couple of bookends. Cole studied the sketch, and offered it back, but Scott didn’t take it.

“Sorry. Don’t have a clue.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you know more than you’re telling.”

The blond took the sketch and studied it.

“This the arms dealer?”

“I don’t know what he is. He was in the house. I spoke to him.”

“Have an accent?”

Scott found this an odd question, and wondered why the blond asked.

“No. But we spoke, and the next day the bomb’s on my car. If it wasn’t for my dog, I’d be dead.”

The blond glanced at Maggie.

“No shit? This dog?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a bomb dog?”

“She was with the Marines before we got her. Explosives and patrol.”

Pike came to life, and circled to the side. The blond smiled, still staring at Maggie.

“War dog! Man, these dogs saved my ass too many times to count.”

Pike moved closer, and studied her scars.

“IED?”

“She was shot.”

Pike offered the back of his hand. Maggie sniffed, and wagged her tail.

“Welcome home, Marine.”

The blond laughed.

“Semper jarheads.”

Something passed between the two men, but Scott didn’t care. Cole had come out to talk, but hadn’t said anything useful. Scott pointed at the sketch.

“I was as close to him as I am to you, and now he’s trying to kill me. If you know anything that can help find him, I need to know.”

Cole seemed uncomfortable.

“Hasn’t Carter come up with anything?”

“Carter’s wasting time on you. I don’t have time to waste.”

Cole concentrated on the sketch and seemed to be thinking. Scott thought he was going to open up, but he turned to the ridge.

“They’ll take your picture. They’ll use a long lens, and they’ll get clean shots. What you do is, call Carter. Call him before he calls you. Tell him you were here. Say you thought you could get me to cooperate. He’ll be angry, but he might cut you some slack.”

Scott felt like Wile E. Coyote, as if he had run off a cliff into the air, in that terrible moment when he realized nothing was holding him up.

“That’s all you have to say?”

Cole stared at the ridge as if trying to see something too far away. Scott was about to tell him to go to hell when Cole turned.

“If I helped you, I’d need your help in return.”

The blond burst out laughing, but Pike stood like a statue.

“What are you talking about?”

“You came here for help, didn’t you?”

“You’re not hearing me. You’ve been arrested four times, Carter suspects you, and I think you know something. You seem like a good guy, so talk to me. Tell me what you know.”

Cole held up the sketch.

“I’m a detective. I can probably find him.”

“I didn’t come here to hire you.”

“I’m not offering to be hired. I’m offering to help, but you’re going to have to help me help you.”

The blond flashed a grin filled with predator teeth.

“What could it hurt? He’s the World’s Greatest Detective.”

Scott tried to read Cole’s face. The man seemed guarded, but something about him felt true, and authentic.

“Think about it. Got a pen? I’ll give you my number.”

Scott felt uneasy, but he took out an LAPD business card and copied Cole’s number.

Cole said, “Don’t forget to call Carter. Calling him before he calls you is important. It’ll look like you weren’t going behind his back.”

Scott glanced at the ridge.

“Are you sure they’re watching?”

The blond laughed again.

“They’re always watching.”

Cole went back into his house, and his friends went with him. Scott watched them, wondering what to do. Cole’s crazy cat howled somewhere up in the tree. It was a terrible, savage sound.

Scott opened the Trans Am, let Maggie in, and drove slowly away. He tried to decide if Cole was for real, and if he could help. When Scott finally remembered Cole’s advice to call Carter, he was too late. Carter called first.

C
ARTER STOOD
when the Special Operations Bureau commander entered the room. Scott was already on his feet, and Maggie was standing beside him. Carter’s face was blotchy with anger.

“Commander.”

Commander Mike Ignacio had small eyes, a thin nose, and a wide mouth. Though K-9 Platoon was part of Metro Division and Carter was in Major Crimes Division, both fell under the command and control of the CTSOB, the Counter-Terrorism and Special Operations Bureau. As one of the Bureau’s assistant commanding officers, Ignacio oversaw these two divisions and three others. He spoke fast, and moved like a man with too many balls in the air. Scott had added another.

“Why is the K-9 here?”

“She’s mine, sir. SID has my K-9 vehicle. My personal car isn’t equipped to—”

Ignacio cut him off.

