Elvis Cole

When Cole reached his office he got down to business. The night before, he had asked a friend on the Hollywood Station homicide table for sheets on Mendoza and Gomer. These he would have used to identify known associates and relatives, but they were no longer necessary. He called her to cancel the request, but she had already printed the information and was pissed she had taken the risk for nothing. He then spread the contents of Wilson Smith’s file box over his desk. With Mendoza and Gomer out of the picture, Cole focused on Wilson and Dru.

He quickly determined that most of the files related to Smith’s business, with the individual folders containing invoices, bills, equipment warranties, and rental agreements. Smith purchased fresh seafood from a purveyor in San Pedro, sandwich rolls and breads from a bakery in Boyle Heights, and had signed a one-year lease agreement with Lodestar Properties for the storefront that now housed his kitchen. Cole checked through the bills and invoices for a prior address, but everything that had been mailed was sent to Smith’s shop. Cole made a list of names and numbers from the various letterheads in case he wanted to phone them, then pushed the business files aside.

He tackled the money files next. There were two folders, one for checking and one for savings, with both accounts drawn on the Venice branch of Golden State Bank & Trust. The statements went back eight months, showing both accounts were opened on the same day. The savings account was opened with a $9600 deposit, from which $2000 was used to open the checking account. Two weeks after opening the savings account, an additional $6500 was deposited. The first statement had been mailed to Smith at a P.O. box in Venice, but the following seven, including the most recent, were mailed to Wilson’s Takeout Foods. Cole copied the P.O. box address, then examined the statements. Deposits, withdrawals, and checking activity all seemed reasonable, with most of the drafts made out to pay for rent, utilities, and supplies. The canceled checks were in the file. Smith was obviously a man who didn’t believe in online banking. He was also a man who didn’t believe in credit cards.

The contents of Wilson Smith’s metal file box contained nothing showing a date prior to the accounts that were opened eight months ago, nothing of a personal nature, and nothing to connect Wilson Smith with Louisiana or anyplace else. It was as if the man had been born eight months ago with a $9600 deposit.

Nothing in the file box named or was related to Dru Rayne. It was as if she didn’t exist at all.

Among the utilities was a monthly phone bill. Pike had given Cole the cell phone numbers for Wilson and Dru, but this number was different. Cole dialed the number, and reached a voice message informing him Wilson’s Takeout Foods was currently closed but was open during the following business hours. The voice was a woman’s, and Cole thought it must be Dru. She had a nice voice.

Cole hung up, staring at nothing. He told himself they were house sitters, which was a temporary arrangement, so most of their possessions were probably in storage or packed in a friend’s garage, but Cole told himself this was bogus even as he formed the thoughts.

Everything about Dru Rayne and Wilson Smith was wrong.

Cole leaned back and stared out the French doors. The French doors opened to a small balcony and, twelve miles beyond, the sea. Cole could see the ocean on a clear day, but today a wall of haze obscured his view. He felt depressed, and wondered how Pike was doing with the police. He did not like knowing this thing about Dru Rayne that Pike did not know. He did not like the expression he had seen on Pike’s face when Pike was shouldering the guilt for whatever trouble the woman was in. Cole had seen that same expression in the mirror too many times.

Cole dialed the takeout shop again to hear her voice. Pleasant, friendly, medium timbre with a hint of a Southern accent. A familiar voice that inspired an ache in his chest. Cole had loved a woman from Louisiana. They had gotten in so deep Lucy moved out with her eight-year-old son. It was a gamble for all of them that didn’t work out, so Lucy and her son returned to Louisiana. This had been Lucy’s call, not Cole’s. Cole would have gone all the way.

When Cole realized he was thinking more about Lucy Chenier than Dru Rayne, he checked the time. Louisiana was two hours ahead. Lucy would be at her office or in court. She was an attorney in private practice with a successful firm in Baton Rouge, and it occurred to Cole she might be able to help. It also occurred to him this was simply an excuse to hear her voice.

A professional voice answered when he called.

“Ms. Chenier’s office.”

“Guess who?”

Loretta Bean’s professional voice melted into warm, Southern comfort. Loretta was Lucy’s assistant.

“You dog. You don’t call here often enough, and I miss your smart mouth.”

“I was falling in lust with you, Loretta. I had to stop calling before I embarrassed myself.”

“The terrible things you say, you should be embarrassed, but I love every minute of it. Would you like Ms. Chenier?”

“In more ways than you know.”

“You awful dog. Hold on and I’ll get her.”

Cole was placed on hold and found himself listening to canned music. Harry Connick, Jr., on the piano. He was on hold so long Harry transitioned to Branford Marsalis before she came on the line.

“Hey, you. Sorry I took so long. I was on with a client.”

Hearing her voice, warmth spread through him despite the twinge of discomfort he felt these days when he called. He tried not to phone her as often as he once did, but that was more for her than him. He didn’t want to push. He didn’t want her to cringe when he called.

“No worries. I bill by the hour.”

She laughed.

“Then I’m happy to help. We here at Rotolo, Fourrier, Day, and Chenier want you to make lots of money.”

“Got a few minutes? I could call back later if now isn’t good.”

The joking in her voice was replaced by a warm contralto that always made him feel they were the only two people in a remote mountain cabin.

“Sure, hon. Hang on—”

She told Loretta not to put anyone through, then returned to their conversation.

“Everything good?”

