"He's tight. He's under three feet of dirt."

"Check him anyway, Eric. I'll be back after dark, then we can pull him up to make the call. We'll probably have to put him on the phone to convince these guys."

Fallon slipped his gun into his pants, then started for the garage. Schilling called after him.

"Yo. What are we going to do with the kid if we don't get the money.''

Fallon didn't even look back or break stride.

"Put him back in the box and plug up the hole."

time missing: 18 hours, 38 minutes

Laurence Sobek murdered seven people. Joe Pike was supposed to be the eighth. They were seven innocent human beings, but Sobek blamed them for putting a pedophile named Leonard DeVille into prison for the rape and sodomy of a five-year-old girl named Ramona Ann Escobar. As often happens to men with "short eyes," DeVille was murdered by inmates. All of that had happened fifteen years ago. Joe Pike, who was then with LAPD, had been the arresting officer, and Sobek's seven victims had been witnesses for the prosecution. Sobek shot Pike twice before Pike put him down, and Pike almost died. His recovery had been slow, and sometimes I doubted it. I guess Pike doubted it, too, but with Pike you never know. The Sphinx is a chatterbox compared to Pike.

I told him about Ben and the call as we drove to my house.

Pike said, "The man on the phone didn't make any demands?"

"He told me it was payback. That's all he said. Just that it was payback for what happened in Vietnam."

"You think he's for real?"

"I don't know."

Pike grunted. He knew what happened to me that day in Vietnam. He was the only person I'd told about that day outside of Army personnel and the families of the other four men. Maybe all of us needed to play the Sphinx, time to time.

When we reached my house, a pale blue SID van was parked across my drive, where Starkey was helping a tall, gangly criminalist named John Chen unload his equipment. Gittamon was changing shoes in the backseat of his car. Richard and his people had gathered at the side of my house with their jackets off and sleeves rolled. A nasty purple bruise had risen under Fontenot's eye. DeNice openly glared at us.

Pike and I parked off the road past my house, then walked back to the van. Starkey shot a resentful glance at Gittamon and lowered her voice. She was still smoking.

"You see all these people? Gittamon is letting them come down the hill."

"This is my partner, Joe Pike. He's coming, too."

"Jesus, Cole, this is a fuckin' crime scene, not a safari."

John Chen emerged from the van with a day pack and an evidence kit like a large metal tackle box. He bobbed his head when he saw us.

"Hey, I know these guys. Hi, Elvis. Hiya, Joe. We worked together on the Sobek thing."

Starkey sucked at her cigarette, then squinted at Pike.

"So you're the one. I heard Sobek put two in your guts and fucked you up pretty bad."

Starkey wasn't long on sensitivity. She blew out a huge bloom of smoke, and Pike moved to stand with Chen. Upwind.

Myers walked over and asked Starkey for the list of names.

She said, "I phoned them in while I was waiting. Any luck, we'll hear back later today."

"Cole said I could have the list. We'll run our own check."

Starkey frowned past her cigarette at me, then took out the list. She gave it to me. I handed it to Myers.

He said, "What are we waiting for?"

Starkey glanced at Gittamon, clearly irritated that he was taking so long, and called out to prod him.

"Any time, Sergeant."

"Almost ready."

He was red-faced from bending over. Myers went back to the others, and Starkey had more of her cigarette.

"Prick."

The black cat who shares the house with me came around the corner. He's old and scruffy and carries his head cocked to the side from when he was shot with a.22. He probably came because he smelled Pike, but when he saw other people standing in front of the house, he arched his back and growled. Even DeNice looked over.

Starkey said, "What's wrong with that thing?"

"He doesn't like people. Don't take it personally. He doesn't like anyone except for me and Joe."

"Maybe he'll like this."

Starkey flicked her cigarette at him. It hit the ground in a shower of sparks.

I said, "Jesus, Starkey, are you nuts?"

The cat didn't run away like most cats would. Instead, his fur stood like a fright mask and he growled even louder. He stalked toward her sideways.

Starkey said, "Holy Christ, look at that bastard."

Pike went over to the cat and stroked its fur. The cat flopped onto its side and rolled onto its back. That cat worships Joe Pike. Starkey scowled at them like the whole thing was distasteful.

"I hate cats."

Gittamon finished with his shoes and climbed out of his car.

"All right, Carol. Let's see what you found. John, are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Chenier?"

Starkey said, "Go first, Cole. Take us down."

Pike and I went over the edge first, paralleling Ben's path like I did that morning. Starkey kept up better this time even though she helped Chen with his equipment, but Gittamon and DeNice had trouble with the footing. Myers moved as if he was annoyed with having to wait for the others.

We passed through the walnut trees, then circled the rise to come out above the area where I found the Game Freak. The sprigs of rosemary that Starkey used to mark the footprints stood in the soil like miniature headstones. I pointed out where Ben's footprints ended, then showed them the partial. I squatted at its heel again, and showed them how it was headed toward Ben. Chen opened his evidence kit, and marked the location with an orange flag. Pike bent next to me to study the partial, then moved downhill without a word.

Starkey said, "Hey, be careful. We don't want to disturb anything."

Gittamon and Richard crowded between Chen and Starkey to see the print, with DeNice and Fontenot behind them. Myers considered the print without expression.

"You haven't found any other evidence."

Starkey said, "Not yet."

Richard stared at the partial print, so still that he might have been numb. He touched the dry soil beside it, then glanced around at the rosemary and manzanita brush as if to fix the place in his mind.

"Is this where my son was taken, Cole? Is this where you lost him?"

I didn't answer. I stared at the print, and once more followed its line toward Ben. I had searched the ground between the partial and the terminus of Ben's prints at least three times. The distance between them was at least ten feet. The ground between them was soft and dusty, and should have been covered with prints.

I pointed out what I saw, talking more to myself than the others.

"Ben was over there, facing away from us, playing the Game Freak."

Ben Chenier's ghost walked past on the path, its feet leaving Ben's prints. His ghost was hunched over the Game Freak, which was loud with shrieks and the splat of wet blows. A darker ghost stepped through me, moving toward him. Its right foot kissed the impression into the dust in front of me.

"Ben didn't know he was here until he reached this spot. Then maybe Ben heard something or turned for no reason, I don't know which, but the man was scared that Ben would see him and call out."

The dark ghost suddenly accelerated toward Ben, pushing off in the soft soil and leaving the partial print. I watched it happen.

"Ben still didn't know what was happening, not really, or we'd see scuffs in his footprints. Ben had his back turned. He grabbed Ben from behind and lifted him off his feet. He covered Ben's mouth so he couldn't scream."