Finding the house was not a problem. The neighborhood was new money, but big money. Lots of gates and walls. Garages the size of a workingman’s house. French got there first, did a slow drive-by, and then parked where he could see the gate, the roofline, the glow of lights beyond the wall. Burklow rolled in five minutes later, and it was a long five minutes.

“You okay?”

They met on the sidewalk, low-voiced as Burklow did a hard-target search of French’s face. Whatever he saw there made him happy enough. He didn’t repeat the question.

“Where’s Jason?”

“I don’t know. He said he’d be here.”

The street was empty. They settled more deeply into the shadows cast by a streetlight two houses down. “Tell me everything he said.”

Burklow glanced at the house. To save time, they’d decided to do the full rundown in person. “Jason knows a lot about the property. The structure is fortified with polycarbonate, armored glass and steel-core doors in hardened frames. The security system is state of the art. Eighteen cameras on the grounds. Another dozen inside. Motion sensors and infrared. Pressure plates at the main and rear gates.”

“How does he know that?”

“How does he know any of it?”

“Do you believe him?”

“Do you?”

French thought, Yeah, I do. “Did he give you a name?”

“Reece, but he thinks it’s fictitious. There’s no Reece listed at this address. We can check property records after.” An unhappy moment passed between them. “I think he might be injured.”

“Jason? Why?”

“Something in his voice, his breathing, the fact he called us at all. I’ve never known him to ask for help.”

That was true. Not even as a kid.

Burklow shifted uneasily, looking down from all his great height. They’d been together a long time, thick and thin. French didn’t have to see his face to know his thoughts or the unanswered question that still hung between them. He nodded once, glad for the shadows, and how they hid his face. “Yeah,” he said. “I made the call.”

“I’m sorry, Bill.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“How soon?”

“Not long.” French did not trust his voice to say more. The first wave was already rolling: everyone on duty, and close enough to get there fast. Behind them, other cops were being called up, body armor issued, the armory broached. They had no warrant; they barely had probable cause. But no cop in the city had ever seen anything like what had been done to Tyra Norris, and every one of those cops wanted the guy who’d done it, proper procedure or not. French had slipped the chain, and it was coming, no stopping it.

Where was Jason?

Why wasn’t he here?

Misunderstanding the expression on his partner’s face, Burklow said, “Brother, you made the right choice.”

French believed that, too.

It didn’t help in the slightest.

45