Free The Watchman by Robert Crais Page B

shades that covered the windows brightened until the house was filled with a dim golden light. On mornings like this with their silence and peace, Pike sometimes thought he felt the earth turn. He wondered if someone remained at his house.
    The girl was still sleeping.
    Pike poured ground coffee into a small pot, filled the pot with water, then set it on the range. Pike had been making coffee this way for years. He would bring it to a boil, then pour it through a paper towel or maybe he wouldn’t bother with the towel. The coffee would be fine either way. Simple was better.
    After a while the coffee boiled. Pike watched it roil for a moment, then turned off the heat and let it settle. He didn’t bother with the towel. He poured some into a Styrofoam cup, then brought it out to the table. He had just taken a seat when his cell phone vibrated again.
    Cole said, “Can you talk?”
    Pike could see the girl’s door from the table. It was closed.
    “Yes.”
    “Two agents from the Department of Justice came by this morning, Donald Pitman and Kevin Blanchette. They brought your gun. It was still in an LAPD evidence bag.”
    Pike said, “Okay.”
    “They didn’t mention King or Meesh or the girl, or any of that. They didn’t ask if I knew what was going on or if I had seen you. They just gave me the gun and told me to tell you they were taking care of it.”
    “You probably shouldn’t call me from your house anymore.”
    “I walked next door.”
    “Okay.”
    “Pitman said if I heard from you I should tell you to call. You want the number?”
    “I have it.”
    “He said the gun was a sign of good faith, but if you didn’t call, the good faith would stop.”
    “I understand.”
    “You going to call?”
    “No.”
    “Couple more things. Nothing in the record connects Meesh to L.A. or gives us something to work with, so the bodies are our best shot. We get them ID’d we might be able to work backwards to Meesh.”
    “I’ll talk to Bud.”
    “It’s not like I have too much to do. I can call over there.”
    Pike sipped the coffee, then glanced at Larkin’s door.
    “Bud’s on it. Did you check out the girl?”
    Cole hesitated, and Pike read a difference in his tone.
    “She hasn’t told you about herself?”
    “What would she tell me?”
    “She’s the chick in the magazines.”
    “She’s a model?”
    “No, not like that. She’s rich. She’s famous for being rich. I didn’t place her with the short hair, the way people can look different in person. She’s always in the tabloids—going wild in clubs, making a big scene, that kind of thing. You’ve seen her.”
    “Don’t read tabloids.”
    “Her father inherited an empire. They own hotel chains in Europe, a couple of airlines, oil fields in Canada. She has to be worth five or six billion.”
    “Huh.”
    “If she’s cool, she’s cool, but keep an eye on her. She’s the classic L.A. wild child.”
    Pike glanced at the door.
    “She seems all right.”
    “Just so you know.”
    Pike had more of the coffee. It had gone cold, but Pike didn’t mind. He thought about Pitman and Blanchette showing up at Cole’s house with the gun. A show of goodwill. He wondered why two federal agents would do that, but mostly he didn’t care. He wanted to find Meesh.
    Pike said, “Can you get Bud Flynn’s home address?”
    “Am I not the World’s Greatest Detective?”
    “Something I have to do later. I can’t take the girl and I don’t want to leave her alone. Could you stay with her?”
    “Babysit a hot, young, rich chick? I think I can manage.”
    Pike ended the call, then punched in Bud Flynn’s cell number. Flynn answered on the third ring, sounding hoarse and sleepy. Pike wondered if Bud was at a table somewhere, having coffee the way Pike was having coffee, but he decided Bud was in bed. It was only seven-forty. Bud had probably been up pretty late.
    Pike said, “You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?”
    As he said it, the girl’s door opened and Larkin