The Competition - [99]

Jax looked at Bailey. Her expression was completely blank. No one could top her poker face. After a few moments, she nodded slowly. “I’ll take care of it.”

Jax gave a short nod. “Okay. What you want?”

Bailey pulled out Jax’s cell phone, which was in a baggie. “I need you to show me which call came from the last guy Shane sent to you.”

“Young güero bought the AKs?”

“Right.” Bailey took the phone out of the baggie and pulled up the list of recent calls. “I’m going to start with the day before yesterday and work backward.”

“It was before that. Day before yesterday I was in Ensenada.”

Bailey nodded. “Yes, Jax, I know. I’m just making sure we don’t miss anything.”

Jax studied the list for a couple of seconds. “Keep going.” Bailey scrolled down the list. When she got to one day before the theater shooting, he told her to stop. Jax pointed to the number at the top of the screen. “I think it’s this one.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Jax frowned and shook his head. “Pretty sure. Thing is, I don’ remember whether it was an eight-one-eight area code or a nine-five-one.”

Eight-one-eight was the San Fernando Valley. Nine-five-one was Riverside. Unfortunately, there were a bunch of both. “Do you remember what time you got the call?”

“Early. I was staying with mi familia and the little ones get up at, like, six o’clock, make a lotta noise. He called before that. And I met him in the daytime. I’m sure about that.”

That would help. Bailey copied the numbers to her phone while I tried to squeeze Jax for a better description of the güero, but the guy had been smart enough to cover up with a hat and sunglasses, and Jax really wasn’t looking.

“Now here’s the deal, Jax,” I said. “We’re going to hang on to this phone. If the guy calls you again looking for more guns, we’re going to need you to set up a meet with him.”

“And we might even have you come,” Bailey said. “You down with that?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I guess.”

I signaled that we were finished. As the deputy stood him up, Jax looked at us. “Wait…this guy, who’d he kill?”

I nodded. “High school kids. A lot of them. And some people at a theater.”

“Kids? He killed kids?” With a disgusted look, he spit out, “Pinche cabrón. Tell you what, you find him, just get him in here. I’ll take care of him.”

Bailey looked at the waiting deputy. “You didn’t hear that.”

He gave her a deliberately blank stare. “Hear what?”

64

It had been a lot of hard-and-fast running in the last forty-eight hours, and by the time we left the jail, Bailey and I were both beat. Plus, I was starving. “I don’t know about you, Keller, but I’m about ready to eat my own hand.”

“Yeah, me too. So let’s make it someplace close. And quiet.”

“Checkers?” The restaurant on the ground level of the downtown Hilton had a peaceful, comfy dining room and great service.

“Sold.”

We pulled up in front of the restaurant in less than ten minutes and scored a table next to the glassed-in patio. I looked out at the skyline. The night was clear, but the ambient light from all the office buildings shrouded the stars from view.

I picked up the menu. “Think we can risk a glass of wine? I could sure use one.”

“No, but I’m getting one anyway.”

We both ordered the sea scallops with baby bok choy and a glass of white, which we decided felt less alcoholic than red.

I held up my glass. “Here’s to Jax getting a phone call from psycho boy.” We clinked and sipped.

“Pisses me off about the suicide,” Bailey said.

“Yeah, there’s no satisfaction in it. We can’t get our pound of flesh and we can’t get any answers.” Which was why shrinks usually had to rely on what these shooters left behind. Like the Columbine basement tapes or letters or journals. “We should let Michael and Jenny know.”

“Won’t be any surprise to them.”

True. They’d pegged Logan as suicidal right off the bat.

Bailey continued. “Tomorrow we dig into Evan’s background. His parents have been calling the chief about ten times a day-”

“Can’t say I blame them.”

“Me either. But we’re doing all we can. And I got Nick to do a computer search on Evan’s background since the family bounced around so much.”

“Do we know where he lived before they moved to the Valley a year ago?”

“Yeah, Texas.”

Our dinner arrived, and the delicious aroma brought all conversation to a halt. We didn’t speak again until we had forked up the last of the scallops.

Bailey patted her mouth with the napkin and sighed. “What do you make of that car Jax described?”

An old Chevy junker. “My first guess was Rent-A-Wreck. But even they require a credit card, don’t they?”

“Probably. But we can’t do much without a license plate. Or at least a better description.” Bailey’s cell rang and she looked at the number. “Van Nuys Division.” That was in the San Fernando Valley, but not the West Valley, i.e., Woodland Hills. With a puzzled look, she answered the call. “Keller.”

I took out my cell phone and found seven messages, all from the same number, marked urgent. Vanderhorn. I didn’t need to listen to know what they said. Vanderhorn had heard the press release about Logan Jarvis’s death and was on the warpath. I’d have to call in and face the music tomorrow. Bailey sat up in her chair.