The Forgotten (39 page)

“What about the photos of the kids in your wallet?” asked Puller. “The black kid and the Asian?”

“How did you know about them?”

“Who are they?”

“They’re my kids,” exploded Mason.

“What?”

“My ex and I adopted them years ago. They’re both grown now. But I carry their pictures in my wallet from when they were kids. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

Carson said, “Isabel, how old are you?”

“Sixteen,” she replied automatically.

“Isabel, the truth. It’s something we can find out easily, but it’ll be better coming from you.”

Isabel hesitated and said, “I’m almost sixteen. In a year and a half.”

Puller looked at Mason in disgust. “You’re in bed with a fourteen-year-old?”

“She told me she was sixteen. Check out her rack. She looks eighteen.”

Puller said to Isabel, “How much is he paying you?”

Mason yelled, “I’m not paying her anything. This is not a prostitution thing.”

“Right. She’s just up here screwing an old fat guy because it’s so much cooler than doing the young bucks.”

“He just gives me things,” said Isabel.

“Like what?” asked Carson.

“Don’t say anything, Isabel,” demanded Mason. “They’re just trying to trick you. I’m calling my lawyer.”

“Stat rape is stat rape, Mason,” noted Puller. “Not much of a defense to that.”

Mason took a step back. “Look, we can work this out. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re going down either way, stat rape or not.”

“What?” said Mason, looking confused.

“We busted your scam.”

“What scam?”

Puller looked at Ryon and Ryon looked at Mason.

Puller said, “I caught her with the stolen goods. She ratted you out. And now we know how an estates lawyer can afford an Aston Martin. So maybe
you
better lawyer the hell up.”

Mason stared at Puller for a few seconds and then lunged at Ryon. “You stupid bitch!” His hands were around her neck and he was squeezing with all his strength.

Puller ripped him off her and threw Mason back against the wall.

Ryon slumped to the floor, gasping for breath and looking terrified.

Puller whipped Mason’s hands behind his back and secured them with plasticuffs.

“Okay, we also now have your ass for assault and attempted murder. Thanks for the favor.”

“You dumb bitch!” screamed Mason again at the sobbing Ryon.

Carson said, “Yeah, we got it the first time.”

Puller grabbed Mason by the neck. “And maybe you help your targets into the grave a little faster so you can cash in, Grif?”

Mason looked at him blankly. “What?”

“Cookie? Floating in a bathtub. You were there. You told Ryon to get over there and take his most valuable watches. Only way that works is if he’s dead.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, right. And what about my aunt? You make her do a header into the fountain? Hold her under?”

“I swear to God I didn’t.”

“We know you were at Cookie’s house,” roared Puller.

“Okay, okay, I was there. For a meeting. I found him dead.”

“Bullshit.”

“He was. That’s why I told Jane to get her ass over there. I wanted to get the watches out before anyone came to the house. Do you know how much they’re worth?”

“Save it for your trial.”

Puller looked back at Isabel. “Get dressed. I’m taking you home. By the way, your
abuela
has been worried sick.”

“I have a life to lead.”

“Where are Diego and Mateo?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you know they were missing?”

She stared at him defiantly and then shrugged. “They’ll probably come back.”

“Get dressed,” he said quietly and shut the door.

As they hauled Mason and Ryon outside, Puller’s phone buzzed. He looked at the text that had just come across. His jaw plunged.

“Son of a bitch.”

“What is it?” asked Carson as they loaded Ryon and Mason into the back of the Tahoe and slammed the doors shut.

Puller stared across at her.

“ME finished the post on Cookie. He wasn’t murdered. He died from a popped aneurysm.”

Carson said, “So Mason’s not a killer?”

“And he’s not a pedophile.”

“He’s just a scum who steals from old people and beds underage girls.”

Puller sighed and leaned on the top of the Tahoe. “So we’re back to square one.”

“With Diego and Mateo too,” added Carson.

“With everything, actually,” said Puller quietly. He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past one. As he looked at the time something clicked in his brain. It had always been there, he supposed, but until this moment it had not registered.

Carson said, “Puller, what is it?”

Puller didn’t hear her. Part of him couldn’t believe it. Part of him could. But he would have to make sure. He would have to make calls. He would have to dig. He would have to once more become the investigator.

It was about time, he thought. It was about damn time.

M
ASON AND
R
YON WERE
in custody with the Paradise Police Department. Puller had given a full report to Bullock, who was burning the midnight oil. It had taken hours to fill him in on everything and then hours more to complete the paperwork. Justice, it seemed, was obsessed with paper.

Bullock did not seem pleased to have one more thing added to his plate, but he had his people fill out the necessary reports and ordered Ryon and Mason into holding cells. Mason was screaming about suing the entire city of Paradise, but Ryon had signed a confession and it was confirmed that Isabel was only fourteen, so the stat rape charge seemed solid.

Isabel was released into her grandmother’s care after confirming in writing the account of what had happened.

Puller had also filled out a missing persons report on Diego and Mateo. He had told Bullock about the allegation that a man had paid a thousand dollars for them.

Bullock’s features had turned darker while he listened to this.

Carson, who had been hovering in the background, said, “Do you have a problem with things like this in Paradise?”

Bullock glanced sharply up at her. “What do you mean?”

“With people being bought like that,” said Puller.

Bullock frowned. “Look, we have a large population of undocumented down here, even with the reverse immigration because of the bad economy. If people are here illegally it’s hard to know if anyone’s disappeared. Folks come and go.”

