Wednesday, May 10

12:03 A.M.

LAS PIERNAS

THE call came later than expected. The interior of the car parked on the hill and the silhouette of its lone occupant were dimly illuminated as the cell phone rang.

Dexter Fletcher let the disposable cell phone ring three times.

It never did any good to rush these things. He thought of the three brothers he was closest to in the Fletcher family, pictured them in this same situation. Giles would have waited, perhaps even forced a second call. Nelson would have answered in the middle of the first ring-although he doubted she had ever called Nelson. Roy? One never knew what Roy would do.

“Yes?” Dexter answered. “Remember-”

“The line is not secure. I know.” Cleo was always so sure of herself.

“The situation?”

“Just as you wished.”

He sighed. “Not exactly…wished.”

“No, of course not. But…taken care of.”

“Thank you. Any trouble?”

“I could hardly describe it on a cell phone, now, could I?”

He waited.

“Sorry. Long day,” she said.

“Yes, it has been. For all of us. Someday I’ll have to tell you where-”

“No names or places,” she said sharply.

“Yes. Thanks. Anyway, after I was sure you were on your way, I made my call, and you’ll never believe where he was. Apparently, he was summoned this morning. Rather unnerving.”

She laughed. He had known it would amuse her.

“So,” he said, “your report is all we lack.”

“In my opinion, as you know, we took an unnecessary risk here, and I object to not…completely settling the issue. But I followed your instructions. It’s damned cold, though, so I may get my own way after all. It would be easier on everyone.”

“You may be right. But thank you for indulging us.”

“No problem. Where would I be without you?”

“Likewise. See you soon.”

Dexter sat staring out at the city lights for a good ten minutes after the call ended. He felt a mixture of weariness and exhilaration.

Cleo was so good at her work. Really, he had nothing to worry about.

He started the car and drove home carefully. He couldn’t afford an accident. There was much yet to be done.

Wednesday, May 10

1:10 A.M.

SAN BERNARDINO MOUNTAINS

THREE months and seventeen days.

San Bernardino County Deputy Sheriff Tadeo Garcia had been saying this to himself throughout his shift. Three months and seventeen days from now, no more putting up with the bullshit. He’d retire and get out of this cruiser. Out of these mountains. He could feel the cold and damp in his bones. At home, down in Redlands, his wife was probably running the A/C. She would have the windows open, at the very least. Up here, it was damp and foggy and he was freezing his huevos off.

At this stage of his career, Tadeo had hoped to be sitting behind a desk and not a steering wheel. Which only went to show that you could piss off a supervisor at any point in time. The union rep said they were working on it.

Right. What the hell. If he was careful, he should be okay. And for the most part, his assignment, cruising around these roads in this mountain resort area, wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

He tried to think of warm places he would be spending his time in after he retired. He smiled. Probably at home, fixing up the place-his wife already had a list. Hell, she always had a list. That was okay. She’d put up with a lot over the years.

A strange light in the trees caught his attention. Headlamps, at the wrong angle.

If its headlights hadn’t been left on, he might not have noticed the car, down in a ditch just off a private road. At first Tadeo figured this was just another moron who had partied a little too much and gotten himself lost up here. Happened all the time. People came to these mountain resorts, thought they were out on the frontier or something, went crazy. Idiot was lucky his wrong turn had just taken him into a ditch off a private road and not over a cliff. Foggy night like this-had to be nuts. Now, to see if the fool had injured or killed himself.

He lit up the patrol car’s spotlight and got a better look. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He checked the plate number-sure enough, it was the one. He called in to let everybody know that he had just found the car that had been searched for in seven counties. The one that might reveal what had happened to the missing family members. He manipulated the spotlight so that its bright beam shone into the interior of the car. He was disheartened to notice that the driver was slumped over the wheel and not responding to the sudden light. Tadeo quickly became more concerned-Jesus, on a damp night when it was barely forty degrees out and the temperature was dropping, was the kid naked? Tadeo, still in radio contact, let them know there might be need of medical assistance; the dispatcher verified that paramedics were on the way. He hoped the kid wasn’t hurt badly-they’d never be able to send a chopper with this fog.

Cautiously but quickly, he approached the vehicle, coming at it from behind the passenger side. It was a little difficult getting to it, since it was resting at an angle in the ditch.

The kid was wearing nothing but white boxers and socks. He didn’t move. Tadeo let his flashlight play over the interior of the car. No one else in it. A bottle of expensive scotch lay on the floor on the passenger’s side, open and mostly empty.

The doors were unlocked; he moved around to the driver’s-side door and opened it. He was immediately struck by the smell of alcohol. The kid reeked of it. Tadeo remembered the names from the bulletin-Mason and Jenny. He called “Mason?” several times, but the young man was unresponsive. Tadeo touched a bare shoulder. Mason’s skin was ice cold. Dead? No-he touched the boy’s neck and found a pulse, and could see now that he was breathing, but neither sign of life seemed likely to last. Tadeo sent in a second call, confirming the need for an ambulance. The dispatcher connected him with the desk sergeant, who quickly passed him along to a captain, for God’s sake, who asked him a few quick questions about where he was and what he was seeing, then told him to get a blanket for the kid and then start looking for the little girl.

Tadeo kept calling, “Jenny?” in a loud voice as he made his way back to the cruiser. He hurried back with a blanket and wrapped it around the kid as best he could. Mason didn’t even moan. He thought of starting the car up and turning on the heater, and reached for the keys, but they weren’t in the ignition.

He played the flashlight around again but didn’t see them. A horrible thought occurred to Tadeo. He felt a renewed sense of urgency now and found a button on the dash that released the trunk.

He rushed back, half afraid he’d find the little girl’s body there. Instead, he saw an odd and disturbing set of objects. Bloodstained shoes and clothing, fitting the description of what Mason Fletcher had last been seen wearing. A metal object of some kind-a trophy?-that looked as if it was matted with tissue, blood, and hair. He hadn’t seen any blood on the young man when he wrapped him in the blanket.

What he saw confused him. He closed the trunk. He noticed, for the first time, that footprints other than his own were in the soft, damp earth. They were near the trunk and led up from the ditch and on to the dirt drive. He saw a cigarette stub there. He didn’t touch it.

He went back and looked at the boy’s socks. They were clean, even on the underside.

He shook himself. He wasn’t a detective. This was not his job. And when the detectives arrived, they’d be pissed off at him if he started spouting theories. He’d already learned that lesson the hard way. “This is what put you up here in the cold, zurramato,” he muttered to himself. He cheered up a little at the thought that even the captain of homicide wouldn’t handle this one. The crime began in Las Piernas’s jurisdiction, which meant the LPPD would be in charge of the investigation.