Chapter Thirty-Four: First Light
The Jorstens' driveway was one long snake of unmoving vehicles. Rigsby steered slowly onto the dusty lawn, which resembled a mall parking lot on Black Friday: line after line of crookedly parked cars, with bustling pedestrians weaving in between. Just as Rigsby found a spot, a tall man in a brown uniform jogged past the headlights, tugged along by an enormous, snuffling Bloodhound.
Rigsby cracked the door and called after him, "Hey! We're with the CBI – can you tell us where to find Sheriff Hamilton?"
The man pulled his dog to a stop and pointed at the house. "Should be up there."
Rigsby nodded. "Okay. Thanks."
The Bloodhound man hurried off.
Cho came around the van's warm hood, and he and Rigsby headed for the house together.
The Jorsten home was lit up like a giant jack-o-lantern against the still-black sky, gold light pouring from a few upstairs windows and all the downstairs ones to form two "eyes" and a sinister, gap-toothed smile.
They found Sheriff Hamilton in the kitchen, on his cell phone. He quickly directed the agents outside, behind the garage, where the K-9 Unit from three counties over was getting ready to start its search.
The unit looked ready enough, from where Rigsby stood – six men and one woman were standing in a line, each holding the leash of an eager-looking dog. Four Rottweilers, two German Shepherds, one Bloodhound. All of the dogs were facing the steep rise behind the Jorstens' property. After a moment, the Bloodhound started baying. His handler patted him, and then continued conversing with another officer.
Rigsby jogged over to them.
The Bloodhound man offered a hand. "Rick Davis, K-9 Unit."
"Wayne Rigsby, CBI. And that's Agent Cho, over there."
"You find the sheriff?" Davis asked.
"Yeah…Um, he said you guys were getting ready to head out?" Rigsby looked questioningly around at the milling, chatting officers.
"That's right," Davis confirmed. "Come first light, we're taking off. You and Agent Cho are welcome to join us."
"Thanks," Rigsby mumbled. He jogged back over to Cho.
"What're they waiting for?" Cho asked.
"First light…"
Cho stared at the K-9 people for a moment, then at the rise that led up to the desert. "Screw that," he said, and started climbing.
Grinning, Rigsby hurried after him.
XxXxXxX
He was smiling again. She didn't like that.
Grace examined Hoskins through slitted eyes. Cat eyes. He blinked up at her innocently.
After the initial shock of being arrested, the CEO had quickly recovered his cool. He'd flirted with her shamelessly on the drive back to Sacramento, going so far as to "forgive" Grace for arresting him, and assuring her that this "minor misunderstanding" wouldn't have any impact on their date.
Their date? As if.
Grace circled the interview table like a red-tailed hawk.
Even now, sitting handcuffed in the CBI interrogation room, Hoskins wasn't giving up.
"Come on," he drawled. "Can't we just forget this nonsense? There's still plenty of time to make that reservation…"
"I don't think you realize how serious this is," Grace told him.
"It's only serious if I'm guilty, and I'm not – I didn't kill Paul…"
"No," she agreed. "You just ordered the hit on him."
Hoskins laughed. "'Ordered the hit?' Do I look like a mobster to you?"
"You look like the best friend of one."
The CEO's face soured a little. "You read my emails."
Grace made her own expression of distaste. "Unfortunately…By the way, how did that cream work out for you? Did it take care of all those itchy little crabs? I'd really like to know before our date…"
Buck Hoskins' eyes flashed their true color: Red. He clasped his hands together, extra-tight. "Those were private letters between myself and an old high school friend – who, by the way, has never been convicted of anything. There's no mention of Paul, or guns, or killing, or 'hits' in any of those emails. You have no case."
"Then let's talk about the case we do have – the one where you knowingly allowed your own customers to be seriously injured and killed, just to save a few bucks. A jury will love that case…"
The CEO regarded her flatly. "Whatever document you found, or think you found, you obviously misread it. Durenko values the lives and well-being of its customers above all else. We're a family company." He smiled malevolently, and Grace turned away from the sight.
