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17

IT TOOK A WEEK TO STRAIGHTEN THINGS OUT. Coltrane endured most of that time in a crowded, noxious-smelling cell, not in the village, which was too small to have a jail, but in Acapulco, where his belongings were brought from the hotel, and where he learned that Tash had flown to the United States the day Nolan died. In Los Angeles, she had hired an attorney to fly to Acapulco and consult with a Mexican attorney about gaining Coltrane’s freedom. The Los Angeles Police Department was disturbed that another of its officers had died, and equally disturbed about Nolan’s behavior. For the sake of public relations and morale, it was decided to say only that Nolan had been on vacation and had died by misadventure: snakebite. Privately, the policeman whom Coltrane had first spoken to expressed severe reservations about Tash’s sudden departure from Mexico the day of the death – “She was extremely ill,” Coltrane emphasized – but the Mexican attorney earned his substantial fee, and Coltrane was eventually on a plane to Los Angeles. He had suffered doubts about how soon he would be released. He had definitely suffered from the privations of a Mexican jail. But throughout he had kept his emotional strength.

Because Tash had not gone to jail.

TWELVE

1

“THE NUMBER YOU HAVE CALLED IS NO LONGER IN SERVICE,” a computerized voice said.

In his kitchen, Coltrane set down the phone and frowned. His travel bag was at his feet. I must have rushed and pressed the wrong numbers, he thought. He picked up the phone and tried again.

“The number you have called is no longer in service.”

This time, he knew that he hadn’t made a mistake. What the… As soon as he had been released from jail in Acapulco, he had called Tash’s cellular phone but had failed to get an answer. At LAX, he had phoned her again and had still not gotten an answer. Now, in the forty minutes it had taken a taxi to drive him home in the congestion of evening traffic, her phone had been disco

At once, he realized that he had another way to try to contact Tash: Walt.

“The number you have called is no longer in service.”

This is crazy, he thought.

He tried the Malibu sheriff’s station. “I need to get in touch with Walt Halliday. Is he on duty tonight?”

“No, sir, and he won’t be on duty tomorrow, either. He isn’t with us anymore.”

“Isn’t with…”

“He resigned a couple of days ago.”

Speechless, Coltrane set down the phone.

2

EXCEPT FOR A LIGHT OVER THE FRONT DOOR AND THE GARAGE, Tash’s house was in darkness, its modernistic assemblage of cubes silhouetted against the moonlit sky. No lamp was on in any of the windows. That wouldn’t have been unusual in the middle of the night, but the time was only ten after nine, and even if Tash had gone out, Coltrane would have expected her to do what most people did – leave a few lights on. There was absolutely no sign that anyone was at home. But there was a sign of a different sort. Leaving his headlights on, Coltrane got out of his car to study it: FOR SALE, OCEAN REALTY.

This can’t be happening, he thought. He walked quickly to the front door, rang its doorbell, listened to the hollow echo from inside, and pounded on the door. “Tash!” he yelled. The front of the house was scorched from the fire that had been set on New Year’s Day. Peering through the metal fence that enclosed the incinerated flower garden, he strained to get a view through a window. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the room was totally empty, its furniture removed. “Tash!” Dismayed, he ran to the end of the street and along the fence to the water, hurrying toward her house from the back. The deck light wasn’t on. The only illumination was from the stars and moon. He tripped on the deck stairs but ignored the pain and scrambled the rest of the way up, his urgent footsteps reverberating as he ran to a window. The metal shutters had not been lowered. Staring in, straining to decipher the blackness, he realized that there wasn’t any furniture in this room, either. “Tash!” Despite the chill of the ocean breeze, sweat poured off him, soaking his clothes.

3

“I’M NOT COMFORTABLE GIVING OUT THAT INFORMATION,” the severe-faced woman said. She was in her forties, had frosted hair and long red fingernails, and wore a black designer pantsuit with a blue silk scarf.

“But I’m a friend of hers. I didn’t know she’d moved. I’m trying to get in touch with her.” It was nine in the morning. Coltrane stood in one of the cubicles in the Ocean Realty office. Outside, trucks rumbled by on the Pacific Coast Highway. “Surely she gave you the phone number and the address where she moved.”

“She also gave me strict instructions not to let anyone else know it.” Behind her desk, the woman pressed her back rigidly against her chair, as if wanting to keep as much distance as possible between Coltrane and her. “She told me one of the reasons she was moving was that she’d been threatened by a stalker.”

“I know. I helped identify the man who was doing it.”

“Then I’m sure you can appreciate my dilemma.”

“I don’t understand.”

“For all I know, you’re the man who was stalking her. She instructed me not to give out her new phone number and address.”

“For Christ sake.”

The woman flinched.

“Okay,” Coltrane said. “I understand your obligation to your client. But would it be violating any confidence if you phoned Tash, gave her my name, and told her I wanted to speak to her? I really am a close friend of hers.”

“I happen to know she won’t be in today. I’ll phone her tomorrow and tell her you want her to get in touch with you.”

Tomorrow? Coltrane mentally groaned.

4

JUST IN TIME, Coltrane steered from the PCH as Lyle came out of the coffee shop and approached his cruiser. After skidding to a stop, the squeal of his tires attracting Lyle’s attention, Coltrane hurried from his car and reached the heavyset officer, whom he had never seen in uniform before and who seemed even more heavyset with all the equipment on his gun belt.

Lyle’s hair was cut short, military-style. He looked as wary as the woman in the real estate office.

“The dispatcher at the station told me you usually have coffee here about this time,” Coltrane said. “I’m glad I caught up to you.”

For his part, Lyle didn’t look glad at all. He just nodded and waited.

“Listen, I’m confused about a couple of things,” Coltrane said. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

Lyle shrugged, nothing relaxed about the gesture.

Coltrane had to raise his voice to be heard above the passing traffic. “I’ve been trying to find Tash Adler.”

“She moved.”

“I know that. Do you have any idea where?”

“No.”

“Why did Walt Halliday resign from the sheriff’s department?”

“He didn’t tell me. We weren’t really that close. I just assumed it was on account of the stress of the job.”

“Well, maybe he knows where Tash moved. I tried phoning, but his number’s out of service. Do you have any idea where he lives, so I can talk to him?”

“Lived.”

“Excuse me?”

“The same day Walt resigned, he left town.”

“What?”

“He said he needed a change of scene.”

The asphalt of the parking lot seemed to ripple, threatening to swallow Coltrane. “I don’t get it. What the hell is happening?”

“Seems obvious to me,” Lyle said.

“How?”

“It’s too big a coincidence, both of them making a sudden decision to move at the same time. I had a suspicion there was something between them.”