Chapter 26
With June and Sylvia Reed watching, Peter went through the rest of the small apartment.
It didn’t take long. The closet had a camouflage-patterned jacket and pants, but nothing you couldn’t find at Bass Pro or Cabela’s.
The cupboards held mostly sacks of rice and dried beans.
The fridge had only a half-empty carton of chocolate milk.
Under the kitchen sink, he found a small plastic toolbox with an assortment of specialty screwdrivers and pliers, along with a small soldering kit.
For working on computers, Peter assumed.
Behind the toolbox were four empty boxes that had once held heavy-duty motorcycle chains.
He held one up so Sylvia could see. “Did your brother ride a motorcycle?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what those are doing here.”
Peter found no weapons, not even a pocketknife. He went through the bookshelf again. Just engineering texts and guides to surviving the end of the world.
They thanked Sylvia and left. The rain had let up. Lewis was waiting on the front porch with the shotgun. Peter left it inside Sylvia’s front door.
June said, “What’d you take from Geoff’s apartment?”
“You saw that?” Peter reached inside his jacket and pulled out the maps.
“There was a bundle just like this in the killer’s glove box.
” He handed them to her. Then he remembered the burner.
He pulled the foil-wrapped phones from his pocket.
“There’s a cheap phone in here. I found that in the glove box, too. ”
June groaned. “You took evidence from the scene of a murder?”
“By accident.” Mostly.
“Oh, if it’s accidental, the cops won’t mind at all.”
“Sarcasm is not your best quality,” Peter said. “Any chance you can get the phone unlocked? Might be something useful on there.”
She rolled her eyes and took the foil packet. “I’ll ask Robert later. We’re besties now.”
Robert was an old friend of Lewis’s. He ran a small consulting company doing white-hat security intrusions for corporate clients. On the side, he did a few things for Lewis. As long as Lewis promised not to tell him anything he didn’t want to know.
It was after four, and with the low clouds and rain, it was already getting dark. Peter looked at Lewis. “You wanted to make a stop for some hardware. When and where?”
“After dinner. In the foothills. I got a guy.”
Lewis always had a guy.
They walked down the driveway and through the gap he had made in the makeshift barricade. As he paused to pull the plastic furniture back into place, the KING 5 reporter climbed out of the van, hair perfectly arranged.
The guy in the Pathfinder got out, too. He was stocky and unshaven, carrying a professional-looking camera with a fat white lens. “She let you in, huh? What’d you say?” As he walked closer, Peter saw his cheeks were mottled by the broken veins of a serious drinker.
“Who are you with,” June asked.
“Freelance,” he said. “I sell to all the websites, video and stills.” He raised the big Nikon. “Say cheese.”
Peter felt something boil to the surface. Anger at what had happened to KT and Ellie. A feeling of helplessness at Sylvia Reed’s distress. Before the other man could bring the viewfinder to his eyes, Peter stepped in and twisted the camera from his hand.
“Ow, fuck. What the hell?” The freelancer held his wrist.
“Most people don’t like strangers taking their picture.” Peter turned the Nikon over, found the card slot, popped the waterproof plug, and pulled out the data card.
The freelancer’s face was red. “Are you kidding me? I got good shit on there.”
Peter snapped the data card in two, dropped it in the mud, and stepped on it. “The woman has lost her brother. Leave her alone. Go home.” He held out the camera.
The freelancer snatched it up. “Fuck you, pal. This is a public street. I have every right to be here.”
Peter moved in. “Time to go.”
Something in his face made the freelancer step away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Peter moved closer and growled, “Get in your car or I’ll put you in it.”
Muttering under his breath, the freelancer stomped back to the Pathfinder.
Peter turned to the KING 5 reporter, who’d gone pale under his spray-tan. “You, too. Go film a car accident or something.”
The reporter opened his mouth, then closed it again and hurried back to the van.
Watching them both drive away, June said, “You feel better, Marine?”
Peter glanced back to the house. The vertical blinds were parted at the front window. He raised a hand. The blinds swung closed. “Maybe a little.”
June said, “What if it was me out here, trying to get an interview?”
“You wouldn’t be,” Peter said. “Not waiting like some vulture. Preying on Sylvia Reed.”
June patted him on the chest. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”
As they walked toward the Tahoe, June’s phone rang. She stepped away to answer. When she returned, she said, “That was Carlotta. We’re having dinner at their place tonight.”
Peter felt something ease inside him. He’d get to see Ellie. He’d see the Martinez girls.
When the world seemed ugly and cruel, a houseful of kids was often the best antidote.
—
Because of rush-hour traffic, it had been dark for an hour by the time they arrived at the pocket neighborhood north of Ballard.
With their small lots on winding, tree-lined streets, the houses tended to be modest, single-story homes with one-car garages.
Most had at least one vehicle parked along the road.
Manny and Carlotta lived in a sixties ranch at the top of a hill.
Their back yard opened onto a heavily wooded drainage called Carkeek Park.
The summer Carlotta was pregnant with the twins, Peter had spent a month working with Manny and the guys to get an addition framed and finished in the rear of the property.
June had been there with Carlotta’s sister when the babies were born.
Peter found the turn, then crept down the street, trying to find the house in the dark.
When he spotted the Semper Fi pickup and turned into the driveway, the Tahoe’s headlights swept across the windows.
Before he managed to put the vehicle in park, the front door opened and Manny’s square, solid form peered out into the night, a pistol in his hand.
Peter smiled. A true Marine Corps welcome.
—
Three houses down on the other side, between a short-bed pickup and a Korean subcompact, a sleek blue car was tucked under the low branches of a sprawling cedar.
Hollis Longro sat in darkness, watching. It had been easy enough to find the address where the truck was registered. His time with the Movement had given him valuable contacts.
It was a shame the Hardcore Originals wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
They could have rolled up the tall man and his friends all in one go.
But Hollis wasn’t concerned. There would be other opportunities.
Now that he knew where the tall man had stashed the girl.