The Dark Room(91)

“Sometimes it’s like walking on water,” Cain said. “You move fast or you sink.”

“Seriously, Cain. You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m keeping ahead of it. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything.”

“When you’re done with the house, send in a cleaning service and put the bill on my desk.”

“Nagata will pay for it.”

“Either way, put it on my desk.”

“All right,” Frank said. “Now, let me tell you what I’ve got. You were right about the guy. He jumped your girlfriend’s fence, and he made it to Cabrillo and jacked a car. Oakland PD found it about two a.m.”

“The driver?”

“In the trunk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“How’s this your fault?”

“I don’t know.”

“The driver was a retired school principal. Seventy-five years old. He lived on Twenty-Fourth Avenue. He was two blocks from home.”

“But the kid ditched the car in Oakland?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Saint Augustine’s, on Alcatraz Avenue. There’s a parking lot next to the church.”

Cain drew a map of Oakland in his mind, found Alcatraz Avenue and followed it east. Past Shattuck, past Telegraph, until he pulled to a mental stop in front of the church.

“That’s practically in Berkeley.”

“What’s that mean to you?” Frank said.

“Maybe nothing,” Cain said. “But we’ve got a theory about Castelli. There’s a connection to a frat that got kicked off the Cal campus in the eighties. Pi Kappa Kappa—you heard of it?”

“Never.”

“Castelli pledged it—but only after it went underground.”

Frank took his time before answering, the wind blowing unimpeded across his receiver.

“And the kid who killed Grassley jacked a car and dropped it in Oakland,” he finally said. “Right on the edge of Berkeley. Close enough to limp home, maybe. That’s what you’re thinking. That there’s still a chapter, and he’s a member.”

“Or maybe it’s nothing.”

“You want me to follow up while you’re gone?”

“If you can—but watch your back.”

“After I heard about Grassley and Chun? I strapped on my ankle piece,” Frank said. “I haven’t done that since my first year in plainclothes.”

Cain said goodbye and hung up. He didn’t want to tell Frank what he thought about the ankle holster. Two guns wouldn’t see behind him any more than one. He checked his rearview mirror, then took a left on Fulton. The rest of the way to Yerba Buena was a straight shot east, the sun finally lighting up the sky ahead of him. All at once, the clouds were pink and orange. But he knew in ten minutes the color would be gone and everything would be gray again.



He came along the walkway and fit his key into the barrack door, taking care to enter their room without waking her. He put his things down on the desk and sat in the chair. He’d left a voicemail for Fischer and now, when he checked his phone, he saw that she’d responded with a text.



Do you want to wait for some backup?





The answer, of course, was no. He wasn’t sure what would happen, either in Mendocino or when the man from London called again. But he wasn’t waiting for anything. From the beginning, they’d all understood that without the girl’s name, they had nothing. Until they knew who she was, everything else was under a shroud. Who buried her, and why. What Castelli was hiding, and whether he’d been paying someone for years. He was breaking the protocols now, leaving town to see a witness without giving his lieutenant a heads-up; moving toward a meeting with the man in London without filing any reports.

But following the rules would only matter if this case went to trial and he had to testify, and he knew it would never get that far. Not after what they did to Grassley and Chun, and not after Lucy had to hide in her own house. This wasn’t going to finish in a courtroom. It would end with bullets, with a body in the morgue and a board of inquiry. Cain didn’t care if they ruled it a good shooting.

He picked up his phone and answered Fischer’s text. When he looked up, Lucy was awake and watching him. He saw her eyes shift to the desk, to the duffel bag he’d packed.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said. “It’s bad enough you to have to stay here. But if I’m out of town, it’s even worse. I want to bring you with me.”

“Where?”

“North,” he said. “Up the coast, to Mendocino. We’ll stay in a bed and breakfast.”

“But you’ll be working.”

“I’ll be talking to someone,” he said. “You can stay in the room, or go for a walk around the town if you’re up for it. Can you do it?”

She looked around the little room. The dingy carpet, the dented walls. Then she pushed back the covers and got out of bed, one hand holding her stomach beneath the navel.

“I’d been getting ready for this. You know I have been.”

“I know.”