1
They called me to view the body on a wet spring morning when darkness webbed my house. Some nights are like that; more now than before. Picture the World's Greatest Detective, reluctant subject of sidebar articles in the Los Angeles Times and Los Angeles magazine, stretched on his couch in a redwood A-frame overlooking the city, not really sleeping at 3:58 A.M. when the phone rang. I thought it was a reporter, but answered anyway.
"Hello."
This is Detective Kelly Diaz with LAPD. I apologize about the time, but Im trying to reach Elvis Cole.
Her voice was coarse, reflecting the early hour. I pushed into a sitting position and cleared my throat. Police who call before sunrise have nothing to offer but bad news.
Howd you get my number?
I had changed my home number when the news stories broke, but reporters and cranks still called.
One of the criminalists had it or got it, Im not sure. Either way, Im sorry for calling like this, but we have a homicide. We have reason to believe you know the deceased.
Something sharp stabbed behind my eyes, and I swung my feet to the floor.
Who is it?
Wed like you to come down here, see for yourself. Were downtown near Twelfth and Hill Street. I can send a radio car if that would help.
The house was dark. Sliding glass doors opened to a deck that jutted like a diving platform over the canyon behind my house. The lights on the opposite ridge were murky with the low clouds and mist. I cleared my throat again.
Is it Joe Pike?
Pikes your partner, right? The ex-cop with the sunglasses?
Yes. He has arrows tattooed on the outside of his delts. Theyre red.
She covered the phone, but I heard muffled voices. She was asking. My chest filled with a growing pressure, and I didnt like that she had to ask because asking meant maybe it was.
Is it Pike?
No, this isnt Pike. This man has tattoos, but not like that. Im sorry if I scared you that way. Listen, we can send a car.
I closed my eyes, letting the pressure fade.
I dont know anything about it. What makes you think I know?
The victim said some things before he died. Come down and take a look. Ill send a car.
Am I a suspect?
Nothing like that. We just want to see if you can help with the ID.
What was your name?
Diaz
Okay, Diazits four in the morning, I havent slept in two months, and Im not in the mood. If you think I know this guy, then you think Im a suspect. Everyone who knows a homicide victim is a suspect until theyre cleared, so just tell me who you got and ask whatever it is you want to ask.
What it is, we have a deceased Anglo male we believe to be the victim of a robbery. They got his wallet, so I cant give you a name. Were hoping you can help with that part. Here, listen
Why do you think I know him?
She plowed on with the description as if I hadnt spoken.
Anglo male, dyed black hair thin on top, brown eyes, approximately seventy years but he could be older, I guess, and he has crucifix tattoos on both palms.
Why do you think I know him?
He has more tats of a religious nature on his armsJesus, the Virgin, things like that. None of this sounds familiar?
I dont have any idea who youre talking about.
What we have is a deceased male as Ive described, one gunshot to the chest. By his appearance and location, he appears indigent, but were working on that. Im the officer who found him. He was still conscious at that time and said things that suggested you would recognize his description.
I dont.
Look, Cole, Im not trying to be difficult. It would be better if
What did he say?
Diaz didnt answer right away.
He told me he was your father.
I sat without moving in my dark house. I had started that night in bed, but ended on the couch, hoping the steady patter of rain would quiet my heart, but sleep had not come.
Just like that, he told you he was my father.
I tried to get a statement, but all he said was something about you being his son, and then he passed. Youre the same Elvis Cole they wrote the stories about, arent you? In the Times?
Yes.
He had the clippings. I figured you would recognize the tats if you knew him, me thinking he was your father, but it sounds like you dont.
My voice came out hoarse, and the catch embarrassed me.
I never met my father. I dont know anything about him, and as far as I know he doesnt know me.
We want you to come take a look, Mr. Cole. We have a few questions.
I thought I wasnt a suspect.
At this time, you arent, but we still have the questions. We sent a radio car. It should be pulling up just about now.
Approaching headlights brightened my kitchen as she said it. I heard the car roll to a slow stop outside my house, and more light filled my front entry. They had radioed their status, and someone with Diaz had signaled their arrival.
Okay, Diaz, tell them to shut their lights. No point in waking the neighbors.
The car is a courtesy, Mr. Cole. In case you were unable to drive after you saw him.
Sure. Thats why you kept offering the car like it was my choice even though it was already coming.
Its still your choice. If you want to take your own car you can follow them. We just have a few questions.
The glow outside vanished, and once more my home was in darkness.
Okay, Diaz, Im coming. Tell them to take it easy out there. I have to get dressed.
Not a problem. Well see you in a few minutes.
I put down the phone but still did not move. I had not moved in hours. Outside, a light rain fell as quietly as a whisper. I must have been waiting for Diaz to call. Why else would I have been awake that night and all the other nights except to wait like a lost child in the woods, a forgotten child waiting to be found?
After a while I dressed, then followed the radio car to see the dead.
Excerpted from The Forgotten Man by Robert Crais Copyright © 2005 by Robert Crais.