Into the Fire(102)

The familiar scene in the front office gave him a bittersweet twinge in his chest. Kids and parents milling around, turning in field-trip paperwork, nursing twisted ankles, organizing group projects. The secretary was being pulled in a half dozen directions, so distracted that she barely noticed when he flashed his creds.

“Just following up on the security protocols,” he said. “Someone should’ve called last week.”

She waved him past onto school grounds.

He cut through the quad, dodging kids and teachers as he searched out the best intrusion points. The playground fences were too high, protected by privacy slats. The vehicle gate by the handball courts was locked and in full view of a wing of classrooms. He reversed course past the cafeteria.

A small alley led to a chain-link service gate.

Promising.

Heaving a sigh, he walked up to the gate. Twined his fingers through it. It let out onto the side of the school, hidden from the drop-off lanes and most of the cars. A van could back right up to it. The rear doors could swing open, blocking everyone and everything from sight.

Then it was just a few strides up the alley to the nearest row of classrooms. Stealth in, stealth out, and no one would be the wiser.

Not that it would ever need to happen.

He reached down and tugged at the padlock securing the gate.

He’d tell the men to bring bolt cutters.

“Hey!” A high-pitched voice from behind him. “What’re you doing?”

He turned to see a slender black kid standing at the mouth of the alley, a soccer ball tucked under his arm as if he’d just retrieved it. Fourth grade, or maybe he was in third and big for his size the way Jimmy had been.

Fitz released the padlock, did his best to look unsuspicious, though he knew it was already too late. “C’mere and I’ll tell you.” He started walking toward the boy, but the boy took a step back. Smart kid.

“You look sneaky,” the boy said. “All hiding back here.”

Fitz held up his hands. “No, it’s okay,” he said, feeling as low as he’d ever felt in his fifty-seven years on the planet. “I’m a police officer.”

He reached for his creds out of habit before thinking to flip his leather billfold over to show off the more impressive badge. Holding it out, he approached.

The kid didn’t retreat any further. But he didn’t come closer either.

“What are you doing back here?” he asked.

“Can you keep a secret?” Just asking the question made Fitz’s stomach roil. In his long and distinguished career, he’d learned how pedophiles groomed their victims, how abusive parents inculcated loyalty in their kids. That he was employing these tactics now made him want to puke.

“Depends.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Miles.”

“I’m doing a super-secret security check on the school.” Fitz crouched to bring himself to eye level, another predatory trick. “To keep you safe. And to keep all your classmates safe.”

Nothing could be further from the truth.

“And I need to know you’re on my team, Miles. That you have my back.” He kept the shiny badge visible, glinting in the morning light. “Are you willing to help? To be an honorary junior police officer?”

Miles studied him, and Fitz worked to keep his face relaxed, the situation threatening to tilt either way. His lower back ached from squatting, but he made no move to rise.

“Sure,” Miles finally said. “What do I gotta do?”

“This security check is top secret. Because if the bad guys find out, they’ll know I was already here. So they’ll figure that it’s safe to come now.”

“Come and do what?”

“You never know.” Fitz pocketed the badge and offered his hand. “Can I count on you?”

Miles reached out and took his hand. It was a limp shake, but Fitz firmed it and looked the kid in the eye. “I’m counting on you.” He was dismayed to hear the edge of a threat beneath his words.

Miles slipped his hand free, stepped away a few paces, then turned and ran back to the kids on the playground.

Fitz rose with a groan, threaded past the picnic tables, and cut through the front office. It was so busy that the secretary didn’t even look up to see him go.

Back in his Lexus, he gulped the last of his laced coffee and pulled out into traffic.

Last resort, he told himself.

Last resort.





53



Fallout





The morning sun wrapped the pickup in brightness. Evan and Max drove toward Culver City. Evan had promised to search Max’s apartment and then shadow him for a few days until it was evident that there’d be no fallout from Bedrosov’s death, that the way ahead was clear. They’d had a terse exchange about Clark as they left Lincoln Heights and had driven in silence ever since.

Finally Max said, “Eighteen thousand dollars a week.”

Evan keep driving. He could tell that the words were hard for Max to coax out and that he needed room to arrive at them on his own time.

“That’s how much it cost. Some treatment facility in Malibu. It had a name like a spa, Fresh Journey or Recovery Road or something.” Max gave a bitter laugh. “It took me six months to make that kind of money. And they recommended a ten-week inpatient plan. Clark and Gwendolyn said if she didn’t go, she’d try’n kill herself again. And she’d be successful the next time.” He chewed his lower lip, bit down as if holding back a flood. “They said they’d only pay for it if I left her. And that I could never tell her why.”