Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(24)



Another delightful image.

“Did they take anything when they left?”

“If they did, I didn’t see it, and you can bet your weenie I was looking.”

“Will you be home for a while, Mr. Karsey?”

“I’m always here and I’m always watching. Tell the old lady. She might wanna pass me some green.”

I started the car, drove to Ventura Boulevard, and pulled over to call Wendy Vann.

“Were you and Kurt at Josh’s bungalow last night?”

“No. Why?”

“A man and a woman entered his bungalow between three-thirty and four this morning. Were they yours?”

Wendy hesitated.

“They were not. What did they look like?”

I repeated Leon Karsey’s description and told her about his call.

Wendy stopped me.

“Hang on. They wore night vision goggles?”

“That’s what he said.”

“The guy’s a crank. He’s half a loon, Cole. Josh has told me stories about him.”

“I’m going to check the bungalow. How about you check with Corbin? See if they work for him.”

“I’ll ask, but if they worked for Corbin they wouldn’t have to sneak inside in the middle of the night. That it?”

“Josh’s phone. Can Adele access his account?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Either she can or she can’t. What’s to work on?”

“There are issues.”

“Did you ask her?”

“It’s complicated. These things take time.”

“Put her on. I’ll ask her myself.”

“I’m on it, Cole. Do you have anything new to report?”

“As of two days ago, Josh is in Los Angeles. He was seen twice in the past week.”

“Wait. Josh is here, and he’s ignoring her?”

“He isn’t in Nevada and he hasn’t been abducted.”

“Stop it. Where’s he staying?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Don’t be smart, Cole. This isn’t funny.”

“I don’t know where he’s staying.”

“With the porn girl?”

“He’s been seen with her, but I have reason to believe they’re not together. I’m not positive, but it’s shaping up this way.”

“Adele will ask. Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he in love? Is that it? He fell in love with a porno actress and he’s embarrassed?”

“I don’t know, Wendy. Maybe he doesn’t want to give his father another reason to shit on him.”

Wendy sighed.

“I hear you. Anything else?”

“The call log.”

“Jesus, Cole, I’m on it.”

Wendy hung up.

Her being on it wasn’t getting anywhere, so I called a friend named Terri Grafino. Terri worked for a company that owned twenty thousand signal towers throughout the United States. The company leased antenna space and signal repeaters to hundreds of cell service providers, whose billions of signals flowed through Terri’s system.

Terri sounded excited when she answered.

“This is so crazy! I was just thinking of you!”

“You’re always thinking of me. Who can blame you?”

Terri laughed.

“Nicky, for one, but let’s not tell him.”

Nicky was Terri’s husband. A week after they married, one of Terri’s former boyfriends started calling her, sending emails, and showing up at Terri’s office. Terri and Nicky got a restraining order, but the boyfriend ignored it. Then they hired me, and the harassment stopped. Terri and Nicky and I remained friends.

She said, “We are way overdue for a dinner. Pick a night, and it’s yours.”

“Can we put it off a couple of weeks? Lucy and Ben are coming.”

“I’m pouting. Can you see my pouty lips?”

“Flawless.”

“Ha. So this job. What do you need?”

“Call log on a blind number. I don’t know the service provider.”

She thought for a moment.

“Identifying the current provider is doable. As for the rest, I dunno. If one of our contract companies provides service, maybe. If not, I might not be able to help.”

“Whatever you can do, Terr.”

I read off the number twice, thanked her, and drove to Los Feliz.

Twenty-two minutes later, I crept up Josh’s street. Cars, trucks, garbage cans, and dumpsters lined the sides, reducing the street to a single grudging lane. Parking was the usual hillside nightmare. I was six houses away when I passed a woman climbing into a Volvo. I hit the brakes and backed up, feeling as if I’d won the lottery.

I was walking uphill when a white SUV parked across from the red bungalow pulled from the curb and rolled toward me. I moved to the side and the SUV picked up speed. The SUV was dirty. A thick pelt of dust coated the windshield and hood, and dried mud caked the bumper as if the two men inside had been off-roading in a pigsty.

The SUV came faster.

I stepped to the side even farther.

The driver punched the gas and the SUV swerved toward me.

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