The Forgotten Man - Robert Crais Page 0,23

the point. Maybe it was enough that we were who we were, and were good with that; or maybe we each felt our baggage was lighter without the weight of someone else's concern. When I reached the part about the Home Away Suites, I showed Pike the bill with Faustina's name and address. Pike glanced at it.

"This isn't the right area code for Scottsdale. His address and phone number don't go together."

The motel record showed 416 as the area code for Faustina's home number.

"What's Scottsdale?"

"Four-eighty."

I brought the invoice to the phone, and punched in the number. A computer chimed immediately to inform me that no such listing existed. Next, I booted up my iMac, signed on to Yahoo's map program, and entered Faustina's address. No such street existed in Scottsdale. I leaned back in my chair and glanced up at Pike; everything I thought I knew about Herbert Faustina was wrong.

"His phone number and address don't exist. He made them up."

Pike studied the invoice again, then handed it back.

"My guess is he made up more than that. Maria Faustina was the first saint of this millennium. She was canonized for her trust in God's Divine Mercy. Five gets you ten he was using an alias."

Pike knows the most surprising things.

I unfolded the morgue photos and showed him the picture of Herbert Faustina's tattoos.

"I guess he sought mercy."

"Maybe," Pike said. "But mercy for what?"

11

Yard Work

Frederick made three trips down to Payne's house that day, not that so much was left after all these years, but the bags were awkward. Each time he came down, he was terrified the police would be waiting. He crept through the trees, gut-sick with fear until he saw that the coast was clear.

Once everything was down, Frederick fired up Payne's gas grill. He used four full cans of propane, then mixed the ashes with gasoline and burned them in a fifty-five-gallon drum Payne used for burning trash. After the second burn, he bagged the residue, then scrubbed the drum with Clorox. He drove the ashes out along Highway 126 to Lake Piru, washed out the bags with lake water, then stopped at two nurseries in Canyon Country before heading back. Late that afternoon when the sun was beginning to weaken, he dusted Payne's property with a generous mix of warfarin, ant poison, cayenne pepper, and arsenic. The police might eventually bring dogs to search the property, but when their mutts hoovered up Frederick 's little surprise, they wouldn't last long. Frederick felt satisfied with a job well done.

With the evidence gone and the grounds laced with poison, Frederick let himself back into Payne's house to think. Payne had always told him they would be punished. Frederick thought he meant they would burn in Everlasting Hell-especially after Payne began tattooing himself and talking to Jesus-but maybe it wasn't that at all. Frederick woke every morning knowing that someone somewhere was hunting them; entire armies were probably trying to find them.

Maybe now they had.

Thoughts swirled through Frederick 's head like whispering voices, and he felt himself beginning to panic.

"Stop."

Frederick sat motionless at the table except for his right leg. His foot bounced with a will of its own, separate and apart from him, faster as the buzzing grew louder.

"Make it stop."

Frederick knew he was in trouble. They were trying to get him, and they might have already found Payne-mercenaries, masked assassins, maybe even criminals; hired killers paid to find and punish them. Maybe they had snatched Payne and his car, too; made their move so quickly that Payne simply vanished.

Frederick realized if they found Payne, then they might be watching him right now. He felt the weight of their eyes. He heard their covered whispers.

Frederick 's foot bounced until the table shook; a ceramic Jesus danced to the edge of the table and fell. When it shattered, Frederick clutched his leg, and pounded his thigh-

"Stop it! STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT!"

He lurched to his feet, stumbled into the kitchen, and saw a fresh message waiting on Payne's machine. Someone had called that day while Frederick worked in the yard.

Frederick played the message, and a voice he had heard only once-the time he let Payne talk him into going to the Catholic church that Sunday-came from the machine.

"Payne, this is Father Wills. I hope you're well, but I'm concerned I haven't heard from you. Please call or come by. It's important we continue our discussion."

Frederick 's stomach clenched, and he tasted sardines.

What discussion?

Father Wills was a priest, and priests took confession.

What had Payne