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.