Pike spent thirty-five minutes driving to Venice, and was still five minutes from the body shop when Elvis Cole called.

“Where are you?”

Pike told him where he was going and why.

“Don’t bother. Azzara and Eschuara are dead.”

Pike took his foot off the gas and steered toward the side of the street.

“Rainey?”

“No sign of Rainey. They were found five minutes from here on a side street off Doheny. Shot.”

“The Bolivian?”

“I’m heading there now to take a look, but it sounds like Rainey killed them. They were shot with a large caliber—at least a nine millimeter. The vics at Azzara’s were shot with a twenty-two. Hang on—”

Pike heard a voice in the background that was probably Button, then Cole came back on the phone.

“I guess Rainey and the bangers couldn’t agree on a plan. Looks like he shot them, pushed them out of the car, and took off. There’s no sign of the Prius.”

Pike thought for a moment, trying to decide what to do.

“Did Button get through to the investigators in Louisiana?”

“Yeah. They’re going to email some things.”

“Do they have the executioner’s picture?”

“Uh-uh. They’re sending what they have, but there isn’t a picture.”

“Keep me advised.”

Pike closed his phone. It had been reasonable to think someone at the body shop would hear from Azzara, but now Azzara was dead, so Pike focused on Rainey. With twelve million dollars, Rainey could have homes, apartments, and cars stashed all over the city. He might even be sailing out of the marina as Pike sat on the side of the street.

Pike thought about how Dru called him, but had been pretending to call Rainey. If she had never reached Rainey, he might not know the Bolivian had her.

Pike dug out Rainey’s cell number and gave it a try. The phone rang once, then immediately went to voice mail. Pike closed his phone, then had a follow-up thought, and dialed Rainey’s number again.

This time when the voice mail answered, Pike left a message.

“He has her.”

Pike left his number, then phoned Cole.

“Is Straw still at Azzara’s?”

“He left before us. He’s going to check their video and compare it to the disk we got from Laine. That was a good idea.”

“He’s doing that now?”

“Yeah. It’s going to take a long time. He wanted to get started.”

Pike decided to offer his help. He drove directly to Straw’s stakeout across from Rainey’s shop. The shop was now busy with police, but Pike ignored them. He went through the tattoo parlor as he had before, and once again climbed the rear stairs.

No one answered when Pike knocked. He knocked harder, then tried the knob and found it unlocked.

The two-room office suite was empty. The bedding and trash bags and gear were gone. Even the black sheet with its rectangular cuts was missing. The shakedown crew had moved on, and taken their video with them.

Pike ran back to his Jeep for Straw’s number, and called.

“Jack Straw.”

“Where are you?”

“Who is—Pike, is that you?”

“What’s going on with the video?”

“I have a man going through it right now.”

“Straw, I’m at your stakeout. It’s empty.”

“You need to relax, Pike. We closed that place down. The shakedown op is history. Most of my crew is already on their way home.”

“Louisiana doesn’t have a picture of the Bolivian.”

Straw was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was measured.

“I know they don’t. I spoke with an agent down there twenty minutes ago. So I’ve got Kenny looking at the recordings right now. If he sees anyone who looks suspicious—anyone who even remotely might be our guy—he will let me know. You better settle down, man. You sound like you’re losing it.”

Straw hung up.

Kenny. One man to look at hundreds of hours of video.

Pike settled back, and scanned the surrounding buildings and the gawkers on the sidewalks outside Rainey’s shop. Rainey probably wouldn’t return, but you never knew—Rainey had been running for years, but this time he hadn’t. Rainey had broken his pattern, and people never changed without a very good reason. Instead of running again, Rainey and Dru had moved in with Azzara, but left several things at Brown’s house, suggesting they felt the move would be temporary and they planned to return. Maybe Rainey left something at the house he needed before he would leave.

Pike drove to the house. The police had blocked the surrounding streets, so Pike left his Jeep on the boulevard and tried to cross the pedestrian bridge. The police had blocked the footbridges at both ends of the alley, so Pike found himself with three neighborhood women and six children at the construction site where Gomer had been murdered. They watched the activity as uniformed and plainclothes officers searched Brown’s house.

Pike spent little time looking at the police. Gawkers had gathered at the bridges and bike paths, and residents with a view of the scene were in their backyards. Pike searched the faces for Rainey, but knew the Bolivian killer might also be among them. If the killer was still hunting for Rainey, he might return to the house for the same reasons as Pike.

Pike found Lily Palmer’s card in his wallet, and called.

Jared answered, his voice low and dull.

“Hullo.”

“It’s Pike. Remember?”

Jared perked up.

“Oh, man, you should see this place. The cops are everywhere.”

“I know. I’m across the canal.”

“No shit? Man, did you know? Wilson and Dru are criminals. Did you know that?”

Jared came out to the edge of their pool and waved when he saw Pike.

“Hey, dude, there you are! I see you!”

Pike said, “Has anyone been next door?”

“At Steve’s place?”

“Yes.”

“Dude, look at it. The place looks like a cop convention.”

“Not now. Before the police.”

“Right, yeah, the cops asked that, too. No, uh-uh, I didn’t see anyone.”

“Not just today. What about yesterday and last night?”

