Button hung up without answering, and now the desert wind blew through Pike’s chest like a cold rail. Pike worked his way out of the bush, slipped over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, then ran for his Jeep. He was less than ten minutes from Button’s location, and filled Cole in as he drove.

Cole said, “You want me back on Mendoza?”

“Not now. If this is Wilson or Dru, the police will be all over their house as soon as they clear the scene. If there’s more to find on their street, we have to find it now.”

“I’m on it, Joe, but listen—”

Cole’s voice softened.

“Hold a good thought, okay?”

Pike broke the call in silence. Moments later he was bogged down in traffic three blocks from the canal, and knew he was heading for a major crime scene. Westbound traffic was rerouted through the marina by a uniformed officer who forced everyone to turn.

When Pike identified himself, the officer directed him into a parking lot behind a Thai restaurant. Several radio cars were along both sides of the canal, and two more blocked the Washington Boulevard Bridge. A Medical Examiner’s van was on the far side of the canal. Even as Pike pulled into the parking lot, he saw that the water level was down. The Venice Canals did not flow freely into the sea. Once or twice a week, locks built into the bridge were opened, allowing the canals to drain with the falling tide, and refill with clean water as the tide rose. Now, the tide was out and the water was down, revealing a low wall of gray concrete stones that firmed the banks and the shallow slope of the bottom.

Pike spotted Futardo as he parked. She was with a small group of detectives and uniforms at the edge of the canal who stared at something in the water. Button was on the other side of the bridge with Straw. The man with the orange shirt was with them, only now he wore blue. He saw Pike first, then Button and Straw turned. Button came across the bridge to Futardo and motioned Pike to join them.

Pike felt his heart rate increase as he got closer. Two men in waders stepped into the water while two other men in knee boots spread a blue plastic sheet on the muddy bottom. All four wore long rubber gloves that reached to their shoulders. A stretcher waited solemnly nearby.

Button’s face was blank as Pike approached, but a deep line cut Futardo’s brow. Pike wondered what she was thinking. Button’s jacket was already off in anticipation of the coming heat, and his hands were in his pockets. He didn’t take them out to shake. Instead, he nodded toward the canal.

“There you go.”

Pike looked, and in that moment he realized all his assumptions were wrong.

Chapter 22

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