Free The Golem of Hollywood by Jonathan Kellerman Page B

company in Singapore, for which he found a number.
    He calculated the time difference, debated whether there was any point calling in the middle of the night, decided it was worth a try to see if the number even worked.
    A woman answered in accented English, and a tortuous series of questions revealed that he was speaking not to the holding company but to an answering service whose sole reason for being was to divert nosy callers from obtaining information about the holding company. He was in the midst of conjuring his most persuasive self when the sat phone jumped: Officer Chris Hammett.
    Jacob hung up on Singapore without saying good-bye.
    Hammett sounded young and bewildered. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, Detective. I was kind of—I got held up.”
    â€œNot a problem. How’re you doing?”
    â€œHonestly?” Hammett exhaled. “Still kind of freaked out.”
    â€œI don’t blame you. I saw it.”
    â€œI mean, seriously. That is some fucked-up shit.”
    â€œNo kidding. You mind telling me how it went down?”
    â€œAll right, well, I got up there about midnight—”
    â€œBefore that,” Jacob said. “Where were you when the call came in?”
    â€œDown Cahuenga, near Franklin. Dispatch said they got a woman calling in to report something suspicious.”
    â€œA woman?”
    â€œThat’s what they told me.”
    â€œWhat did they say?”
    â€œJust that there was something needed attention at that address.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œNope. Said get someone to get on up there and check it out. I was closest.” Hammett paused. “I’ll be straight with you, sir: it took me a while. The signs’re for shit and I almost ran off the road. I didn’t get there till maybe an hour later.”
    Jacob’s annoyance was tempered by sympathy as he imagined himself trying to find the house for the first time at night. “And when you did?”
    â€œI didn’t hear nothing or see anything out of the ordinary. The door was open a couple inches. I poked my head in and shined my light down the hall, and there it was.”
    â€œThe head.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Hammett described his search of the house and his discovery of the letters in the kitchen counter. “I called in and my captain had me send over a picture. I guess he must’ve kicked it up the chain, cause pretty soon after that, the crypt doctor showed up. She said she’d take it from there.”
    â€œAnything else you think might be relevant?”
    â€œNo, sir. But—question for you?”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    â€œIs this, like, something I need to be concerned about?”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œYesterday when I came in the station there was some guys waiting to talk to me from some department I never heard of.”
    â€œSpecial Projects,” Jacob said.
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œBig guys.”
    â€œLike, circus big.”
    â€œMel Subach. Or Paul Schott.”
    â€œActually, it was both of them. Schott did the talking, though. He took me aside and implied that it was in my interests to keep what I’d seen on the DL. That’s why it took me a while to get back to you, sir. I didn’t want to overreach. I called him up and asked about you and he said go ahead, just after that, pretend it never happened. Don’t get me wrong, I can sit on it.”
    â€œThanks,” Jacob said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
    â€œAnytime. I hope you get him.”
    â€œYour mouth to God’s ears,” said Jacob.
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œHave a nice day, Officer.”
    â€”
    J ACOB E - MAILED M ALLICK to update him, adding that he was having trouble with the credit card he had been issued. He e-mailed 911 dispatch to request a copy of the call, got dressed, and headed down to his car. While backing out, he noticed that the window treatment van