Martin said, “I want to talk to you.”
“In a minute.”
“It’s important.”
Talley moved away from her, annoyed.
“When I’m off the phone.”
His tone stopped her. Martin’s eyes hardened angrily, but she kept her distance.
Thomas said, “Here it is.”
“You found the name?”
“Yeah, there’s a place called Compensation to Officers, but there’s only one guy listed.”
“Who?”
“Charles G. Benza.”
Talley stared at the ground. The cool night air suddenly felt close. Talley looked at the house, then glanced at Martin. Talley had been wrong. Walter Smith wasn’t a mobster with something valuable in his house. The boy’s father kept Sonny Benza’s books. That’s what it had to be: Smith was Benza’s accountant, and he had Benza’s financial records. It was all right there in Smith’s house, enough to put Benza away and his organization out of business. Right here in Bristo Camino.
Talley sighed deeply, the breath venting from his core in a way that seemed to carry his strength with it. This was why people were willing to kidnap and murder. Smith could put them out of business. Smith knew their secrets and could put them away. The mob. The men in the car were the mob. The head of the largest crime family on the West Coast had Jane and Amanda.
Thomas’s voice suddenly came fast and thin.
“Someone’s coming. I gotta go.”
The line went dead.
Martin put her hands on her hips.
“Are you going to talk to me now?”
“No.”
Talley ran for his car. If the disks could put Benza away, so could Walter Smith. He radioed Metzger at the hospital as he ran.
THOMAS
Thomas heard the nail being pried from his door. He jerked the computer’s plug from the wall, then vaulted onto his bed, shoving the cell phone under the covers as the door opened. Kevin stepped inside, carrying a paper plate with two slices of pizza and a Diet Coke.
“I brought you something to eat.”
Thomas pushed his hands between his crossed legs, trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t tied, but the tape he’d stripped from his wrists was in plain sight on the floor. Kevin stopped when he saw it, then glared.
“You little shit. I oughta kick your ass.”
“It hurt my wrists.”
“Fuckit, I don’t guess it matters anyway.”
Thomas was relieved that he didn’t seem too upset. Kevin handed over the pizza and soda, then checked the nails that held the windows closed. Thomas worried that he would notice that the computer was in a different spot, but Kevin seemed inside himself.
Kevin made sure that the windows were secure, then leaned against the wall as if he needed the support to keep his feet. His eyes seemed to find everything in the room, every toy and book, every piece of furniture, the clothes strewn in the corner, the posters on the walls, the smashed phone thrown on the floor, the TV, the CD player, even the computer against the wall, all with an expression that seemed empty.
Kevin’s gaze finally settled on Thomas.
“You’re fucking lucky.”
Kevin pushed off the wall and went to the door.
Thomas said, “When are you leaving my house?”
“Never.”
Kevin left without looking back and pulled the door closed.
Thomas waited.
The nail was hammered back into the doorjamb. The floor squeaked as Kevin moved away.
Thomas tried to count to one hundred, but stopped at fifty and once more made his way to the closet. He wanted to know what they were planning. He also wanted the gun.
21
Saturday, 12:02 A.M.
Canyon Country, California
MARION CLEWES
The Canyon Country Hospital sat between two mountain ridges in a pool of blue light. It was modern and low, not more than three stories at its tallest, and sprawled across the parking lot. Marion thought it looked like one of those overnight dot-com think tanks you see in the middle of nowhere, sprung up overnight at a freeway off-ramp, all earth-colored stone and mirrored glass.
Marion cruised around the hospital, finding the emergency room entrance at the rear. Friday night, a little after midnight, and the place was virtually deserted. Marion knew hospitals that saw so much action on Friday nights they ran double ER staffs and you could hear screams from a block away. The Santa Clarita Valley must be a very nice place to live, he thought. He was liking everything he found about it.
The small parking area outside the ER showed only three cars and a couple of ambulances, but four news vehicles were parked off to the side. Marion expected this, so he wasn’t put off. He parked close to the entrance with the nose of his car facing the drive, then went into the hospital.
The newspeople were clumped together at the admitting desk, talking to a harried woman in a white coat. Marion listened enough to gather that she was the senior emergency room physician, Dr. Reese, and that tests were currently being run on Walter Smith. Two young nurses, both pretty with dark Toltec eyes, stood behind the admitting counter, watching with interest. Marion thought that this was probably very exciting for them, having the newspeople here.
Marion went to a coffee machine in the small waiting area and bought a cup of black coffee. A female police officer sat watching the interview. A young Latino man sat across from her, rocking a small baby while an older child slept half in his lap, half on the seat next to him. The man looked frightened in a way that let Marion think that his wife was probably the reason they were here. Marion’s heart went out to him.
“It’s like they’ve forgotten you, isn’t it?”
The man glanced up without comprehension. Marion smiled, thinking he probably didn’t speak English.
“That’s so sad,” he said.
Marion turned away and went back to the admitting area. A gate opened to a short hall, beyond which was a kind of communal room with several beds partitioned by blue curtains, and another hall with swinging doors at the end. Marion waited at the gate until an orderly appeared, then he smiled shyly.
“Excuse me. Dr. Reese said someone would help me.”
The orderly glanced at Reese, who was still busy with the reporters across the room.
“I’m Walter Smith’s next-door neighbor. They told me to pick up his clothes and personal effects.”
“That the guy who was the hostage?”
“Oh, yes. Isn’t that terrible?”
“Man, the stuff that happens, huh?”
“You never know. We’re worried sick. Those children are still in there.”
“Man.”
“I’m supposed to bring his things home.”
“Okay, let me see what I can do.”
“How’s he doing?”
“The doctor’s checking the CT results now. They should know soon.”
Marion watched as the orderly disappeared into one of the doors farther up the hall, then he stepped through the gate and walked up the hall just far enough so that the nurses at the admitting desk could no longer see him. He waited there until the orderly returned with a green paper bag.
“Here you go. They had to cut his clothes off, but there isn’t anything we can do about that.”
Marion took the bag. He could feel shoes in the bottom.
“Do I have to sign?”
“No, that’s all right. We’re not that formal around here. I used to work for County-USC; man, you had to sign for everything. Here, it’s not like that. These small towns are great.”
“Listen, thank you. Is there another way out of here? I don’t want to leave past the reporters. They were asking so many questions before.”
The orderly pointed to the swinging doors at the far end of the hall.
“Through there, then take a left. You’ll see a red exit sign at the end. That’ll bring you out the front.”