The Dark Halo, page 27
A man’s voice. Thomas Garvy.
“It’s Coombes. Is Olivia there?”
“Yeah, but she’s asleep. She took an Ambien; she’ll be out for a while.”
He remembered how depressed Olivia had been last time he’d seen her.
“Ah. Well, that’s probably for the best.”
“Was there a message?”
His voice was calm, measured. Coombes had saved her life, that was enough for Garvy. What were the odds she’d know her brother’s code anyway?
“No, sorry to bother you.”
He disconnected and felt the air go out of him. Every minute that passed, the trail to the Ferryman got colder. If he’d boarded a flight he could be in Argentina by now. He shook his head and began to put everything back.
Nicolas Sutton had given up his life to save his sister. It didn’t seem that way at the time, but that was the only thing that made sense. They say blood is thicker than water, and in this case, it was true. He paused thinking about it then took Sutton’s cell phone back out.
One last try. Olivia was born on Valentine’s Day. When you’d dated a girl who was born on the same day as the patron saint of love, you remembered it for the rest of your life.
He typed in 021487.
The home screen appeared. He was in. Coombes smiled, but the smile didn’t last. The home screen wallpaper was a photograph of a woman in a bikini sitting on the front wheel arch of Sutton’s Porsche, legs crossed at the angle, a foxy smile on her face.
The woman was Olivia.
He had to assume Sutton took the picture, and that her come-to-bed expression was directed at him. For sure he’d never seen Olivia look at her husband with eyes like that, she was smoldering. The picture, along with the passcode, told him everything.
He had one more call to make to confirm his hypothesis.
Sato was plugged into her computer again, the big cans of her headphones dwarfing her head. He came up behind her and looked at her screen. A long list of numbers and a map. Dates, and GPS coordinates for Sutton’s Porsche. Sato worked fast.
He sat on his chair and pulled himself along the floor with his feet so that he was sitting next to her. The date she was looking at was the day of Vandenberg’s death. The map showed a marker in Beverly Hills. Sato took off her headphones and placed them on her desk.
He heard classical music, a piano.
“Tell me, Grace, what’s our friend been up to?”
“Shopping, eating, and working. His car wasn’t at his dad’s house on the day of his sister’s abduction, or the night of the fire. It wasn’t next to a car rental either, it was up in Malibu both times. He was there a lot, I assume he has a property there. He was in Silver Lake the day of his father’s death, although that was never in doubt.”
“Right. Tell me how it works.”
“The system updates every 3 minutes in response to movement or every hour otherwise. The red dots indicate the car was stationary at the time, the green dots that it was moving. You wouldn’t believe how much data this company collects. I don’t want to know how much my cell carrier has about me.”
He turned back to the screen. The marker in Beverly Hills was green. Supposing that it was Nicolas Sutton driving, it would be impossible for him to be in Vandenberg’s hotel room.
“How far back do the records go?”
“All the way back to when he bought the car two years ago.”
Coombes said nothing. Sato spoke again.
“I decided something while you were away.”
“That Sutton isn’t the Ferryman?”
She smiled and nodded. “That too.”
“What was the other thing?”
She leaned in close.
“I decided that I don’t care about your wife.”
His face turned red, his cheeks burning. They looked at each other in silence. This would be where he again told her he couldn’t, that he wasn’t interested, that he loved his wife, that it was, at the very least, against regulations. He said nothing. The silence wasn’t awkward, not in the slightest. Her eyes were dark and seemed to swallow him whole. After a moment she smiled, like something had been decided, and the spell was broken.
“What were you going to tell me? I saw you grinning.”
“You remember before, what you said about a child?”
“Oh, Johnny. There was no child. It was just an example.”
He smiled. “What if it wasn’t just an example?”
Sato sat back in her seat and studied him closely. She knew him well enough to recognize his tone of voice, his smile. He had something. A break, a theory. Partners always know.
“All right.”
“What if Olivia Sutton is pregnant.”
Sato’s mouth popped open into a little O. He tilted his head to one side, smiled and put a little sparkle in his eyes. Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.
“Say it.”
“And what if Nicky is the father.”
She clenched her left hand into a small, tight fist.
“Please tell me you’re not just yanking my chain, Johnny.”
“The second part is pure speculation, but I know this much. She is pregnant, the doctor I spoke to confirmed it. Twenty-two weeks. Fetus appears healthy despite what happened to the mother during the kidnapping. A miracle.”
“Or an abomination, depending on your point of view.”
Coombes said nothing to that. A child couldn’t control who its parents were, but for sure there were people out there who felt differently.
“My love of Chinatown aside,” she continued, “is there any reason he actually has to be the father? Maybe he saved her just because she was his sister.”
“That’s certainly the version I intend to put in my report.”
Her mouth twisted, awkwardly. “But you don’t believe it?”
“When Nicky confessed, he said his father had found out about him. This is what I think he found out. Not about being gay, but about his relationship with Olivia, about their child. That’s why his father was killing himself in the first place and why Nicky helped him along.”