“I’m looking for background on a woman named Dru Rayne and a man named Wilson Smith, both of whom claim to be from New Orleans.”

“Uh-huh. And why does the word ‘claim’ draw my attention?”

“Joe knows the woman, and I’m not convinced she’s been honest with him about their circumstances or even about who they are.”

“When you say involved, you mean like boyfriend-girlfriend?”

Cole described how Pike saved Wilson Smith from the beating, and subsequently met Dru Rayne. He left out the parts about Latin gangs, abductions, and bodies cut so badly their heads were almost severed. The violence he encountered as part of his job was what drove Lucy away.

When he finished, Lucy shifted into lawyer mode.

“All right, first, are we talking about a potential crime here? Is Joe giving them money?”

Cole hesitated, realizing he would have to describe parts of the situation he had hoped to avoid.

“No, it isn’t like that. They’ve disappeared. They might be in trouble, so we’re trying to find them.”

Lucy was quiet for a moment, and Cole hoped he wouldn’t have to tell her Pike was being questioned about the murders of two Venice gangbangers.

“When you say disappeared, are you speaking of a voluntary disappearance or a forced disappearance?”

“Could be either.”

“Damnit, Elvis, you should be speaking with the police, not me.”

“The police are doing their thing and we’re doing ours.”

“Why isn’t that a surprise?”

“My concern now is Joe. He’s all in, and I’m just trying to make sure he’s in for the right reason. I’m also trying to figure out what kind of trouble these people are in.”

“Hang on—I’ll call him back. No more calls now, Loretta, I am out of the office—all right, hon, I’m back. Tell me what I can do.”

Cole smiled, and loved the way she said it without hesitation. Tell me what I can do.

“If I can locate someone who knows them, maybe I can get a line on what’s happening. Getting a line is the problem. All I have are their names. No former addresses, no social security numbers, no last known addresses, nothing. I don’t even have a picture of these people.”

“I understand. I’m thinking—”

She fell silent, and Cole let her think.

“They left with the storm?”

“That’s what I’m told. I don’t know if it’s true.”

“He owned a restaurant in New Orleans?”

“Owned or worked in, I don’t know which, and I don’t even know if it’s true. He’s a cook.”

“Okay, pretending it’s true, do you have a name for the place?”

“Sorry, Luce.”

She fell silent again.

“The storm was so many years ago. There were sites and services for refugees to reconnect with missing family, but I don’t know if those things still exist. Did you meet Terry when you were here?”

Terry Babinette was the investigator used by Lucy’s firm. He was a retired Baton Rouge Police detective.

“Shook his hand.”

“Let me talk it over with him to see if he has any ideas.”

“That would be terrific, Lucille. Thank you.”

“Why aren’t you convinced?”

Cole didn’t understand.

“About what?”

“Earlier, you said you weren’t convinced they were honest with Joe. Why aren’t you convinced?”

Cole propped his foot on the edge of his desk, feeling bad all over again with the deep-in-the-gut fear you might lose something precious.

“I have reason to believe their relationship is not as they’ve described it.”

“Joe and Dru?”

“Dru and her uncle.”

Elvis described his conversation with Steve Brown, then repeated the things Jared Palmer told him.

Lucy sounded hollow when she spoke.

“Oh my God.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you believe this kid?”

“He’s been spot-on about everything else. And Brown was furious. Smith’s been living there without his knowledge, and he’s been talking to the woman every couple of weeks. That makes her a liar. She told Joe she moved in with Wilson, not the other way around, so that makes her a liar twice. So she could be lying about their relationship, too.”

“What does Joe think?”

Cole hesitated, because this had been eating at him since he spoke with Jared.

“Joe doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.”

“Oh, man, this is so hard.”

“I’d like to have more than Jared’s word before I lay this on him.”

Neither of them said anything for a very long time.

“I miss you, Luce.”

“I know, baby. I miss you, too. What are you going to do?”

“Talk to you. I guess that’s why I called.”

She sighed. A long, slow breath into the phone that he wanted to feel on his skin.

“Do you believe this boy?”

“Yeah. I can’t prove it. I have nothing but his word for it, but after what Brown said, I believe him. I believe he was telling the truth.”

“Tell him.”

Cole nodded to himself, but found nothing to say.

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be. Do you understand that?”

“Yeah.”

“Joe’s built to save people. That’s how he sees himself, and that’s who he is. He’s trying to save her, so whatever he feels for her, it will get deeper.”

“I know.”

“I know you know. That’s you, too. That’s why you two found each other, and why you’re joined at the hip. It’s why you do what you do.”

Cole rubbed his left eye. His throat felt thick.

“Is that why I lost you?”

“You didn’t lose me, baby. Here we are. If he wants to save her, fine, but he deserves to know who he’s saving.”

“Being a friend is hard.”

“If it was easy, anyone could do it.”

“I love smart women.”

“Smart women love you.”

“I’d better go.”

“Call me later.”

Cole put down the phone. It was still early, but he had plenty to do, and Lucy had given him a good idea. He scanned the list of food purveyors and suppliers Smith had dealt with. All were people in the food and restaurant business who probably swapped stories about cooks, cooking, and the good and bad restaurants where they worked. It was possible Smith mentioned a New Orleans restaurant where he had worked, or maybe a chef he had worked with, and one of the people on the list might remember. Having a place to start would make Lucy’s job easier.

Cole opened a fresh bottle of water, pulled the phone close, and got back to work.