Free The Promise: An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel by Robert Crais

sneer.
    “No, sir. Looks good. It’s the man I saw.”
    Stiles arched her eyebrows.
    “Anything you maybe forgot earlier? A scar or a tattoo? A little business in his ear?”
    Stiles touched the stud in her earlobe.
    “No, ma’am.”
    Carter’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. He read the message quickly, then turned to Scott and sat on the edge of the table.
    “So we’re good to go with the art?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “We’ll pull mug shots based on your description. You’ll have to look at them, but we’ll let you get some zees first, okay?”
    “Sounds good. Can I go?”
    “A couple more questions, and we’ll cut you free.”
    Scott glanced at his watch again, and hoped they would hurry.
    Carter said, “You were the first inside, right?”
    They had covered this at length the night before.
    “Yeah. Myself and Sergeant Budress.”
    “How’d you gain entry?”
    “The back door.”
    Stiles flashed the big smile.
    “He means, how’d you open the door?”
    “We kicked it. It was locked.”
    Scott paused and corrected himself.
    “Paulie kicked it. I sent Maggie in when it popped, I went in with her, and then Paulie. We send the K-9 first.”
    Stiles leaned back against the table and crossed her arms.
    “So the door was locked, intact, and undamaged before you entered?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Scott wondered if they had inadvertently committed a policy violation.
    “Did we do something wrong?”
    “Oh, no, you most certainly did not. This is good.”
    Stiles glanced at Carter, pleased, and Carter nodded.
    “First blush, you think, here’s this a-hole trying to escape, he wants to hide, so he breaks into a house. Only Etana didn’t break in. He didn’t have a key, so someone let him in, which means this person knew him, and you know what I’m thinking?”
    Stiles grinned, as if this were a regular routine.
    “Tell us, Brad. What are you thinking?”
    “I’m thinking the man in the house, your man—”
    Carter gestured at the sketch.
    “—had dealings with Etana, and maybe expected him. But when he realized Etana brought an army of cops along, he killed the little sonofabitch.”
    Stiles nodded.
    “Yes, sir. This would seem to make sense.”
    Carter glanced at Stiles.
    “Check for gang affils.
La Eme
, in particular. Associates in with the cartels, and priors with arms and munitions. Military-grade stuff like this, it might’ve been coming from or going to Mexico.”
    Carter pronouced it Meh-hee-co.
    Scott suddenly recalled how his eyes burned when he entered the house, and smelled the sharp odors again as if they clung to his skin.
    “The place reeked of chemicals. Were there chemical weapons or toxins, or something that could hurt my dog?”
    Carter and Stiles traded an uneasy look, and Carter cleared his throat.
    “Bomb Squad and SID are checking. As far as I know, it was soaked with bleach and ammonia. We found jugs of the stuff.”
    Scott glanced at his watch again, even more worried than before. Budress or one of the other handlers would have texted if Maggie showed symptoms, but Scott wanted to check her himself. He put down the coffee.
    “Are we finished? I need to see about my dog.”
    “Another sec. Wanna be sure I have the timeline straight.”
    Scott was annoyed. These were things they had gone over at length a few hours earlier.
    “I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
    “Before you saw Cole, you were in the backyard with Budress and the others, correct?”
    Stiles said, “Evanski and Peters.”
    “That’s right.”
    Scott glanced at his watch again to drive home his annoyance. Carter pretended not to notice.
    “The man in the sport coat—our suspect here—had gone back into the house. You saw Etana on the couch, the blood, and realized the man might duck out the front. That’s when you ran to the street.”
    “Yeah. Like I told you last night.”
    Stiles crossed her arms, staring at him.
    “Did you hear anything from the front, something that maybe made