The Sentry - By Robert Crais Page 0,45

and now the desert wind blew through Pike’s chest like a cold rail. Pike worked his way out of the bush, slipped over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, then ran for his Jeep. He was less than ten minutes from Button’s location, and filled Cole in as he drove.

Cole said, “You want me back on Mendoza?”

“Not now. If this is Wilson or Dru, the police will be all over their house as soon as they clear the scene. If there’s more to find on their street, we have to find it now.”

“I’m on it, Joe, but listen—”

Cole’s voice softened.

“Hold a good thought, okay?”

Pike broke the call in silence. Moments later he was bogged down in traffic three blocks from the canal, and knew he was heading for a major crime scene. Westbound traffic was rerouted through the marina by a uniformed officer who forced everyone to turn.

When Pike identified himself, the officer directed him into a parking lot behind a Thai restaurant. Several radio cars were along both sides of the canal, and two more blocked the Washington Boulevard Bridge. A Medical Examiner’s van was on the far side of the canal. Even as Pike pulled into the parking lot, he saw that the water level was down. The Venice Canals did not flow freely into the sea. Once or twice a week, locks built into the bridge were opened, allowing the canals to drain with the falling tide, and refill with clean water as the tide rose. Now, the tide was out and the water was down, revealing a low wall of gray concrete stones that firmed the banks and the shallow slope of the bottom.

Pike spotted Futardo as he parked. She was with a small group of detectives and uniforms at the edge of the canal who stared at something in the water. Button was on the other side of the bridge with Straw. The man with the orange shirt was with them, only now he wore blue. He saw Pike first, then Button and Straw turned. Button came across the bridge to Futardo and motioned Pike to join them.

Pike felt his heart rate increase as he got closer. Two men in waders stepped into the water while two other men in knee boots spread a blue plastic sheet on the muddy bottom. All four wore long rubber gloves that reached to their shoulders. A stretcher waited solemnly nearby.

Button’s face was blank as Pike approached, but a deep line cut Futardo’s brow. Pike wondered what she was thinking. Button’s jacket was already off in anticipation of the coming heat, and his hands were in his pockets. He didn’t take them out to shake. Instead, he nodded toward the canal.

“There you go.”

Pike looked, and in that moment he realized all his assumptions were wrong.

22

Reuben Mendoza’s body was on its side in the shallow trough of water that remained in the canal. The arm with the cast reached toward the bank as if he had been trying to pull himself out when he died, but Pike knew this had not been the case. Mendoza’s neck was cut so deeply the white core of bone was revealed, and the blue-gray pallor of his flesh indicated he had bled out long before he drifted to the bank. He wore baggy khaki shorts, a long-sleeved plaid shirt so big it cloaked him like a shawl, and Keds—the same clothes Jared described. Carla Fuentes would be able to keep her house.

Button clucked his tongue.

“Looks to me like your boy Mendoza here didn’t abduct anyone.”

Futardo moved closer, watching him the way cops watch a suspect.

“Do you recognize this man?”

Pike nodded.

“When is the last time you saw him?”

Pike glanced at Futardo, and saw Button smile.

“Detective Futardo here wants to work homicide. She thinks you’re a person of interest.”

Futardo flushed dark and her thin lips grew tighter as Button went on, lecturing her.

“This isn’t Pike’s style. Pike here, he’d shoot the guy point-blank or beat him to death, but he wouldn’t do this. Hey, Eddie—”

A man in waders looked over.

“Roll him and open the shirt, please. We want to see the wound.”

Most of the body was still in the water. They rolled it to face Button, then pulled back the plaid shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned as Jared described, but the T-shirt beneath was ripped from the upper left chest down through the center of the shirt to his pants. Washed clean of blood by being in the canal, picket-fence ribs protruded through the chest and