“You could have left her with the Platoon.”

“Didn’t have time, sir. Detective Carter wanted to see me right away.”

“Got it. Fine.”

Ignacio glanced at Carter and leaned against the wall. They were back in the conference room, which Carter now used as the task force headquarters. The table was spread with papers, binders, and two computers. Carter’s tie was loose, and his skin had the dull sheen of a man who needed a shower.

Ignacio smiled at Scott.

“You trying to ruin my day, Officer?”

“I didn’t know Cole was being watched, and no one told me to stay away. I was trying to help.”

Ignacio glanced at Carter again.

“So what do you want, Brad? You filing a personnel complaint?”

“I want to make sure nothing like this happens again.”

“I can guarantee it won’t happen again. Here’s what I want. I’d like to get this squared away so I don’t have to ring up Metro, and drop a shit bomb on this officer. Sound good?”

Ignacio didn’t wait for an answer.

“Russ? Concerns?”

Scott hadn’t been introduced when Mitchell arrived, but Scott knew who he was from listening. Russ Mitchell was a Homeland Security agent working with Carter and Stiles.

“I have a few questions. Maybe some good comes from his little adventure.”

Carter said, “Wouldn’t that be a nice change?”

Carter rubbed Scott the wrong way with every word out of his mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to screw up your investigation.”

Stiles went to the door. A hard-looking detective with a computer tablet came in. Stiles introduced him as Warren Hollis, one of the task force detectives.

Carter flicked his hand toward Scott.

“Show him.”

Hollis held the tablet so Scott could see a photograph of Cole, Pike, and Jon Stone on Cole’s deck. Scott saw himself in the background, at the top of the slope.

Cole had been right. The surveillance team had been watching, and texted his picture to the task force.

Carter said, “You want to help, help. Besides yourself, you recognize the men in this picture?”

“Yes.”

Hollis said, “We know Cole and Pike. Who’s the blond?”

“Jon Stone. That’s all I know about him.”

Hollis glanced at Carter, and referred to a note page.

“I can’t confirm the name. Drives a black Range Rover. Registered and titled to a limited liability corporation called Three Sides LLC, address of record being a P.O. box in West Hollywood. No wants, warrants, or citations. He and Pike arrived at the same time, Pike in the Jeep, the blond in the Rover.”

Carter shifted his gaze to Scott.

“Who is he to Cole?”

“Friends, I guess. He cracked a few jokes, but didn’t say much. Pike said even less. Cole and I did most of the talking.”

Carter showed his impatience.

“You were up there with these people, and you don’t know who they are?”

“I didn’t know Cole would have company.”

Hollis asked if Stone had scars or tattoos, or characteristics they could use in an identity search.

“Six feet, one ninety, brown eyes. The hair isn’t natural. It’s bleached.”

Another thought occurred to him.

“I’m pretty sure he’s ex-military. An Army guy.”

“He mentioned the service?”

“He said dogs like Maggie saved him. Stone made a crack about Pike and Maggie being jarheads. It was the kind of thing soldiers and Marines say to each other.”

Stiles nodded at Hollis.

“Check it. Jon Stone. Veteran. Army. See what you get.”

Hollis left with the tablet, and Carter turned back to Scott.

“So what did you and your friends talk about?”

Scott gave an accurate but incomplete account of their conversation, including Cole’s admission he was a suspect and his warning about the surveillance team. He left out the parts where Cole advised him to call Carter and offered to help. He didn’t mention the cat.

“I told him about the bomb on my car, and made a pitch for his help. He was sympathetic, but that’s as far as it went. He said he’d help if he could, but he didn’t offer any information.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I believe he knows more than he’s telling. I don’t think he had anything to do with Echo Park.”

Carter arched his eyebrows.

“How so? Are you a swami?”

Stiles tipped forward, serious.

“Why, Scott?”

“He asked if we ID’d the suspect.”

Carter glanced at Ignacio.

“They’re probably partners.”

Scott shook his head, trying to explain.

“It wasn’t like that. The way he asked. His manner and tone. He was hoping I’d give him a name. I think he was disappointed.”

