you wouldn’t find the bodies.”
A wispy smile touched her lips.
“Yeah, you’re a killer, for sure.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Maybe. But now Karbo can’t sue you, which makes you a person of interest.”
“Does Isabel know?”
“We’ll let her know at a reasonable hour.”
Braun said, “She knew they were being released. Maybe she gave you a call, and you dealt some payback.”
“I didn’t kill them.”
“No? Maybe our little Miss Isabel killed them. Sound good?”
Pike didn’t like him calling her “our little Miss Isabel.”
“Sounds like you don’t have a suspect.”
DeLako sighed, showing her irritation.
“Why were you outside the bank?”
“The story hasn’t changed.”
“Karbo and Bender told a different story. She got into the car willingly, but changed her mind when Karbo got grabby. They were letting her out when you popped out of nowhere.”
“I saw what I saw, Detective. Isabel told the truth.”
DeLako glanced at Braun, but Braun was watching Pike. After a few seconds, he made a nod.
“Maybe so, but neither of these guys had a record. Both had good jobs, owned homes, checked all the right solid-citizen boxes. Not your typical predators.”
“I’m not your typical bystander.”
DeLako laughed. Even Braun managed a smile.
“True. Then again, maybe what you said and what she said isn’t what happened.”
Pike said, “Are we finished?”
DeLako took out her pad.
“We need the names of the people who saw you last night.”
They climbed into their car after DeLako copied the information. The black-and-white left first. Braun and DeLako followed. Pike watched them drive through the gate, then went to his Jeep. DeLako’s handprint marred the Jeep’s shining hood. He took out a handkerchief, and buffed it away.
Pike thought about Isabel as he finished dressing. She had probably called after learning that Karbo and Bender were being released. She would have been scared, which explained the urgency in her voice. When she didn’t reach him, she had probably spent the rest of the evening telling her friends about it. This made sense to Pike, but she had wanted to speak with him really, really badly, and never called back. This bothered him. The nervous urgency in her voice didn’t fit with her silence.
At seven A.M., Pike got her voice mail again. He wondered if he should mention Karbo and Bender, but decided against it. Braun and DeLako had been right to question him, and they would be right in questioning Isabel. Both men being killed screamed of a connection to Isabel, but the connection was so obvious it felt false.
At nine-oh-one, Pike phoned the bank.
“Sorry, Isabel isn’t in today. May I help you?”
Isabel had told him she was returning to work.
“Manager, please.”
His call was connected.
“AbigailGeorgehowmayIhelpyou?”
Pike identified himself, and asked for Isabel.
“Oh, Mr. Pike! I’m so sorry. She’s taking a few days off. Did you hear what happened? They let those men out of jail.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m returning her call.”
“She was so upset I sent her home. I couldn’t blame her. How could they let them out?”
“What time was it, when she went home?”
“This was yesterday.”
“I understand.”
“A little after three, I guess. I told her to take as much time as she needs.”
Pike thanked her and lowered his phone.
Little Miss Isabel.
He replayed her message.
“Um, hi. It’s Isabel Roland. Could you call me back, please? I really, really need to talk to you.”
Pike clipped his .357 to his waist, and went to his Jeep. Sometimes Pike enjoyed silence. Sometimes the silence scared him.
11.
Isabel’s address led to a modest green-and-yellow Craftsman on a street lined with elms and parked cars, its sidewalks mottled with shade. A covered porch spanned the front between a pepper tree and driveway. A one-car garage in the rear looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years. Pike saw nothing amiss, but nothing felt right.
Pike parked his Jeep and climbed concrete steps to the door.
He saw a small white card wedged in the jamb, and knew Isabel wasn’t home. We-were-here cards had been around when Pike was an officer, and LAPD still used them. Braun and DeLako had been by to see her.
Pike knocked anyway, and rang the bell. No one answered, so he knocked again.
“Isabel. Joe Pike.”
He touched the knob.
Locked.
Pike stepped away and pondered how far to take this. The front door was clean, intact, and showed no sign of forced entry. The porch windows were closed and undamaged, and the drapes were drawn. Any other day, Isabel would be at work. On a different day, she would be having coffee with a friend or shopping on Melrose, but this was the day after the men who attacked her were