G'Day USA Page 15

‘I haven’t had a phone in three years. I’ve got no idea what it is.’

  I opened the message and read:

  “You need to turn yourself in now. You may be in danger yourself. If you’ve got a shred of sense, go to your nearest police station and turn yourself in.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cathy pushed her empty plate back. ‘As usual. Delicious. You’re trying to fatten me up.’

  Bernie, her long time boyfriend, smiled and looked up from the paper. ‘Got to get you ready to be a mommy.’

  ‘Not for a while yet. And when it happens I’ll be getting fat enough all on my own. What are you reading?’

  ‘There’s a thing here about the Sweeney case. The prosecution are laying out all their evidence. I don’t know what their deal is, but it looks bad for your friend.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Cathy grabbed the paper and pulled it across the table. ‘What are they saying about my Ellie?’

  She read for a couple of minutes, then swore.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Bernie sipped at his glass of white. ‘Not good.’

  The Killer giggled. He had her on the ropes. And he knew how to find her when he needed to. ‘You can run, but you can’t hide. I am the cat and you are the mouse.’ He looked at his watch. He was a little bit behind schedule.

  The sun was low on the Pacific. He remembered days when he played in the ocean, when the only concern in his life was whether or not the waves would be good. He grit his teeth and inhaled through his nose. But it would be right again. He had to get the problems out of his life. That’s what he was told. Remove the problems from his life and his life would return to whole. That’s what he was told.

  Sweeney, by far the largest problem. The shit Sweeney did to him was beyond bad. It made his stomach turn, thinking of that conflict.

  And he just took it.

  No more.

  Ellie was complicit and she had to be next. The fun and games were just starting with her. They started with her years ago, but he just realized it in the last day or so.

  He rubbed his eyes. He’d lost count of the hours he’d gone without sleep. ‘But it doesn’t fucking matter.’ He popped a pill and chewed down hard, crushing it between molars. He worked up some saliva and swallowed the paste.

  He looked at the Altoids case from whence that pill came. There were enough left.

  He blinked hard and scrubbed his face and looked out over the Pacific. The sun was low on the horizon, bathing the beach-goers in a golden suffused light. ‘The magic hour. My ass.’ He looked around at the skaters and skateboarders, the muscle-heads and the buskers. All of them sunny and sweaty and happy. ‘Fuck them. Fuck them all.’

  A skater rolled past in a ponytail and white bikini top and cut-off jeans and yelled back, ‘Lighten up, man.’

  His nostrils flared and he started to stand then checked himself. ‘Priorities. Happy, happy. Joy-fucking-joy.’

  The same shabby, over-dressed homeless slag approached him. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course not. Why, do I look all right? Fuck off and leave me alone.’

  She looked at him, narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘I said fuck off so fuck yourself right off before I add you to the list you scabby piece of shit.’

  She shook head and muttered something under her breath and went back to patrolling the beach for bottles and lost valuables.

  A few skaters passing him at the time turned and watched the interaction.

  ‘You all can fuck off.’ He stood and stared after them and forced himself to remember what he was doing on the beach. He took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘Ah, fuck.’ He looked around. She wasn’t there. Not obviously anyway. He knew for a fact she was around here not long ago. He needed to flush her out.

  Cathy closed the paper. ‘No way. She didn’t do it.’

  ‘Admittedly, you’re biased.’

  ‘No, this isn’t just a feeling. I know she didn’t do it. No possible way.’

  Bernie pointed at the paper with his glass of wine. ‘You can read, right? Her gun, her hair, a witness placing her at the scene.’

  Cathy nodded. ‘And the earring, described as a - oh where is it.’ She opened the paper and scanned for the paragraph. ‘Here it is. “...a large hoop earring with feathers hanging from the bottom of the hoop.”’ She looked up at her boyfriend and smiled. ‘Let’s hope her phone is turned on.’

  Ellie picked up on the first ring. ‘Cathy? I can’t really talk. I’m on a bus to Oxnard.’

