The Sentry - By Robert Crais Page 0,65
the bills he found in Smith’s file box.
“Now the bad news. 3563 and 3502 are prepaids out of a small provider based in Phoenix. You owe me big-time for these two—the guy I talked to over there was a monumental jackass.”
“These are the cell numbers?”
“Yeah. The provider is a company called Electrotelepathy. They rent antenna space from the larger companies like we do, but on a way smaller scale. They specialize in prepaid options. Keeps their infrastructure down.”
“Did you get the histories?”
“I’m sending them in the email, but this is the part you aren’t going to like. The numbers were activated only twelve days ago. There isn’t much in the way of history.”
Cole tipped back in the chair. Wilson and Dru used throwaways, which probably meant they changed numbers often. Fake names. Untraceable numbers. How much more perfect could it get?
“Was there a text history?”
“Electrotelepathy doesn’t keep texts or emails. That isn’t unusual. Some of the big companies don’t, either. And before you ask—because I’m a mind reader, too, and I know you’re going to ask me—these phones are not GPS-enabled. Electrotelepathy is a low-end company, so they sell a low-end product.”
“How recent are the histories?”
“Through this morning. That’s when I spoke with him. For the third time.”
“Okay, pal, thanks. I appreciate it.”
“A Giants game, right?”
“The Giants.”
Bree was a Dodgers fan, but her life partner, Estelle, was a Giants fan from San Francisco. Theirs was a mixed marriage.
“You’re my hero, Elvis. Estelle will love it.”
“Tell her she’s the luckiest woman alive.”
“I do. Every night.”
“Go Blue.”
“Go Blue.”
Cole laughed as they hung up.
When Bree’s email appeared, Cole opened it and found three attached documents, one for each of the three phone numbers. The two cell histories were short, just as Bree warned. Cole didn’t know which was Dru’s and which was Wilson’s until he skimmed them and found Pike’s cell number on the 3502 log. 3502 would be Dru’s phone. Her last call was made to Pike’s number almost three days earlier at 11:32 P.M. Cole decided this was the missed call Pike had told him about. She had made no calls on the phone since that time. Cole checked 3563, and found no entries since earlier that same day, which meant Wilson had made no calls in the past three days, either. This coincided with the abduction, but Cole knew Wilson phoned Detective Button after seeing the carnage at his shop. No such call was listed on the call list. Cole checked to see if the call had been made from Wilson’s shop phone, but found that no calls had been made from the shop that morning, either. This left Cole puzzled and suspicious. If the call to Button did not show on any of the three records, how many phones did Wilson Smith have?
Cole printed all three documents, then found himself staring at the two pictures again. It was as if the pictures were trying to tell him something that he couldn’t quite hear.
Frustrated, he put them aside, poured himself another cup of coffee, then went through the call histories looking for recurring numbers. He was making a list of the most frequently called numbers when his phone rang.
John Chen said, “Can you talk?”
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“On my way to Los Feliz. Some idiot lost a game of Russian roulette. This is the only time I get any privacy, man, driving to a crime scene. I’ve been waiting all morning to call.”
“You get some prints?”
“Am I not the Chen? Eleven distinct samples, and I’m pretty sure some belong to a female. That’s based on size, so I’m only guessing, but whoever it is isn’t in the system. You don’t have to worry about her. The other guy is a different story.”
“You got a hit on the man?”
“Kinda.”
“What’s kinda, John? C’mon. What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I said kinda. I got a sealed file. All you get is a file number and a directive telling you who to contact.”
“What does that mean?”
“Could mean anything. The guy could be a cop, a federal agent, maybe in witness protection, something like that. We see these with military personnel, too, like when it’s a Delta guy or a SEAL or one of those top-secret things.”
“Are you telling me this guy is a spook?”
“I was just giving examples. I’m guessing the guy is a criminal or a cop.”
“Why?”
“The directive. It says to contact the FBI or the Louisiana Department of Justice for information. That kinda rules out him being a spook.”
“Did you?”
“Hell, no!