The Memory Collector Part 28

Mr. Peebles was crouched on a desk in front of the open window. His tiny fingers were working the wheel of the lighter. His next sacrificial victim, a floppy hound dog, lay splayed on the desktop in front of him. When the door clicked shut, his febrile hands went still and his head swiveled. His eyes, glaring at Jo in the dark, reflected the gleam of distant streetlights.

He sat as still as an idol. A tiny, hairy, manic idol that may or may not have been vaccinated for rabies. Jo crept toward him.

With a screech he threw the lighter out the window, like a busted dealer dumping his junk. He grabbed the floppy hound and leaped onto a floor lamp. Jo crossed the room and slammed the window. Mr. Peebles sprang to a bookshelf, clutching the puppy to his chest.

On the floor in the corner of the room, a plastic container tub was tipped over. The lid had been pried off and dozens of Beanie Babies spilled onto the floor. Some were ripped apart. Others had been- "Oh, you nasty monkey."

They'd been... loved to death. A terrible sound rose in her head. Barry White, singing "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe."

On an easy chair was a larger, thoroughly debauched collectible. And if Tickle Me Elmo wanted a cigarette to celebrate his night with Mr. Peebles, he was out of luck. The lighter was gone.

"Couldn't you just pee in his shoes like a normal pet?" she said.

Ferd was either in denial or too oblivious to see that what ailed his helper monkey wasn't viral but hormonal. She glanced around the room. There were no World of Warcraft stickers, nor a Klingon dictionary. The bookshelf contained coffee table books about Italy. This office didn't belong to Ferd, but to the owners of the house. So, probably, did the collectibles.

Mr. Peebles chuffed and glared at her. She reached for him and he nearly flew into her arms. He curled against her shoulder, clutching her sweater with three prehensile extremities and the toy hound with the fourth.

"Where's your crate?"

The one strewn with copies of Plush Toy Monthly and Monkey Hustler magazine.

Holding him tightly, she headed up the hall. Two doors down, in Ferd's office, was a six-by-six-foot crate with a climbing tree and comfy bedding. She peeled Mr. Peebles's fingers and toes from her s.h.i.+rt, turned him smartly around, and set him inside. She latched the door and turned to the desk, looking for something to seal it with. Her hand b.u.mped the computer mouse and Ferd's screen woke up.

She inhaled. A vein began throbbing in her temple.

On-screen was a Technicolor image downloaded from an episode of Star Trek. She recognized the s.e.xy Borg woman wearing a silver bodysuit slicked to her skin like spray paint. Her hip was thrust out. She was hoisting a weapon the size of a whaling harpoon.

Jo's head had been Photoshopped onto her body.

In the crate, Mr. Peebles screeched and jumped on the bars. She gaped at the screen.

Seven of Jo. She didn't know whether to rip out the computer's guts or laugh her head off.

Out the window, movement caught her eye from next door. She looked across the fence and down into her brightly lit kitchen. Froze.

A man was inside.

Fear lit her up like lightning. From the sharp upstairs angle, she could see only his legs. He was slight and nimble, wore jeans with a blue bandanna hanging from the back pocket. He walked across the kitchen and turned, slowly, looking around.

Where was Tina?

She stuck her hand in her jeans pocket for her phone. Came up empty.

s.h.i.+t. Her phone was on her kitchen table. She picked up the phone on Ferd's desk and punched 911.

She couldn't see Tina anywhere. The living room looked empty. Upstairs, the lights were off. The man turned to the kitchen table and opened her laptop.

"Nine-one-one emergency."

"There's an intruder in my house." She gave the dispatcher the address. Her voice sounded chipped. "My sister's in there. Hurry."

"Stay on the line, ma'am," the dispatcher said. "I'm sending a police car."

As the intruder's hands moved across her keyboard, a second man's set of legs strolled into the kitchen, holding her satchel. He dumped it out on the kitchen table.

She tried to catch her breath and couldn't. "There's another one."

Where was Tina?

The second man, stockier than the first, picked up Jo's notebook and flipped it open.

What was in the notebook?

What wasn't? Ruth Fischer's name and number. Snarky notes on Riva Calder. A mention that Alec Shepard was Ian Kanan's brother.

Misty Kanan's home phone number and address.

"Get the cops here. The intruders are going through my computer and my notes on a missing person case and murder investigation. They're going to find the address of the missing man's wife and son. Get somebody over to her house, too." She gave the dispatcher Misty Kanan's name and address.

Sounds of typing and background chatter. "Officers are on their way, ma'am. Stay on the line."

On their way wasn't good enough. "My sister's in there. I'm going to find some neighbors and go get her."

The dispatcher's voice hopped up half an octave. "Ma'am, sit tight. Do not confront the intruders. Stay where you are-"

Jo dropped the phone on the desk and ran for the stairs. She wanted a weapon. She wanted her katana.

In Ferd's kitchen she pulled open a drawer. Silverware rattled. She moved to the next. Knives. She grabbed a serrated bread knife with a twelve-inch blade. She hefted it. It was heavy, well-balanced, and looked wicked. The stainless steel blade glinted when she turned it.

She looked out Ferd's back door. Two intruders were in her house. Were more of them outside, waiting in a car or hiding in the park across the street?

Palms tingling, she ran quietly out the back door and down the steps. What did the men want? Was it Kanan and his posse? She bent low, keeping her head below the top of the fence. Holding the knife along her leg, she ran to the corner of the mansion. She peeked around at the darkened sidewalk that led along the side of the house to the street.

Shadows faded to darkness. She couldn't tell whether anyone was hiding there. Holding her breath, she began tiptoeing along the sidewalk.