  Cathy laughed. ‘I can hear gulls behind you. I can prove you didn’t do it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The earring they found at the scene of the crime. Did you ever hear which one was planted there?’ Cathy was leaning forward, elbows on her knees, talking low.

  ‘Just that it was one of mine.’

  ‘The big hoop with the dangly feathers.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘The ones you hate.’

  ‘Oh, Cathy, I wouldn’t say I hated them.’

  ‘You hated them. You wore them the day I gave them to you and you never wore them again. A girl notices things like that.’

  ‘I’m not sure how much it can help, but thanks.’

  ‘Ellie, listen to me. There are no circumstances in which I could imagine you killing Sweeney, as much as you probably wanted to.’

  ‘I’ve never wanted to kill anybody. Look, sweetie, I appreciate this, but I can’t talk long. I’m on my way to Tustin.’

  ‘What happened to Oxnard?’

  ‘Allergic to strawberries.’

  ‘Ah, that. Seriously, you wouldn’t have worn those earrings for any reason. I am more than willing to testify to that in your defense.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s going to be a trial.’

  Cathy put her phone on speaker and waved Bernie over. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I appreciate the efforts, Cath, but I’ve got to get out of town. For whatever reason someone has locked this case against me up tight. Somebody hates me for reasons I can’t understand and has set me up for Sweeney’s death. Makes sense they would hate Sweeney and have tied me to him. Whatever, whoever, I’m screwed. I’ve got to hang up now. They’re triangulating my calls.’

  Cathy looked at the phone. ‘She hung up. I’m worried for her.’

  Bernie shook his head. ‘Nothing more we can do.’

  ‘Sure there is. I’m going to make some calls and see if I can help sort this out.’

  ‘You’ll just make it worse.’

  She snorted. ‘Thanks for your confidence. If you don’t want to help, don’t.’

  Charlie looked at the time and cursed the fact he was working the night shift. A fax came through on the legal intercept machine. He pulled it and cursed again. Another request to locate Ellie’s phone. He recognized the number. It was an easy task. He’d done it so often that a job which would take a green engineer ten minutes, he could do in one.

  He looked at the results on the screen, printed them and turned to fax the results back to the police department.

  Then hesitated.

  His phone rang and he placed the paper on the machine and answered. ‘Bates.’

  ‘Master Bates, how the hell are you. Where are you? There’s things to see, people to do. You heard back from Saul yet?’

  ‘Kent? I’m working nights.’

  ‘Still working? Really? I figured you’d be grabbing the director’s job out from under Sweeney’s still warm carcass. What are you thinking with, mate?’

  ‘Hey, I just did a locate on Ellie. I hate that I’m helping the cops.’

  ‘Yeah, but at least you can give her a heads up.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘True. Not much of one, though, and I’m fucked if anyone makes a connection between us.’

  ‘Tell me, I’ll put a word in her ear so there’s no electronic trail back to you.’

  ‘Hey, not a bad idea. Get her moving.’ He picked up the paper. ‘She’s somewhere in the Venice
area. Still. You’d think she’d learn.’

  ‘“Somewhere”? Anything more specific, mate?’

  ‘She’s serving off the sector facing the beach, due south, on the site on top of Gold’s Gym on the corner of Hampton and Sunset.’

  ‘Dude, really? That’s the best you can do?’

  Charlie smiled. ‘With the technology on hand, yeah. Not that big of an area. And she can’t be that hard to find.’ He looked up at the clock. ‘Look, I can’t hold off sending this to the police any longer. Do what you can. I’ll catch up with you later.’

  Kent opened the map on his phone and looked at the area Charlie described. He was right. It wasn’t large, but it was large enough. It would take hours to find her and he didn’t have hours. The cops would be there soon and they had more manpower than he did. He was well south of that area, still on the beach, but closer to the fishing pier. He started jogging north along Ocean Front Walk, the boardwalk. He passed the cafe he had breakfast at with Charlie and Ellie and passed the skate park. In his mind’s eye he was starting to get into the rough geographical area served by that site. His foot hurt. He slowed to a fast walk and started paying more attention to the people around him. Still too many tall blondes, but, he noted, not many with really short hair. He opened his phone and called her number. It went directly to voicemail.

