The Dark Halo, page 28
He passed her a thumb drive.
“Drop a copy of that on here first.”
If the Rolex was real, he had to assume that the car was stolen or bought for cash. It would be like an untraceable burner phone, he thought. Which left the credit card for identification. Joan returned his thumb drive and they filed back out into the shop, then he and Sato walked across to her car.
“You really think this is it, Johnny?”
“It’s some coincidence if it isn’t. That watch is pretty distinctive.”
They stood waiting next to the Honda for her to return. Time ticked by, and he could see a line of people in the shop. After close to ten minutes, Joan came out and jogged over with a piece of paper in her hand. She handed it to him and he looked at the name she’d written on it. He angled it so that Sato could see.
Gabriel Dorsey.
“You can’t imagine how important this is.”
“I can guess, I recognize you from TV. If you want something official, you’ll need a warrant. I could probably get in trouble for this.”
He held out his card.
“If you ever tire of the gas business, Joan, the LAPD is always looking for good people. Capable people. I could put a word in for you if you’re interested.”
She glanced at the line of irate customers, then back.
“I might take you up on that, Detective.”
They got back in the car and looked at each other for ten seconds, twenty seconds. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Fuck it. He leaned over and Sato came straight at him, her tongue pushing into his mouth, his hands going around the small of her back to pull her in close. Their seating position was awkward so the kiss didn’t last long but when they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily through their mouths.
“Finally,” she said.
Coombes said nothing. He was going to hell.
42
There was a McDonald’s across the street from the gas station and Coombes directed her toward it. They’d missed lunch and he needed fuel and caffeine if he was going to be of any use to anyone. The restaurant was almost empty, so for once they decided to skip the drive-thru lane and eat inside.
When he returned to their table with their order, Sato was working on her tablet, speed-reading text on what appeared to be a lengthy news story. He separated out the food and dumped the tray on an empty table next to theirs.
She loaded a fresh page filled with a grid of square pictures. He recognized the layout even upside down, an Instagram page. Like a teenage girl, all of Dorsey’s pictures were of himself. Selfies, or pictures taken of him by someone else. Some had expensive cars in shot, others yachts or motorcycles. Dorsey lived the good life, filled with expensive goods and partially dressed women with eating disorders. Sato selected a head and shoulders portrait, and it enlarged. Not a selfie, the quality was too good.
Here he is, Coombes thought, the Ferryman in all his glory.
“What you got so far?”
“Gabriel Dorsey Junior. No middle name. Twenty-seven years old, six-foot one inch tall. I was unable to find a weight listed anywhere, but from his Facebook page, he looks about one eighty. Everything so far lining up with our suspect’s description.”
Coombes’ mouth was full of chicken so he motioned for her to continue.
“He’s a trust fund brat,” she said. “His great-great grandfather owned a lot of city land and property, not to mention some oil fields. Looks like his father pissed away most of the family wealth, but Dorsey’s probably still worth about $20 million.”
Sato paused to drink her Coke through a straw.
He found himself staring intently at her mouth. He was in love with her, he realized. Inside, a part of him was forever hers. It was a thought he’d never had before, not with his wife, not with anyone. She glanced at him as she drank and her cheeks colored when she saw how he was looking at her. He decided to move the conversation quickly on.
“What else? Does he work?”
She paused for a beat, before continuing.
“He studied Electrical Engineering and Computer Science at Berkeley, graduating summa cum laude in the 98 percentile 2018. While he was there, he and another student set up a company building cell phone apps, which they sold for two million dollars six months later. After college, he worked at Tesla and moved fast up the food chain before leaving to create a start-up developing batteries for electric vehicles.”
“The next gold rush,” Coombes said, wearily.
“You’re not wrong. His company is due to be listed on the Nasdaq with an IPO valuing it at four billion dollars. He currently owns almost half the company.”
“Don’t tell me that. I might shoot him on sight.”
They ate in silence for several minutes. She had always been uncomfortable with him looking directly at her while she ate, so he alternated his eye line between his food and the parking lot through the window. His thoughts drifted first to the realization they’d finally identified the Ferryman, then the fact that he’d kissed his partner. There was a link there now that he didn’t like, between his feelings for Sato and a serial killer.
“What’s really bothering you about this guy, Johnny?”
He nodded. She knew him too well.
“All this time a part of me still thought it would be Jake Curtis.”
Her face showed no surprise.
“He really got under your skin, didn’t he?”
“I guess so. It was that stupid beard, like a swarm of bees.”
There was another thing bothering him. He knew without doubt that he’d seen Dorsey before but he just couldn’t place where. The information hovered at the edge of his mind, just out of reach. It was close, he’d have it soon but until he did, he’d be unable to concentrate fully on anything.
Coombes rubbed his face with both hands.
“Let’s get real for a minute. All we’ve got is footage of him buying gas. That’s not illegal. If we raided his home and he didn’t still have the cans, that’s not illegal either. It doesn’t prove he’s a serial killer, or that he set fire to the Sutton place.”
