The Night Crew

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At the water, a balding man in jeans and a T-shirt squatted beside the body, probing it. Two more men sat on the bumper of a medical examiner's truck, chatting, one with a set of Walkman headphones around his neck. Two plainclothes cops, one male, one female, were watching the man at the body. As A

The woman cop wore designer jeans with a crisp white blouse, and carried a blue blazer folded over one arm. Her round retro-chic sunglasses might have been stolen from one of the three blind mice. She was dark-haired and dark-complected, a little taller than A

Her partner was a large man, balding, gray-haired, a little too heavy, with deep crowsfeet at the corners of his eyes. His clothes were straight from JCPe

Like the woman, he'd taken his jacket off, and carried what appeared to be an antique Smith amp; Wesson revolver on his belt. There was an odd body language between them, A

The man smiled, and the woman wrinkled her nose, as though A

'I'm Jim Wyatt,' the cop said. This is my partner, Pam Glass.' The woman nodded, cool behind her glasses. Wyatt frowned, then said, 'Do I know you? I've met you.'

'I do TV news, cop stuff,' A

Wyatt nodded, gri

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A good piece of tape: the cops filtering across a yard to the target house while a neighbor's dog went crazy, barking; Wyatt drawing his gun, waiting for others to get in position, but not waiting too long, because of the dog. Then he turned the corner of the house with two guys in body armor and they took down the door.

Creek had gotten the good shots and the cops'd taken three men, a woman, and two hundred pieces of stolen electronic equipment out of the place, everything from home blood pressure kits to cell phones and bread machines. There really hadn't been much danger, but the tape was nice.

Stalling: Don't be Creek, don't be Creek.

'That was me,' Wyatt said, flattered that she remembered, pleased to meet her again. He'd been a hero for several hours. 'Are you still doing the TV stuff?'

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'A lot of police officers don't like to be called cops,' Glass said, breaking in.

'I know,' A

'His ID said Jason O'Brien.'

She almost fell down. Jason? She'd never thought of Jason. A sense of relief flooded through her, followed instantly by a sense of shame, that she should be so relieved.

Wyatt said, 'Are you all right?'

She caught herself. 'Aw, jeez. Jason?'

'He had a card that said to call you,' Glass said.

Wyatt, looking down at the blanket, said, 'So you're pretty close?'

'Not close, but he's a friend. He was our backup camera, our second camera when we needed one. He used to call me Mom,' A

'Did you see him yesterday?'

'Yeah. He was shooting with us last night. He split around eleven.'

'You didn't see him after that?' Glass asked.

'No.' A

Wyatt shook his head. 'Wasn't drugs: why'd you think it was?'

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'All your friends do dope?' Glass asked.

'A couple,' A

'Why'd he leave last night?' Wyatt asked.

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'Why was it bullshit?' Glass asked.

'Cause I've seen him crawl inside a car with a decapitated woman to get a better shot, and the head was laying on the front seat with the eyes still open and a smile on the face,' A

'Huh.' Wyatt nodded, and stared north up the beach, toward the mountains hanging over Malibu, like the hills might have the answer. When it didn't come, he sighed and said, 'Will you take a look? Just to make sure we've got the right guy?'

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Wyatt said, 'Frank, lift the corner of the blanket, huh?'

Frank stopped whatever he was doing with the leg and picked up the corner of the blanketWyatt was watching her faceand there was Jason.

No drugs, this one.

He was lying on his stomach, his head slightly downhill toward the water, his face turned toward her. He didn't look like he was asleep: he looked like he'd been changed to wax. The visible eye was cracked open, and his tongue hung out, like the limp end of a too-long suede belt.

His head looked wrong, misshapen, and something had happened to his cheeks. There was no blood, so the outlines weren't clear, but he seemed to have been slashed by a knife or razor. But that hadn't killed him: a bullet had. In his forehead, just above the visible eye, was a clean dark bullet hole.

'Aw, God,' A

'All right,' Wyatt said. Frank dropped the blanket.

'When did you find him?'

'He washed up about, mmm, two hours ago. People saw his body in the surf, thought he was drowning. One of the lifeguards went in after him, pulled him out.'

As he spoke, a tear rolled down A

'He involved with any gangs? Buying dope, causing them trouble?'

'No. I don't think so. But I don't know him well enough to say for sure. Why?'

Wyatt shrugged: 'Those cuts on his face. They looked like they might be gang signs. They look the same on both sides, both cheeks.'

'I don't know,' A

'Okay. Listen, we're go

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