From the far side of the fence came a man's voice. "Back door's open. What's out here?"

Feet stepped onto her patio. "What's all this c.r.a.p on the lawn?"

She heard a jangling sound. She slowed. A whisper pa.s.sed her on the air and a hand grabbed her shoulder.

She spun, bringing up the knife, and found herself staring into Tina's wide and frightened eyes. Tina's jaw fell open and she inhaled, about to scream. Jo threw a hand across her sister's mouth and pressed her against the fence. The coins on Tina's hip scarf clicked like nickels pouring from a slot machine.

"You hear that?" said one of the men.

Jo held Tina tight against the fence. Tina's gaze kinked back and forth. She was shaking like a Chihuahua.

"Forget it. Get inside," said the second man.

Jo took Tina's elbow and ran with her up the steps and back inside Ferd's dim kitchen.

"What's going on?" Tina hissed.

Jo clasped her sister hard, shaking, knowing she was about to cry. "What are you doing here? How did you get out?"

"I called the computer store and left a message for Ferd and then I wondered if you'd caught the monkey," Tina said in a blistering whisper. "So I followed you out the back door and I heard men in the house, and it scared the s.h.i.+t out of me, so I climbed over the fence like you did and... and..." Eyes down. "Knife? Who? Jo..."

"You have a cell phone?"

When Tina nodded, Jo pulled Alec Shepard's business card from her jeans pocket. "Call."

Tina dialed, waited, said, "Voice mail." She handed Jo the phone.

"Alec, watch out. Two men have broken into my house. I'm worried they may go after your sister-in-law and nephew. If they're carrying out a vendetta, one side takes out somebody from the other side. Even family. Call me."

She found a basket of keys on the kitchen counter. She grabbed it and pulled Tina toward the door to the garage.

"Where are you going?" Tina said.

"We're going." She opened the door and flipped the light switch. Fluorescents buzzed, flickered, and lit the garage. In the corner a motorcycle was parked under a tarp.

"Come on," Jo said.

They hauled the tarp off. The bike was a Ducati, sleek and gleaming.

Jo nodded at a pegboard on the wall. "Get those helmets."

She set the knife on a workbench and fumbled through the keys. Her hands were still shaking. Tina handed her a helmet. She put it on, swung a leg over the seat, and stuck the key in the bike's ignition. She kicked the kickstand back.

"Hit the door opener. And pray those a.s.sholes didn't bring friends."

Putting on a helmet, Tina ran and pushed the switch. The door began rumbling up. Jo turned the ignition.

The bike growled to full-throated life. Exhaust shot from the pipes. The door opened, exposing the driveway.

Tina jumped on and wrapped her arms around Jo's waist. "I didn't know you could drive a motorcycle."

"Me neither."

She twisted the throttle and gunned the bike out of the garage.

* 23 *

Chilly fog was descending on the Kanans' neighborhood. Jo's hands were bone-cold on the handlebars of the bike. Streetlights glowed from within the mist like dandelion fuzz. So did the flas.h.i.+ng lights of the police car parked outside the Kanans' home.

The lights spun lazily, red and blue, sweeping across the female officer who stood knocking on the front door. Jo pulled into the driveway, killed the bike's engine, and climbed off.

The officer approached her. "Mrs. Kanan?"

She pulled off her helmet. "Jo Beckett. I phoned nine-one-one."

Tina took off her helmet and immediately made a phone call. Jo's legs felt wobbly after the rattling ride on the bike.

"n.o.body's home. House looks secure," the officer said.

Jo felt a glimmer of relief. "I don't have my cell phone or Mrs. Kanan's number. Let's leave her a note telling her to get in touch."

The officer handed Jo a notepad. Jo scribbled a note to Misty and stuck it in the doorjamb like a writ.

Turning to the officer, she said, "Two men broke into my house. Can you find out whether they've been apprehended?"

"Of course."

The cop walked to the patrol car and picked up the radio. Tina climbed off the Ducati and walked over.

"Dokie's on his way," Tina said. "He'll be here in two minutes."

Dokie was this week's boyfriend. Tina collected guys like charms on a bracelet.

She hugged herself, s.h.i.+vering. "I'm an icicle."

Jo put an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder.

The cop looked up. "No word yet, Dr. Beckett."

"I'm not going home until I know those men are in jail," Jo said.

The cop spread her hands. She couldn't offer Jo any certainty. Jo sighed.

In rock climbing, uncertainty provided the kick. On a difficult pitch, uncertainty-that you could reach the next hold or power your way over an overhang-was inspiring. It was called a challenge. But uncertainty as to whether the two home invaders had been captured caused nothing but a cramp in her stomach.

"You have someplace to go?" the cop said. "I'll have the department call you."

Jo gave her Tina's number. The officer got back in the patrol car, turned off the flas.h.i.+ng lights, and drove away into the thickening fog. As her taillights faded, a rustbucket Nissan came toward them up the street, its headlights blurry in the mist. Waving, Tina stepped to the curb. Dokie pulled up and got out, all fawn's eyes and silver facial piercings and gleaming zippers on his leather jacket. He was Tina's latest s.h.i.+ny thing. He kissed her.

Tina turned to Jo. "Let's get coffee and go to my place."

At the end of the street, another vehicle turned the corner from Fulton. From the sound of the motor and the height of the lights, it was an SUV. Jo's anxiety zinged and she tried to see whether it was the red Navigator. Misty Kanan's Chevy Tahoe materialized from the fog.

Jo glanced at Tina. "I'll catch up. I need to talk to this gal first."