The Dark Room(2)

“That’s Inspector Grassley,” Cain said. “Make sure he gets in the van, that he rides with one of you. He might want to drive back on his own, but don’t let him. We need the chain of custody. You understand. I don’t want any problems later, some defense lawyer picking us apart.”

“I get it,” the woman said.

“I’ve got to go,” Cain said. He looked back into the hole, shining his light on the casket’s black lid. “Let’s get this one right.”

He paused on the way down the hill and looked back up at Grassley. They met each other’s eyes and nodded, and that was all. Then he hurried across the access road, toward the long fairway that stretched between the graveyard and Del Monte Boulevard.



When he reached the golf course and felt the short grass under his feet, he checked the sky to the north and saw that the helicopter was less than a minute away. He took out his cell phone and dialed Lucy’s number.

“Gavin?”

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to—I thought I’d get your voicemail.”

“I was up.”

He looked at his watch. It was a quarter past two. The grass on the fairway was slick with dew, and he could smell the ocean.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re feeling sick again,” he said. He could hear it in her voice.

“It’s not such a big deal,” she said. “Really.”

“Okay.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“Down south, near Monterey. For Hanley.”

“Hanley?”

“The video we got, the guy who—”

“That’s enough,” she said. “I remember. I can’t stomach it right now.”

“No more,” he said. “I promise.”

“Are you coming soon?”

“Something came up,” he said. “They’re sending a helicopter, but I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You have to hurry?”

He glanced up at the helicopter, saw it swing around as it lined up for the fairway.

“I ought to go.”

“Then call when you can,” she said. “Or better yet, just come.”

“As soon as I can,” he said.

“Be careful,” she said. “Gavin, I mean it.”

“Try and get some sleep.”

They hung up and he put the phone away. Then the helicopter came in just above the line of trees, and when it was hovering over the fairway, its spotlight lit up. He walked toward the white circle, one hand in the air to call the CHP pilot in.





2


IT WAS HIS first time in a helicopter. The SFPD had scrapped its aero division before he’d even joined the force. Now whenever his department needed helicopter support, it called the California Highway Patrol. The agencies were friendly, but arranging anything was a bureaucratic and logistical mess. Which meant that this flight, on short notice at two in the morning, could only have happened if someone far above his lieutenant had stepped in.

He put on his headset and bent the microphone toward his lips.

“Where we headed?”

“Civic Center Plaza,” the pilot said, and Cain had to press his earphones tight to hear her voice over the engine. “I’m supposed to set you down on the lawn at the corner of Polk and Grove.”

“They tell you what it’s about?”

She shook her head.

“I’m just a taxi service tonight. That’s all I know.”

They were racing above Monterey Bay. Five, six hundred feet up, with wisps of fog between them and the black water. Ahead, he could see Santa Cruz, its lights spread between the bay’s curved shore and the low, silhouetted mountains.

“What were you doing in the cemetery?” the pilot asked.

“Exhumation.”

“Cold case?”

“That’s right,” Cain said.

It was no ordinary cold case, but he wasn’t going to explain that now. He hated to be reassigned right at the cusp, a moment before they pried open the lid and found out if they had a case or nothing at all. It wouldn’t wait for him, either. The lieutenant had been clear—Grassley would handle it without him. He was supposed to be good, but he’d been Cain’s partner for only three weeks. Cain hadn’t seen enough to have an opinion either way, and that made him nervous.

When they reached the northern edge of Monterey Bay, the pilot came up high enough to pass above the Santa Cruz Mountains, and though they were flying toward the city’s gathering orange glow, beneath them, the woods were dark and untouched.



Twenty-five minutes later, the pilot circled Civic Center Plaza once, and then put the helicopter down on the lawn, slipping easily between two rows of flagpoles. Cain took off his headset and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Lieutenant Nagata was waiting for him across the lawn, standing clear of the wind. Behind her, on Polk Street, a yellow cab and a pair of private cars had slowed to a crawl to watch the helicopter.

Cain straightened his suit and went to his boss.

“Lieutenant,” he said. “Where are we going?”

She nodded toward City Hall, which rose into the dark across the street. The gold leaf on the dome glowed against the night. Lieutenant Nagata waited for a car to pass, and then led him across Polk Street. A policeman opened the main door for them, and Nagata led Cain into the building. She stopped beneath the rotunda, at the foot of the grand staircase.