Pike had relieved Cole at four that morning, parking a block and a half from Carla’s house in a deep pool of shadow beneath a sycamore tree. He slouched low behind the wheel, safe enough while the neighborhood slept, but he knew people would stir with the dawn. A man sitting in a parked vehicle would quickly draw attention, so Pike found a new position behind the camellia bush well before the eastern sky lightened. He could not see the front of the house, but had a good view of the back door, most of the drive, and the interior of the kitchen through the windows.

A light in the master bedroom came on at ten minutes after six. A few minutes later, the kitchen light followed, and Carla Fuentes entered the kitchen. She was alone, and wore a white T-shirt. She spent several minutes at the counter doing something Pike could not see, then returned to the bedroom. Pike guessed she had put on a pot of coffee. This was confirmed a few minutes later when she returned to the kitchen, poured a cup, and took it into the living room. Pike thought she was probably watching TV.

He saw her twice more before seven-oh-three. During this time, the sun rose, finches chirped through the bushes, and a mockingbird took a noisy position on the garage. Pike planned what he would do if Carla left the house or Mendoza appeared, but by seven-oh-three she had made no move to leave and Mendoza had not arrived.

At four minutes after seven, Pike received the call.

His phone made a soft buzz when it vibrated. It was on his thigh, where he had placed it so he could reach it with minimal movement, wrapped in a soft cloth to muffle the sound. He was surprised when the Caller ID showed CTY LOS ANG. This meant the call originated from a phone issued by the city. Pike debated whether or not to answer, but decided to pick up the call.

“Pike.”

“You answer fast for this time of the morning.”

It was Button, sounding quiet and knowing.

“Did you check out Mendoza?”

“Yeah. I think there’s something to what you said. Did you find him?”

“No.”

“I can help you with that. Got something here I want you to see. Come take a look.”

Button’s voice was so flat Pike knew this wasn’t a friendly request, and something in the nature of his word choice and the early time of the call cut Pike like a desert wind.

“Is it Wilson and Dru?”

“You want a ride, I’ll send a car.”

“Did you find them?”

“I’m at Washington Boulevard where it crosses the canal. Can’t miss me.”

“Tell me if it’s them, Button.”