She walked to the huge mirror and studied her own reflection. Her face was too soft to crack someone. Too pretty. She needed to be diamond-hard. Monster-ugly. Red John-scary. Grace molded her features until she was looking at a blank mask, with eyes made of ice. Empty, barren, pitiless.
Even Cho would've been impressed.
"You know," Grace began, slowly turning back to face Hoskins. "We're going to get you eventually. We always do. No one closes more cases than Serious Crimes. That's why the bosses keep us around…" She walked to the table and stood right over Hoskins, looking down on him. "So, we'll get you on negligent homicide. We'll get you for Paul's murder, and the murder of his wife. The question is…how many more murders do you want us to get you for?"
Hoskins raised an eyebrow. "More murders? As far as I know, no one else has died…"
"Not yet. But right now, right while we're saying these words, a hitman sent by your friend Brody – on your request – is out gunning for a CBI employee and an innocent little girl." Grace tilted her head, regarding Hoskins with sterile detachment.
"Have you ever seen a picture of Penny Jorsten?" she asked. "I bet Paul kept one on his desk. That sweet, hopeful, freckly face, so vibrant and full of life…" Grace blinked. Hoskins said nothing. "No? Well, you'll get to see it at the trial. The DA will put Penny's picture up next to Paul's and Laura's and all the other people you murdered. Including that other little girl, who died from flying debris…What was she, nine? She probably had a sweet face, too. And a nice smile. Juries just eat that stuff up. They love labels, too – 'Mobster,' 'Hitman,' 'Thug,' 'Child-Killer – "
"What do you want from me?" Hoskins snapped.
Grace stared right into his eyes, burning cold. "I want you to make sure Penny Jorsten and my friend come home safe."
"I don't have any control over that…"
"I think you do." Grace reached into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Hoskins' cell phone, confiscated at the time of his arrest. She set it on the table. "I'm going to step outside for a few minutes. I'm going to make sure the hallway is clear, and that the microphone in this room is turned off. You can just sit here and think about how many pictures you want at that trial." She slid the phone toward him with an exaggerated, read-between-the-lines gesture, and turned to leave.
Hoskins' voice came from behind: "You're making a mistake, you know. We could have been great together…"
"I don't date murderers," Grace told him, and walked away.
XxXxXxX
Lisbon hung up her phone and grinned at the stars.
Minelli had just called, promising helicopters – no matter how much string-pulling and black-mailing it took.
I might be retired, he'd told her, but I still know where all the skeletons are…
And just before that, Cho had checked in. He and Rigsby were on site, headed her way, and the FBI was en route, too.
Lisbon sighed happily. The sky smiled down on her, like a sparkling Cheshire cat.
"Good news?" Officer Kelly asked, watching her curiously.
"Yeah. It looks like we're finally going to get some real help…"
"Oh? Did the K-9 Unit get here?"
"K-9's here, CBI's here, helicopters and FBI are on the way," she informed him merrily.
Kelly raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like a regular circus. We should find Mr. Jane in no time, with all those people lookin'…Hey, how soon do you think—" He was cut off by a sudden chirp from his phone. Kelly examined the white-glowing screen with emotionless eyes, reading whatever message was there before typing back a short reply.
"Everything all right?" Lisbon asked.
"Oh, gosh, yeah. That was just my wife. She likes to check on me – especially when I miss dinner…" He ducked his head shyly.
At the mention of dinner, Lisbon's stomach made a noise she'd once heard at the San Diego Zoo. She remembered the chips in her backpack and fished them out. A wonderful waft of potato-smell hit her as she tore open the pouch.
Lisbon held the bag out to Kelly first. "I know it's not exactly a home-cooked meal, but…"
He gratefully took a handful. "Thanks. The dirt was actually starting to look appetizing…"
Lisbon laughed. She shoveled a pile of chips into her mouth, devoured them, and immediately dove in for more, not caring if she looked undignified. They were greasy and delicious.
Kelly ate more slowly, fishing one chip at a time from his palm. A tiny crumb got stuck to his lower lip, and he brushed the speck away with a bashful smile.
Lisbon smiled back. She had potato chips in her belly and helicopters on the way.
For the first time in a very long night, she felt something like hope.