A Dangerous Man (Elvis Cole and Joe Pike #18) - Robert Crais Page 0,20

His tattoos stood out, so Pike put on a long-sleeved blue dress shirt. He rolled the sleeves to his forearms, and walked back to a construction site two houses up and across from Karbo’s town house. An empty dumpster sat out front of a home waiting to be razed, and a temporary chain-link fence surrounded the property.

Pike cut alongside the neighboring house, stepped onto a low stone wall, and vaulted the fence. A spot between the dumpster and a dying rosemary bush gave him a pretty good view.

The morning rush was over. People had left for work or school, and the neighborhood dozed in a lazy, late-morning lull. Cars passed. An older woman walked a tiny white dog. The officers had the look of men and women who’d been at the scene all night. Pike had spent enough nights at crime scenes to know how they felt. They would be tired, they would be bored, and they wanted to go home. The crime scene was winding down. Pretty soon, not long, they would leave.

A few minutes later, two uniforms came down the steps from the landing, and left in a black-and-white. One down. Three to go.

Pike’s phone vibrated softly. He answered with a whisper.

“Pike.”

Chen whispered back.

“It’s me. Can you talk?”

“Yes.”

A maroon Volvo with a rusty rear fender crept past. The lone female driver craned her head to see the police.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Talk to me, John.”

“I found out a little more. Bender was shot with a 10-millimeter. Don’t see many 10s. Karbo got it with a .40, so we’re talking two different guns.”

Pike hadn’t encountered many 10-millimeter pistols, and knew Chen was right. Ten-mils packed as much punch at close range as a .45, but weren’t nearly as common. A 10-mil was a signature gun, and should be easy to track.

Chen was still talking.

“Best guess on time of death is one guy couldn’t make both kills. We’re looking at two. One shot each in the head, and they grabbed their casings.”

All of which jibed with what Braun and DeLako told him.

“Executions.”

“No doubt about it. And get this—no signs of struggle, no bruising or binding. The vics either knew the shooters, or the shooters were waiting inside when Karbo and Bender got home. The one dude, Bender, he walked in with a bucket of Extra Crispy. The Colonel was all over the floor.”

Chen made a gasping laugh, yonk, yonk, yonk.

Pike thought about Karbo and Bender arriving home. Something about them entering their homes didn’t feel right, but the question finally occurred to him.

“How’d they get home?”

“I don’t understand. What?”

“From court. Bender’s vehicle was impounded. When they were released, how’d they get home?”

“Uber? I don’t know. Friends? A dick over in Eagle Rock thinks Karbo’s car might lead to the killer.”

Pike changed his sight angle enough to see the parking stalls. A dusty Mustang filled the stall on the left, and an aging, fern-colored Pontiac Aztek filled the stall on the right. The middle stall was empty.

“What kind of car does he drive?”

“A Challenger, but get this—”

Chen let it hang, so Pike waited for the rest.

“The DMV shows no current vehicle registration for a Christopher Karbo. No record of him owning a vehicle. He’s carless.”

“Then how do they know what he drives?”

“Neighbors. They say the guy has a Challenger.”

“Mm.”

“Only it’s missing, so the dicks want to find it. They’re thinking the shooter took it.”

“Sounds good, John. Thanks.”

“You at Karbo’s now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hang tough. They’re wrapping up.”

Pike put away his phone and watched the police.

A woman with an FSD equipment bag over her shoulder stepped out of Karbo’s town house, and spoke with the detective. The detective closed the door, and locked it. The criminalist came down the steps, stowed her bag in the wagon, and departed the scene.

Two down.

One of the uniforms went to the black-and-white, and carried a roll of crime scene tape back up the steps to the detective.

The maroon Volvo reappeared from the opposite direction, and passed as the detective stretched yellow tape across the door. A uniform glanced at the driver, and she looked quickly away.

The remaining uniforms came down and left in their black-and-white.

Three down. One to go.

The detective went to the unit next to Karbo’s. He rapped at the door, and the door opened almost immediately, which meant the person inside had been listening. He was a thin guy, balding, and looked to be in his forties. They spoke for several minutes, then the thin man went back into his town house, and the detective left.

Four gone.

Pike waited

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