“Nada, man.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No, dude. And you know me—all eyes all the time. No evil shall escape my sight.”

“Get something to write with. I’m going to give you my number.”

“Sure, dude. Hang on.”

Jared jogged into his house, and reappeared a few moments later.

“Okey-doke, we are ready to copy, Houston.”

Pike recited his cell.

“If you see anyone next door after the police leave, I want you to call me. Will you do that?”

“Sure, dude. We’re supposed to call the cops, too.”

“That’s fine. Call them, but call me, too.”

“You got it, bro. No problemo.”

“And Jared—do you have alarms on your house?”

“Yeah.”

“Lock up tonight. Don’t leave any windows or doors open. Lock it and arm up.”

“Dude, you are freakin’ me out. Wilson’s cool with me. We joke around.”

Pike wasn’t thinking about Rainey.

“Lock up, Jared. If you see someone or hear something, call 911, then me. Tell your mother. Give her my number.”

The excitement left Jared’s voice.

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell her.”

Pike closed his phone.

Jared stared at him for a moment, then waved again and walked slowly back into his house.

Pike studied the near bridges and surrounding houses. If Rainey showed up because he wanted to enter the house, he would leave, but return later when the police were gone. Pike had nothing else, so he settled in to wait.

Forty minutes later, Pike’s attention was drawn when two men stepped from the crowd at the head of the pedestrian bridge. Special Agents Straw and Kenny showed their badges to the officer blocking the bridge, who immediately let them pass. They disappeared when they reached the end of the bridge, but Kenny reappeared a few minutes later in Rainey’s backyard. Pike wondered why he was here with Straw instead of checking the video.

Kenny walked to the fence, then turned toward the house. A few seconds later, Straw joined him. They spoke for a moment, then Straw went to the kayak hanging on the dock. He rocked it absently back and forth, then spoke to Kenny, who only shook his head in answer. They stared at the house as if trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle, and neither appeared ready to leave.

Pike wondered if Kenny had finished checking the video or if Straw had simply lied.

Pike called Straw on his cell. He listened to Straw’s phone ring, and watched as Straw checked the incoming call window, then returned the phone to his pocket without answering.

Pike said, “Mm.”

Pike dialed again, and again watched as Straw checked the incoming call without answering. This time he said something to Kenny, who shook his head as he walked away.

Pike immediately dialed again, and this time Straw broke. He answered his phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s Pike. How’s it coming with the video?”

“You’re becoming a pain in the ass, you know that? We’re getting there.”

“I’ll pitch in. Maybe Kenny needs some help.”

“He’s doing fine without you.”

“He find anything yet?”

“No, Pike, I told you I’d call you, but here you are calling me, and it’s slowing us down. Don’t call again.”

Pike watched as Straw lowered his phone. He said something to Kenny, which made Kenny laugh.

Pike jogged back to his Jeep and drove along Venice Boulevard until he found the green Malibu. If Straw wasn’t going to check the video, Pike would check it himself.

Pike didn’t know what he would find or if he would find anything, but the Malibu’s back seat was filled with their duffels and sleeping bags. Pike checked to make sure no one was watching, then used a jiggler key to open the car.

Pike wanted the camera case, but did not see it, so he searched through the duffels. The top duffel was jumbled with clothes and toiletry bags. He quickly checked for the camera, zipped the bag, and shoved it aside. Pike was working fast, but when he opened the second bag, he spotted a thick manila envelope with Rainey written in longhand on the cover.

Rainey’s name stopped him.

Pike could tell by the envelope’s worn condition and faded ink that nothing about it was new. It looked old, and used, and as soon as Pike saw it he knew something about Jack Straw was wrong.

The envelope contained photocopies of what appeared to be reports and documents about William Allan Rainey written on Drug Enforcement Agency letterhead and field forms. The documents appeared official, and contained blurry, black-and-white photocopies of surveillance pictures. Like the envelope, the documents showed their wear with torn edges, coffee rings, and handwritten notes in the margins. Pike was fingering through the pages without reading them when he found a smudged picture of Rose Marie Platt with a banner for Jazz Fest behind her in the background. The picture quality was so poor she was almost unrecognizable, but Pike knew it was her.

Pike pushed the pages back into the envelope, and continued looking for the camera. He found it a few seconds later, closed the duffel, and left the bags on the back seat as he had found them.

Pike hadn’t been looking for files and documents, but now he wanted to see what Straw had. He took the camera and envelope, and drove to a quiet residential street three blocks away.

Pike checked the video first. He spent a few minutes figuring out how to work the camera, then watched several seconds of Straw’s recording. He fast-forwarded, then skipped between tracks to watch more. A hard knot between his shoulder blades grew larger with each scene he watched, and soon it spread down his back.

Straw’s surveillance team had not recorded Azzara or the members of Azzara’s gang. They had recorded Rainey and Dru. Entering and leaving the shop. Entering and leaving the house on the canal. Dru in the backyard. Rainey in the kayak. Driving their Tercel.

The video confirmed what Pike suspected the moment he saw the worn envelope bearing Wilson Smith’s true name.

Special Agent Jack Straw had lied. Straw and his team never cared about Miguel Azzara. They had known who Wilson and Dru were since the beginning. They were chasing Rainey and Platt.