Carter scowled, even more irritated.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth. We don’t have an ID.”

Carter threw up his hands, making a show for Ignacio.

“Jesus, man, this is a suspect.”

He spread his arms, making an even bigger show.

“This is what I’m talking about. He doesn’t need to know what we know, or anything else.”

Scott grew angry, and embarrassed.

“I didn’t go up there because I’m stupid. Cole and I had a moment the night you questioned him, joking about how close I came to shooting him. He brought it up again today. I thought I could kick something loose if he knew the man he chased was trying to kill me.”

Mitchell seemed interested.

“How did Mr. Cole and his friends react when you told them about the bomb?”

“Everything changed. It was like flipping a switch. They went from being smart-asses to asking questions.”

Mitchell leaned forward.

“Were they knowledgeable about explosives?”

Scott replayed those parts of the conversation.

“No, they mostly asked about the suspect. The blond—Jon Stone—asked if he was the arms dealer.”

Stiles cocked her head.

“Meaning, the man we believe tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. But I think he was asking because of the munitions we found. ‘Is this the arms dealer?’ Meaning, was this the guy selling the munitions. And this is kinda weird. He asked if the man had an accent.”

Stiles scribbled a note.

“Now that is a curious question. An accent. Mr. Stone asked this?”

“Yes.”

Carter glanced at Stiles as if he resented her question.

“What else? End of the conversation?”

Scott thought back again.

“He asked how we’re doing, and if we’ve made progress. That was about it. Since I don’t know what we’re doing or if we’ve made progress, I had nothing to tell him.”

Carter caught the dig and started to say something, but Ignacio cut him off.

“Russ? You okay with this?”

“No problem here. Sounds like much ado about nothing.”

Mitchell glanced at Carter, and made a tight smile.

“Oughta wire up this guy and send him back, Carter. No telling what we might learn.”

Ignacio stepped away from the wall to shake Mitchell’s hand.

“Thanks, Russ. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“No harm, no foul. Could’ve been worse.”

The room was silent until Mitchell was gone, and Ignacio turned to Scott.

“What do you suppose he’s thinking, that we’re a bunch of half-assed cowboys? I’m embarrassed. Are you embarrassed, Officer James?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry if—”

“You’re not as embarrassed as you could be, but I see no great harm done to Detective Carter’s investigation, do you, Detective Carter?”

“Not unless Cole gets away with it.”

“Agreed. So, unless Mr. Cole hops the next boat to China, you won’t file a personnel complaint, will you, Brad?”

“No, sir.”

Ignacio turned back to Scott.

“Stay away from Cole. That’s an order. Your involvement with this investigation comes only with Detective Carter’s approval. Are we on the same page?”

“I’d like to be kept informed. I don’t know if they’re making progress, or what they’re doing. With respect, sir, it’s my blue ass on the line.”

Ignacio shot his response to Carter.

“Keep him informed.”

Ignacio turned to leave, but stopped when he reached the door.

“We’ll get him. Every officer in this building, every officer in this city, we’re in it together. We’ll get him.”

After Ignacio left, Carter pulled on his jacket, and spoke to Stiles. He ignored Scott.

“Inform him while he looks at mug shots.”

Carter left without looking back.

Stiles rubbed her forehead, and Scott thought she looked even more tired than Carter.

“Most cases, you got wits, prints on the weapon, you’re done. This one isn’t like that. All that bleach and ammonia, my Lord, there isn’t one print. Those neighbors, not one knows who’s been taking care of that house.”

She pushed a blue binder toward him.

“Mug shots.”

Scott touched the binder but didn’t open it.

“I don’t think I was out of line.”

“You were. I know it’s frustrating, but you should apologize.”

“I’m not frustrated. I’m angry this asshole is trying to kill me. I want to get him.”

“We want him, too. Believe it or not, we want to get him even way more than you. That make sense?”

“No.”

“If he gets you, we have to live with it.”

Scott opened the binder. The first mug shot looked no different than the two hundred he’d already seen.

“You’re wrong about Cole.”

“Been wrong before.”

“We could get him to help.”

“Look through the pictures. When you finish, we have plenty more.”

Scott turned the page. The face staring up at him looked nothing like the man in the sport coat.