  ‘Shit. Where are you Ellie? Where the hell are you?’ He continued walking as far north as the site would cover, at least in his estimation. He started zigzagging across the streets zeroing in on Gold’s Gym.

  Nothing and nobody. He scrubbed his face and made his way back to the beach.

  Perkins looked at the received fax. ‘What in the hell is she doing? So much for Oxnard. The berries are great this time of year.’

  ‘Why? What’s she doing?’

  ‘Back in Venice. Or still in Venice. Hard to say if she actually left.’

  Stanfield picked up is notebook and phone and stood. ‘Let’s go. Flush her out.’

  Perkins looked at his young partner. ‘We pick up a bite on the way. I was going to send uniforms for this. I haven’t eaten since lunch.’

  Stanfield looked at Perkins gut. ‘You’ll live. I‘m sure you can live off that for days.’

  ‘We’re stopping for food, kid. Pollo Loco maybe. Chicken and biscuits.’

  Stanfield shook his head. ‘Give me the keys. The last time you tried to eat while you were driving you almost killed the both of us and a fat lady walking a Chihuahua.’

  Perkins tossed him the keys and stood. ‘Then let’s go.’

  ‘Call the locals?’

  ‘I’m thinking we keep this low-key for now. I don’t want an army looking for her. She’ll spook. You ever heard the story of the old bull and the young bull?’

  ‘Another fucking story?’

  Perkins retrieved his gun from his top drawer and slid it into his shoulder holster and pulled on his suit coat. ‘Yeah. Another fucking story. New bull is placed in a pasture with an old bull and about fifty cows. The old bull is standing on the top of the hill looking over his harem. The young bull trots up the hill and joins him. “Hey, look at all those cows,” says the young bull. “Why don’t we run down the hill and screw one of them?” The old bull snorted and replied, “Why don’t we walk down the hill and fuck all of them?”’ Perkins looked at Stanfield as he slid into the passenger seat. ‘Let’s not spook her. I doubt she’s a real risk to society. We walk in there and take it easy, no uniforms, no brass bands.’

  ‘Your call. Hope this doesn’t turn into a shit fight. Your career is almost over. It’ll stain the rest of mine for many, many years if you’re wrong.’

  ‘You’re assuming you’ll have a career if I’m wrong.’ Perkins laughed. ‘You worry too much, kiddo. Let life unfold and embrace the strangeness.’

  ‘You been down in Topanga getting a contact high?’

  Perkins looked over at his partner. ‘And I’ve got the munchies. Pull in here. Go through the drive-through. Get me a couple of chicken breasts and a light lemonade. Extra napkins.’

  Stanfield drove as Perkins ate, washing the skinless chicken down with the sugar free lemonade. ‘Is that your idea of a diet?’

  ‘Shut up and drive. It’s getting dark. I want at least a little bit of daylight left when we get there.’

  The darkness enveloped the Killer like a warm cape, making him as invisible as his prey. He thought he spotted her twice now, slowly walking along the back streets. He lost her, if it was her, on a corner both times.

  His nerves thrummed like a telephone line in a high wind. He had to resist from thinking beyond the kill. She was next. She was the only thing he should be thinking about. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He licked it, tasting the salty warmth and sensing, more than feeling, the sharp pain. It kept an edge on. Kept him alert more than any pill could.

  The cat and mouse game had to end. It was going on too long. He’d been exposed too long. Someone would eventually notice him wandering in an apparent random pattern around the same streets since before noon. He needed to wrap things up quickly.

  Or he needed to stop and sleep.

  But sleep would just reset the hunt, and he didn’t want a reset. He was close. He could smell her. He was sure he could smell her. The meds sharpened his senses. The reduced visibility in the dark amped up the smell and hearing.