“Still, though. It could just be a coincidence.”
He nodded and pulled out his phone. He hadn’t planned on showing her the picture, but it looked like that was the only way she’d believe him. He brought up a picture he’d taken of Nicolas Sutton’s unlocked iPhone.
“This is Nicky’s cell phone wallpaper.”
He turned it so that she could see and her mouth fell open.
“Oh my God! This is huge, Johnny.”
“No, it’s not huge, because nobody but you and me is ever going to know about it. The child has the right to live without this following it around for the rest of its life.”
Sato studied him in silence.
“You can’t control who you fall in love with, Grace, I know that better than most.”
“I know it too,” she said.
He decided to leave that alone.
“All right. We know why Nicky confessed, why he let his father commit suicide, the whole bit, but that gets us no closer to catching the Ferryman.”
“I did say that to you before, Johnny.”
They were quiet for a moment before Sato spoke again.
“What about the fingerprint on Haylee Jordan’s shower?”
“Assuming Sutton was framed, we can also assume the print was planted by the killer. I figure he used modeling clay, or some kind of glue. Left it in a door handle, somewhere he knew Sutton would touch. Pour in some latex to pull a positive imprint, then dab some blood on it to make the print.”
Sato smiled.
“That’s why we had to scan the film upside-down to get a match. Making a print from print would reverse it left to right. He should’ve copied it again.”
It was an angle he’d overlooked. He nodded.
“I missed that. Excellent.”
He remembered the Zippo and showed her the picture.
“Do you recognize this logo?”
“It’s the symbol for the Flash, a superhero. Why? Whose lighter is this?”
“The Ferryman’s. He used it to set the Silver Lake house on fire.”
“Don’t tell me this was in Nicolas Sutton’s personal effects?” She saw the answer on his face. “How do you explain this?”
“He knew what was coming, right? That he was going to make me shoot him. I think he found this lighter at the house and saved it as a clue for me to find. To get the real Ferryman. He knew Olivia would only truly be safe when the killer was dealt with for good, and he was relying on me to do that. Nicky didn’t smoke, he’d know I’d know that.”
She looked at him like he was crazy.
“You’re the best friend this piece of shit ever had. You know that?”
“It doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“Ok, let’s think about this. Forget for a moment the Ferryman is a serial killer and a kidnapper. He’s also an arsonist, so we start there. He’d need gas to set that fire, right? In containers he could carry from room to room. I figure he’d use a gas station close to the old man’s house, he wouldn’t want to have that much gas inside his vehicle any longer than he had to. All those places have cameras, we’ll have his face, registration, and maybe even a credit card transaction.”
“I like it,” he said. “Let’s do this.”
41
They got back into Sato’s Honda. The interior was hot and airless, but, like her bedroom, smelled of her perfume, her shampoo and whatever else. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Grace was about to start the car, when he reached out to stop her.
“Wait. I have something to show you and you’re not going to like it.”
He took out the evidence bag, unfolded it, and shook the business cards so that she could see them through the clear plastic.
“These were in Sutton’s wallet?”
“Yes.”
Her jaw clenched and she wordlessly started the car. She turned away from him, facing forward and pulled away fast toward the exit. The car twisted and bounced but he never took his eyes off her profile. He’d never seen it before, but he supposed this is what she looked like angry. They burst out into sunlight and onto the street.
“I’m sorry, Grace. It’s not him, I swear it isn’t.”
“You’re taking advantage of me; of the way I feel about you.”
“I’m not, I’d never do that. Look, no one is going to go near that evidence box until tomorrow at the earliest. I wore gloves. If by then we don’t have someone in custody I will put the cards back and let the chips fall where they may. I saw them and I reacted, that’s it.”
“You think that fixes what you did? I’d expect this from Lass, not you.”
“I guess there’s a side to me that you don’t know.”
They drove in silence for a while, Coombes now facing front. He couldn’t take looking at her disappointment anymore.
He was like an iceberg, he thought. She only saw the top part, the best part, but below the water was this huge ugly mass. There was more of that than there was at the top. They stopped at a traffic light and he turned to see her looking back.
“Gantz wanted me to let her know if you ever showed signs that you were compromising the investigation.”
He nodded. It was about what he expected.
“Oh yeah?”
“She said if that happened, Wallfisch was in charge.”
Coombes laughed. His lieutenant had his back and he wouldn’t forget it.
“So how am I doing so far?”
“Peachy.”
The first place they came to was a Chevron on Glendale Avenue. Coombes could see only one camera, and it wasn’t aimed at the pumps, but at the exit. If the Ferryman had filled up here there would be no footage of it and no way to identify him. When you were minding your own business, it seemed like there were cameras everywhere but when you needed them, they were nowhere to be seen.
Sato parked and they got out. There was a small unit in the middle and a heavily tattooed Latino was visible through the glass, watching them. Coombes opened the front of his jacket to show his badge as they walked over and for a second thought the man was going to make a run for it.
Coombes pointed at the door and the man opened it nervously.