“I know,” she said. “But we’ve got his name now. That’s half the battle, isn’t it? Do you have any doubts that this is our guy?”
“None at all, but I guarantee Block won’t feel the same way.”
“What now?”
“We need to find this guy and fast, we need to have eyes on him at all times until we have enough to scoop him up. I don’t want him to slip through our fingers. His access to funds makes him a definite flight risk. We have to be careful not to tip him off that we’re on to him. Right now, he thinks he’s in the clear, having played us all for fools.”
“If you’re right about Block, he’s going to announce tomorrow that it’s all over. I don’t know if you caught the news this morning, Johnny, but Sutton’s name is already out there. Which probably means we only have the rest of the day to catch Dorsey.”
He sighed. Block was such a prick. She was right, and with the sequence of kills now complete, nobody would know the difference if it was pinned on Sutton. Which, he supposed, was Dorsey’s intention all along. If Block knew what they were doing, he’d shut them down.
“What are you thinking, Grace?”
“Well, just that we don’t have time to waste tearing up the city searching for Dorsey then babysitting his every move. If he thinks he’s in the clear he’s probably not preparing to leave. He’s rich, he’ll think he’s beyond the law anyway.”
He nodded. Again, she was right. Tracking where he was all day wouldn’t matter if they didn’t find enough to arrest him before tomorrow.
“Fine. We focus on making the case and worry about where he is later.”
Dorsey was a new suspect but the evidence remained the same. The work they’d done wasn’t for nothing, it was just a matter of seeing how it all fitted together. For certain Dorsey matched the physical description provided by their eyewitnesses and, to a lesser extent, the lo-res video from Haylee Jordan’s parking garage. The Rolex also matched, as did the suspect’s mastery of electronics. It was looking good, but there was no smoking gun. Aside from the gas station, Dorsey had been careful. The only physical evidence they had was a Zippo lighter with a laughable chain-of-evidence heritage, blurred images of a Rolex, and a shoe imprint that implicated another man.
“All right,” he said. “The hospital is close, let’s put some pictures of Dorsey in front of Lass, see what he thinks.”
She nodded and they left the restaurant. He wanted to review the material Sato had found so he picked up her tablet and entered her passcode.
7 18 1 3 5.
“I won’t ask how you know my code, Johnny.”
He smiled. Her code was her first name by the letters’ positions in the alphabet. It had taken him a while to work out, a process aided by frequent viewings.
“You never told me how you unlocked Sutton’s cell phone.”
“His code was Olivia’s birthday.”
She laughed as she accelerated hard into the flow of traffic.
He skimmed the articles she’d located on Gabriel Dorsey. They were mostly puff-pieces about his new business. It seemed to amuse the media that the grandson of an oil man was now involved in the green revolution. For his part, Dorsey looked happy to play along and smirk into the camera when required.
The more he read, the more he came around to the idea of putting Dorsey in prison for the rest of his life, instead of Jake Curtis. The last article showed a picture of Dorsey playing golf, the club wrapped around behind his head like a pro.
Coombes glanced at the caption underneath, stating where the picture was shot. The breath caught in his throat. He pulled out his cell phone and brought up the pictures he’d taken of Sutton’s cards. He found the membership card he was looking for.
“What is it, Johnny? You got something?”
“Sutton and Dorsey were members of the same country club.”
“That’s our connection then, where they crossed paths.”
“I guess so.”
In the picture, Dorsey’s chin was partially concealed by his arm and for a split-second Coombes almost had it, where he’d seen him before. He focused on the image, willing it to come back, but it was gone again.
43
Late afternoon, early evening was a busy time at the hospital, and Sato had to drive around for a couple of minutes before she found a spot to park. They hustled to the elevator and he thought ahead to their next conversation as they waited for it.
“A couple of things before we go in,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else to know about Nicky and Olivia’s relationship and it might not take much for him to figure it out, so be careful what you say. Secondly, I don’t want Lass to have Dorsey’s name. If we can’t get him, I don’t want Billy hunting him down, and trust me, that’s what he’d do.”
“Okay.”
He glanced back at Sato to check she was cool and she looked calmly back. When his wife said okay, it usually meant she was ready to hold a plastic bag over his head. The elevator doors opened and a crowd got off and they got on. He pounded on Billy’s floor button, hoping to hurry it up. Everything took longer when you were against the clock.
Lass was sitting up in bed with his bandaged hands out front as before. It was like he’d stepped out the room for a minute and returned so little had changed.
“John! Two visits in one day!” The drug haze seemed to evaporate, right along with his smile. “This isn’t a social call, is it? You have something on this asshole.”
“I apologize, Billy, but I know you want this guy even more than I do. Let’s save social calls for later. I have another photograph for you to look at.”
Coombes opened Sato’s tablet and brought up the Instagram page. Dorsey was grinning in most of the pictures and it took him a moment to find a shot less likely to antagonize Lass.
“You ready?”
“Just show me the picture, John.”
Coombes nodded and turned the tablet around. A snarl appeared on Lass’ face; his lips pulled back to show his teeth.