  He could smell her around the next corner and could hear her talking with her fucking put-on Australian accent.

  But she was never around the corner.

  ‘Time for a drastic step.’ He blinked and sniffed. The street light’s reflection off the face of his recently purchased pre-pay phone betrayed his tremor, almost strobe light in frequency.

  He considered his approach for a few seconds, then typed. Ambiguity was the enemy. Directness was favored. His English teacher would have been proud:

  “Ellie, why are you still alive? I should have killed you by now. But I haven’t which is, I guess, testament to your Aussie toughness. Unless you want this to be your last sleep, I’d advise you finding a better hiding place than Venice Beach. The muscle-heads aren’t going to save you. But it doesn’t matter where you go, I can find you. Keep loking over you shoulder all you want, you won’t see me coming. You’ll be dead before you know what hit you.”

  He smiled and pressed the send button. ‘That should get the bitch moving. Just like hunting: Flush them out of the thicket and pick them off while they’re running.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  “...Keep loking over you shoulder all you want, you won’t see me coming. You’ll be dead before you know what hit you.”

  Seriously?

  I’m looking around for a quiet place to spend the night before heading out of town and I get a message telling me to turn myself in, and then this one. “Keep loking over your shoulder”. I’m supposed to take a death threat seriously when the twat can’t even spell “looking”?

  I sat down on a piece of cardboard in a lane near some dumpsters. Nothing smelled bad anymore. Remarkable how quickly I adapted to my surroundings. I caught a reflection of myself in the phone screen. I looked like hell. I bore absolutely no resemblance to the girl on the red carpet twenty-four hours earlier.

  I looked at the message again. I couldn’t resist. I replied with “loking? Sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying. Did you mean looking? How did you get this number?”

  I needed to shut down the phone. I was too exposed.

  And I think I had a plan to get some cash. Marty needed to co-operate, but that was Marty. Mr. Nice Guy.

  I was considering how best to word the request when I received another text.

  “Fuck with me and your death will be long and slow. But trust me when I tell you you won’t live out the night. Doesn’t matter if you stay in Venice or go to Oxnard or Tustin, your dead.”

  Oh, Jesus. I replied:

  “My dead what?”

  He wouldn’t get it, whoever it was. Then it dawned on me. Whoever this was th
ey knew where I was, and where I had been telling people I was going.

  Fuck.

  I received a reply.

  “That’s going to earn you additional pain points. Framing you for Sweeney’s suicide was a piece of piss. Making your death look like a legit suicide, including confession, will be fun.”

  Oh my God.

  My phone rang and I jumped. ‘Shit, Kent. What the fuck?’

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Scared the crap out of me. How did you know my phone was on?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just turned in a couple of minutes ago.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been trying every fifteen minutes or so. You’ve got to ditch the phone. Bad mojo hanging on to it.’

  ‘I’ve got a new one. Haven’t got it out of the box yet.’

  ‘Get it done quickly and text me so we can stay in touch.’

  ‘What’s the point in getting a new number if I give it to everyone? I’m trying to get out of the country. I don’t want anyone attached to that. Shit I shouldn’t even have told you that.’

  ‘What in the hell would you want get out of the country? You, running away? That’s not the Ellie I know.’

  I cursed myself for opening my mouth. ‘Just idle thoughts Kent. I’ll send you a postcard from Helsinki.’

  ‘Norway? Why would you go to Norway?’

  I sighed. ‘Just kidding around, mate. Finland, by the way. And you’re right. I’m not a runner. But I don’t know how to fight this.’

  ‘Let me know how I can help.’

  ‘I don’t think you can. I need to do this myself. Thanks for the updates. I don’t need them anymore. I know I was framed.’

  ‘You can prove it? That’s great news.’

  I had talked long enough. This was dangerous. ‘I’ve got to dump this call. Talking too long.’

  ‘What difference does it make if you can prove you’ve been framed? Let them find you.’