“These are two little kids,” countered Puller. “They lived with their grandmother.”

“I get that, Puller. But I don’t have the manpower to put on every case of folks disappearing. Not even the big-city departments can do that anymore. It’s just the way things are.”

“Then things suck,” Puller said.

“Okay, they suck. What do you want me to do about it?”

“You’re putting a lot of resources on the Lampert case.”

“A bomb exploded there.”

“But no one was hurt.”

“It’s different.”

“It’s only different because he has the biggest estate in Paradise.”

Bullock rifled through some papers and didn’t respond.

“Any leads on the bomber?” asked Carson.

“No,” replied Bullock, still rifling.

“What about Cookie?” asked Puller.

“Not a homicide. You know that. Aneurysm popped. So if you were thinking there was a homicidal lunatic loose on Orion Street and that person killed your aunt too, well, stop thinking it.”

“Just because Cookie’s death was from natural causes doesn’t mean my aunt wasn’t murdered.”

“Puller, I appreciate you bagging Mason and Ryon, I really do. If the case holds against them they’re scum who deserve to go away to prison. But what I will not appreciate is you running around town playing detective.”

“I offered my services before and you told me you might take me up on it.”

“I said might. And I’ve decided not to. You’re not part of this department. You’re in the military. You have no authority here and I have no authority over you. Things would get tricky real fast.”

“Okay, I guess I understand that.”

“Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to process the paperwork on Mason and Ryon.”

Puller and Carson left and walked out into a new day with the
sun already well up into the sky and the heat and humidity feeling like a pitcher of warm beer poured on them.

Carson stretched and worked a kink from her neck. “Well, I’m officially tired.”

“Yeah, not going to bed at night does that to a person.” He looked at his watch. “It’s already ten hundred.”

“We should catch some bunk time, John. Otherwise we’ll be no good for anything.”

Back in his room with Sadie bedded down on a large beach towel in the corner, Puller showered. He toweled off, slipped on a pair of boxers, and toppled backward on his bed. He wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He rose and spent the next two hours burning up cell minutes. He found out a great deal of interesting information. All of it dovetailed nicely with what he had been thinking. And if he hadn’t looked at his watch last night, he never would have thought of it. Sometimes the mind did work in mysterious ways. He had more calls to make and more digging to do, but now he lay back on the bed and fell instantly asleep.

Hours later the knock on his door surprised him. He rose, snagging his M11 out of its holster.

“Yeah,” he said, standing to the left of the door.

“You can stand down. It’s just your friendly neighborhood one-star. You decent?”

Puller opened the door and looked at Carson. She had on a clingy light blue sleeveless dress with a V neckline and two-inch heels.

“What time is it?” asked Puller, who had gone from groggy to alert at the sight of her.

“Seventeen hundred.”

“Damn, I must have really been asleep. It only felt like an hour of sack time.”

“Can I come in?”

He stepped back and let her pass. She smelled of ginger and lilacs. Her skin glowed. Her hair was swept back, highlighted by the sun. The dress stopped about mid-thigh.

She sat on the bed and crossed her long legs as he closed the door.

“I thought we could talk about the case and then think about dinner. Unless you wanted to hook up with Officer Landry.”

She was gazing not at his face, but at a spot lower.

Puller looked down and realized he was still in his boxers.

“You must have a different definition of decent than I do, Puller.”

“I don’t want to hook up with Officer Landry,” he said curtly.

“All I needed to know.”

She rose, stepped out of her heels, undid a clasp at the back of her dress, and it fell to the floor.

She had nothing on underneath.

“This must seem very forward of me.”

“It actually seems just right.”

She rubbed her hand across his cheek. “I’ve learned from the Army that when you want to take a position you just have to go for it. Hesitation is for losers.”

She lay back on the bed and lifted up the covers. “I know you’ve been asleep a long time, but you want to crawl back in here? You won’t be sleeping. That I can guarantee.”

They kissed lightly at first and then deeper, their fingers probing. When they drew apart Carson looked unsteady, vulnerable and breathless, her hair askew, her lips parted. Tough one-star now naked, helpless, and literally in his hands. He traced her lips with his finger.

No words necessary.

He lifted her up, her long legs immediately scissoring around his torso. He laid her back on the bed.

There was a rim of sweat on her back that Puller flicked his hands over as he gripped her tightly. He rose up and settled down firmly on top. His hands slid to her buttocks and squeezed the soft flesh. Her hands kept busy too, slipping to his thighs and directing him to where Puller now needed to go.

A familiar motion took over, growing more and more frenetic as the fire inside each of them reached a point of no return.

Her moans were becoming more rapid. She started to talk. Telling him in his ear precisely what it was she wanted.

A while later Puller gave one last shudder and fell limp over
Carson. She was gasping and trying to catch her breath and telling him how pleased she was at his performance. Together they slowly moved down to lie flat on the bed side by side.

“That was truly unbelievable, John,” she murmured in his ear.

It was, thought Puller, and he told her so.

She turned, faced him, and kissed him, first on the cheek, then the lips, sliding her fingers up and down one side of his face.

It had been a while for Puller. He worried whether he could bring the necessary level of passion. Apparently he had. And that made him feel both satisfied and relieved as he lay there next to her. He was still breathing hard, like he’d just completed the Army two-mile in record time.

“I don’t do this sort of thing lightly, just so you know,” she said.

“You don’t seem the type.”

“I’m not,” she said firmly, propping herself up on one elbow and looking at him.

“I’m not either,” he said.

“Trust me, I know.”