“Motherfucker! That’s the piece of shit that did this to me.”
“Give me a number, Billy.”
Lass glanced at him, his eyes filled with anger.
“A hundred percent. A thousand. It’s him.”
Coombes passed the tablet back to Sato, who had taken a step behind him, hiding herself from Lass’ anger. He put his hand on his former partner’s hugely muscled shoulder, pushing him back against the inclined bed.
“I’m sorry, man. I had to ask.”
He kept his hand where it was, waiting for Lass to calm down. It took almost a minute before the bearlike head came back up and looked at him.
“You don’t have him yet, do you?”
“No.”
“Why is that, if you know who he is?”
“He made a mistake. Bought gas with a credit card, that’s it. Everything else lines up, but we couldn’t bust him for jaywalking. He’s careful. You know the kind. If it rained, the drops would all miss him, land on someone else.”
Lass looked at him, then Sato.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“My captain’s going to hang his hat on Sutton first thing tomorrow.”
“Even if I ID this guy?”
“It’s Block. He and Hurst probably shave each other’s backs. Your word wouldn’t mean shit to him.”
The mention of Hurst visibly upset Lass.
“After you left, I kept thinking through that scene of you with Sutton. Trying to get the angles to line up. It bothered me.”
Coombes nodded. “We figure he did it to save his sister.”
“No doubt, but that’s not the part that bugs me. He gave you this dumb-ass confession, made you shoot him, then, as he’s bleeding out on the floor, tells you where his sister was?”
“Pretty much.”
“That makes no sense, John. If he knew where she was, why not save her himself?”
Coombes thought about it for a moment. Every time he got to the bottom of the scene with Sutton, another layer seemed to be revealed. He’d been side-tracked trying to work out Nicky’s motivation for confessing, rather than focus on what was important.
“Sutton had to believe there was no other way of saving her. That the Ferryman had a way to kill Olivia if he didn’t follow orders. A bomb or something else. Our guy’s pretty good with electronics, a threat might be credible. He’d certainly proven himself as a killer.”
“Do as I say or she dies, that works.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Lass, but Sato shook her head.
“How would he know if Sutton had done what he was told? We were the only people in that room, Johnny, there was no one else there. We’re missing something.”
“A hidden camera. Like the one in Blackstone’s Tesla.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “Our killer likes to watch.”
They said nothing for a moment, then their eyes connected.
“The camera’s a loose end,” Coombes said. “At the very least it proves Sutton was being watched and since there will be no fire damage, the person who installed it would have to know what was going on.”
Sato’s face was lit up, her cheeks flushed.
“He’ll have to retrieve it. Tonight, when it gets dark. We’ve had units on the scene all day, not to mention the news crews, it’ll be the first chance he gets.”
“Glad I could help,” Lass said, sarcastically.
“Thanks. We’ve got to go.”
“A quick word alone, John?”
“Is this a testicle thing?” Sato said. “Because it’s bullshit.”
When the door closed behind her, Lass looked at him with a knowing look.
“Are you crazy? Sleeping with your partner?”
“I’m not.”
It sounded weak, even to him.
“John, there’s a river of energy flowing between you. Don’t insult me by telling me I’m imagining it.”
“You’re not imagining it, but nothing’s happened.”
“Yet.”
Coombes nodded and looked away. “I’m crazy about her.”
“What about Julie?”
He didn’t feel like getting matrimonial advice from a lug nut like Billy Lass, or sharing the poor state of his relationship with his wife.
“Anything else? We have to get going if we’re going to catch this guy.”
Lass looked at him the way a person always looked at someone determined to make a mistake, with an equal mix of pity and disbelief.
“Yeah. I want you to give this prick a message from me.”
44
They returned to Sato’s apartment to change her ancient Honda for his official vehicle before heading back to the Sutton home in Silver Lake. All the other members of the task force had been brought up to speed and would be arriving as soon as they could to strengthen their perimeter. Gantz was frosty about how long he’d kept her in the dark, but approved the trap with some reservations.
“What did I say, John?”
“No shitshow.”
“I’m concerned that maybe you haven’t heard me. I don’t want another situation like last year in the L.A. River. I am still getting paperwork for that.”
“You mean when I saved a nine-year-old girl?”
“No explosions! Are we clear?”
“It’s my mantra every day, I swear.”
Gantz was quiet for a beat and Coombes heard a television in the background. The sound poured out of the Dodge’s dashboard somewhere. His lieutenant was watching a Tom Hanks movie, he recognized the actor’s voice.
“Good luck, John.”
She disconnected and he turned to Sato.
“You blow up one semi full of gas and people lose their minds.”
Sato smiled and her nose wrinkled. Goddamn that was cute.
“She’s just mad that she wasn’t there to see it.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Overhead, a traffic light turned green but they had to wait for some old derelict to finish crossing the street before he could pull away. The homeless man turned to look at them, unfazed. He was ready for death; it was there in his eyes. Just do it, you’d be doing me a favor. Coombes found himself thinking about Dorsey, something about this man-
