The Forgotten Man

56

Starkey

Starkey picked up Pike where the 405 crossed Mulholland. If Pike wondered why she was frantic, he didn't ask, and he didn't quibble over which car they would take. Her car had the lights and a radio. They would make better time. Starkey flipped on her grille lights, and blasted out of the parking lot. When they were rolling north on the freeway, she keyed her radio, surprised that the damn thing worked. "Six-whiskey-twelve." "Six-whiskey-twelve, go."

The "three" identified her as being from Hollywood. "Whiskey" told them she was a detective. The "twelve" was her car number.

"Ah, I need a patch to the Sheriffs Department Substation in Canyon Camino."

"Stand by, six-whiskey-twelve."

While Starkey was busy with the radio, Pike called Cole's cell number. Pike phoned it three times, but never once got through. By the time Starkey had the patch, they were passing Van Nuys Airport, twenty-six minutes away from George Rei

57

Frederick

The sheriff changed everything. He could have radioed that Frederick 's truck was at Payne's, or told Biggins he was stopping at the house, or called in more police. Frederick 's mind raced with the changing plans. He felt certain that Cole wouldn't approach with a patrol car out front, and Frederick wanted to get quickly away. Also, if the police found Rossi's vehicle, they might roadblock the area and stop Frederick 's escape. He fought the urge to run. He loaded Rossi's body into the back seat, then drove the patrol car behind Payne's cabin and into the trees. He drove as far as he could, then huffed back to the house. He piled into his truck.

Frederick wept as he drove. He missed Payne, and he wanted to punish Cole, but now he realized he had to leave and vengeance would never be his. Maybe if he got away. Maybe in a few years. He knew where Cole lived. He knew where he worked. Maybe in a few years.

Frederick heard a voice as he entered his trailer, but it was Elroy, leaving a message.

"-call me back, goddamnit. The L.A. police are coming up to talk to us, and I don't know what in hell's-"

Frederick scooped up the phone.

"Elroy, it's me. Why do they want to talk to us?"

"Goddamnit, why haven't you called me back? I got-"

"I been so upset about Payne I didn't know what to say."

Elroy calmed down. Even Elroy could understand grief.

He said, "Payne ever say anything to you about going to Los Angeles?"

"Not me."

"Well, that's what they're asking about. The sheriff was here. He said some police are coming up from Los Angeles, and they want to know why he went down there. He said Payne's name wasn't really Payne. Did he get over there to talk to you?"

"He called. I just got off the phone."

"I'm closing this damned station. I don't know what else to do."

"Okay."

"That private detective get over there yet?"

"Good-bye, Elroy."

Frederick put the phone softly in its cradle. His eyes felt like they were swelling. They filled with a tremendous pressure and felt like they would explode. Cole knew who he was. Cole was coming right here to his house. Frederick felt trapped. They were being punished just like Payne always said. Frederick sobbed, then remembered Juanita. He wasn't done yet. He might be able to get the jump on Cole, and still get away.

Frederick got together the cash he had taken from the station, then locked his trailer and took the shotgun from his truck. He hurried across the courtyard to Juanita's double-wide. It was midafternoon, so Frederick knew she was taking her nap. Juanita woke at three or four every morning with the night terrors, then nodded out again after lunch. That's the way it was with old people. Sad.

The two little girls were playing on the far side of the motor court. He called out to them, and waved. They ran as soon as they saw him, which is exactly what he wanted.

Frederick went to Juanita's door, but didn't knock-he twisted her door handle and shoved through the cheap aluminum frame. Juanita woke with a start, but Frederick shut the door fast, and smiled.

Juanita, still foggy with sleep, said, " Frederick?"

Frederick took care of her, then settled into the shadows just as two cars turned in from the road.

58

High Mountain Communities was an older mobile home park with single- and double-wide mobile homes set among the trees. It had probably been a nice place to live at one time, but now it had the feel of an outdated summer camp with declining enrollment. Some of the mobile homes were well maintained, but others were grimy with stains. Frederick Conrad lived in Number 14, at the rear of the park.

Diaz followed me in her Passat. We crunched past the central motor court, watching the numbers until I found #14. Conrad's mobile home was clean, nicely maintained, and quiet. The entire mobile-home park was quiet.

I parked beside an F-150 pickup truck, and Diaz pulled up beside me. We got out of our cars at the same time, glancing over the surroundings. Her eyes were dark, like two polished black stones.

She said, "His son's going to be up here. If he isn't here now, he was. He was never far from his son."

"Let's take it easy. We don't know this guy is him."

Two little girls appeared across the motor court. They bubbled out of a pale green mobile home, the smaller of the two trying to keep up with her older sister. The older girl said something I could not understand, and the younger one loudly told her to wait. The older girl ran around the far end of their home, laughing. Her younger sister laughed as she followed. Diaz stared after them.

I said, "Diaz?"

She turned back, and touched the locket that swung in the hollow of her neck.

"I'm good. Let's see what he has to say."

We approached Frederick Conrad's door. Diaz walked with her hand on her gun under her jacket.

I knocked on the door, then knocked harder, and called out.

"Mr. Conrad?"

No one answered.

Diaz slammed her palm on the trailer.

"Fucking prick."

"Take it easy."

The truck was parked like it belonged with his trailer. I went over to the truck. The engine ticked, but the ticking was slow, as if it had been parked for a while. The two little girls had disappeared. Everything was so quiet it left me feeling creepy.

Diaz said, "Let's talk to his neighbors."

An older Dodge sedan was parked in front of the mobile home closest to Conrad's, suggesting the mobile home might be occupied. The mobile home's door was closed and drapes covered the windows, but all the other mobile homes were closed the same way. I followed Diaz across the gravel, wondering if these people were vampires.

All you can do is knock.

Frederick

Juanita liked it dark. She kept the lights off and the drapes pulled so prowlers and rapists couldn't spy on her. Frederick always told her, oh, Juanita, that's silly, there aren't any prowlers around here, but Juanita would wave her hand like he was foolish, telling him she saw it on the news every night-murderers were everywhere! Now Frederick thought, thank you, Juanita.

Frederick stood in the broad daylight darkness within her mobile home, watching Cole and the woman pound on his trailer. This wasn't the same woman who had come to Cole's house, but she carried herself like a cop. She strutted.

They knew. It was clear to Frederick that they had identified him. He watched them stand on either side of his door as they knocked, and knew they intended to kill him.

If Cole had come alone, Frederick would have thrown open the door and cut loose with the shotgun. At this range, it would have been easy. But now Frederick hesitated. Taking two of them would be more difficult. He could get one for sure, but two…