“Help you?”
“You have cameras covering the pumps?”
“Just the exit. This is a cash-free business, it’s all plastic.”
“Were you here last week? The Wednesday?”
“Sure. Six a.m. to six p.m.”
“See a guy about my height and build fill up a bunch of gas cans?”
The Latino shook his head. “No, man.”
Coombes thanked him and left.
As they got back in the car it occurred to him that pursuing this line of inquiry could take them hours and get them nowhere. It was the kind of job he would’ve handed off to someone in the task force, or to a uniform. Sato seemed subdued by the failure. They were going to need another plan, he thought.
She turned to him as she started the car.
“Who strikes you as an obvious suspect?”
“Thomas Garvy.”
His own answer surprised him a little. Sato nodded.
“Olivia’s husband, nice. You think he found out about the relationship?”
“When I met her in that bar, she made a big song and dance about not drinking alcohol during work hours. She ordered a water. I never thought anything about it, we hadn’t seen each other socially for years. Garvy would have to notice she’d stopped drinking. He isn’t stupid, he’d work out why.”
Sato floored the throttle, pushing into a half-gap in the traffic.
“But you don’t think it’s him.”
“No,” he said.
“Even if he knows about the baby.”
“Either he thinks it’s his, or he doesn’t care. He loves her, he wouldn’t hurt her. Also, it has the same problem as her brother kidnapping her, she’d recognize him wearing a hat. I’m pretty sure she could recognize him from his breath alone, I know I could.”
They were quiet for a moment, the traffic rolling along.
“How are things between you and Julie?”
Coombes glanced at her.
“Not good, Grace. If I could pin the Ferryman killings on her I would.”
Sato laughed and didn’t cover her mouth. He didn’t think she’d ever done that before, he thought it was hard-wired. There was a warm blush on her cheeks and for a moment he wondered again what it would be like to kiss her. It would be wrong all the way around. When she stopped laughing her thoughts seemed to return to their previous conversation.
“You’re certain about Garvy?”
“The person we’re looking for was strong enough to maneuver Steve Ellis onto that catapult and take out Lass, albeit with a chickenshit blow to the back of the head. Garvy is overweight and has no obvious muscle mass. Also, the kills took time to plan therefore I believe the catalyst pre-dates Olivia’s pregnancy, so that can’t be considered motivation…”
His voice trailed off.
“Johnny?”
He held up his hand, fingers spread open. Wait.
“Olivia said that Nicky used to use a hook-up app on his phone, and that he always had a different woman on his arm. I was too busy focusing on how that impacted his claims in his confession to think about it.”
“You think one of them was married?”
Coombes nodded.
“They probably all were. Let’s say one decided to leave her husband or boyfriend to make herself available full-time to Nicky. That guy is going to be pretty upset. Upset enough, to start following Sutton around and back to the Silver Lake house, where everything starts to come together.”
“I like it, but it could take time to unravel, time we don’t have.”
“Agreed,” he said.
They arrived at the next target, a Shell station on the corner of Temple and Alvarado. He could see cameras everywhere and he felt his mood lift. Sato nosed the Honda around the back, away from the pumps.
The station was larger than the Chevron, and the central office had a food mart. They went inside and he badged a woman behind the counter while she finished serving a customer. The counterwoman was tall and athletic with short black hair that reminded him of women he’d known in the service. Her name tag said Joan and she looked like she could take care of herself.
The customer ahead of him left and he stepped forward.
“Are you here about the gas cans man?”
Coombes frowned. “The guy at Chevron called you?”
“No. I guess you could say I’ve been expecting you, Detective. I knew there was something off about him. He bought eight of those cans,” she pointed at a display, “filled them with super and put them in the trunk of his car.”
“Please tell me you got this asshole on camera.”
She nodded. “Come through and I’ll show you.”
There was a small cramped security station at the back and the three of them squeezed themselves inside, Joan working the controls as they watched. His heart was hammering in his chest. They were close, he could feel it. He glanced at Sato and saw her eyes were lit up, and a smile was on standby.
On screen, the footage swam past on fast forward, cars coming and going. It depressed him that more and more, investigations were becoming a series of played back security clips. After a couple of minutes, the footage slowed, then reversed and began to play again. An ancient red Toyota Corolla pulled into a space on pump 5. The driver got out, walked around the car and out of shot.
Coombes recognized him immediately from somewhere but couldn’t place him. The high angle of the camera flattened everything out. While the man was inside buying the fuel cans, Coombes wrote the Toyota’s license plate on his left hand.
A couple of minutes passed, then the driver returned carrying plastic gas cans which he set out in a line next to the pump and opened. The twisting movement of his hand as he unfastened the caps made the bright metal bracelet of his diving watch sparkle.
The Rolex Submariner.
“Motherfucker,” Coombes said.
Joan turned to him.
“He paid cash for the cans, but that’s a card-only pump. With the timestamp on the video, I can get you his name and card number, but it’ll take about five minutes if you want to wait in your car.”
