Page 16

H is cell dinged, and Hayes straightened from his computer to read the text.

He shoved away from the table and strode across the room for the jacket he’d hung in the closet.

Shrugging into it, he studied Reese’s closed bedroom door.

It was nearing noon, and she hadn’t yet made an appearance.

Maybe she was just engrossed in the same task that had kept her busy when they got home yesterday afternoon.

Or perhaps she’d been so freaked out by the lead he’d shared with her that she hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night.

Either way, he needed her up and moving.

He rapped at her door. “Reese.” There was no answer, so he repeated the action more loudly.

When he was met with only silence, he eased it open, sticking his head into the room.

The bed was empty, a scrap of panties and a tank lying in a crumpled heap beside it.

Now, he could hear the shower in the master bath running.

Resigned to waiting a few more minutes, he turned to leave.

But then, he paused, his attention captured by the wall across the room from the bed.

Neon Post-it notes covered it in a haphazard array.

It could be the system Reese used to organize the book her editor said she was writing—a primitive outline of sorts.

Hayes drew nearer and realized his mistake.

The pattern wasn’t random. And it didn’t have anything to do with a book.

A note at the top of one end had Rivers’s name on it.

All the sheets beneath had questions scrawled across them.

A business company headed a column with far fewer papers, and a doctor’s name was on the end, beneath which a rainbow of notes traced down the sheetrock.

The shower shut off, and he turned to retreat.

He reached for the doorknob, and at the same time, Reese came out of the bathroom, her hair wet and tousled.

A towel was secured around her in a gravity-defying knot that only women could manage.

She visibly jumped at the sight of him. “What are you doing in here?”

The exact damn words echoed in his brain.

Hayes could do without the sight of her clad in only a strip of terry cloth around her narrow frame, eyes wide and the color of the hickory nuts he and Eden used to gather in Gran’s yard when they were kids.

He knew the image she presented would stubbornly cling to his memory, as tenacious as the bits of paper adorning her walls.

“I got a message from Mendes. We need to meet up with him.”

“Give me five minutes.”

“Wear tennis shoes.” Hayes beat a hasty, if belated, retreat to pace the living room.

His experience had taught him that women had a different concept of time when it came to getting ready.

But it was no more than six or seven minutes before she came out, clothed in close-fitting jeans, a pair of Chucks, and a tee, with a baseball cap low on her forehead.

She dropped her phone into a small purse she held and followed him to the door. “What’s this about?”

“I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“Give me the highlights.”

She waited as he cleared the hallway and then joined him when he waved her over to head to the elevator. “I sent Mendes a message last night about the possible connection between Thorne and Pollack. He alerted me that Greg’s car was found near Mar Vista Cove and dropped me a pin.”

“I know the area.” She lengthened her stride to keep up.

He could have slowed, but a feeling of urgency had been building inside him since he’d received the text.

“Sort of isolated, with a steep rocky incline to the beach. Great view, but I’ve never braved the climb down.

The car was abandoned? Or did they spot Pollack, too? ”

He waited until he could be certain the elevator was empty before ushering her inside.

“The police found unidentified human remains on the beach. They were still smoldering when the California Highway Patrol car happened by. Whoever the victim is, someone used him or her to start a bonfire.”

“Deputy Mendes is expecting me. Us.” Hayes handed their IDs to one of the officers handling traffic along the perimeter.

He could see the red Fusion in the distance, parked in a spot made bare by beaten-down vegetation on the cliff’s edge.

They’d had to park well away from it. The area was clogged with law enforcement vehicles.

The officer, fiftyish with a face shiny with perspiration, flicked a glance from Hayes to his DL. Frowned at Reese’s. “Mendes cleared you. Never mentioned her.”

“She’s with me.” He collected the IDs and headed past the man.

“I’ll let him know you’re here.”

They were stopped a couple of more times and repeated the identification process, but eventually were waved through. “Watch yourselves,” a highway patrolman warned them. “One of the officers lost his footing. He required medical care.”

“You could stay up here,” Hayes said in an undertone. He did enough rock walls at the gym to feel confident about the descent. But he was unsure about Reese. “I’ll give you a full briefing when I get back.”

“Not a chance.”

He shot her a look, lingering on her hat. “A Padres fan, huh? I guess someone has to be.”

“Probably not a great idea to get snotty when we’re going to be clinging to the side of a cliff together,” she responded pointedly as they made their way to its edge. “It’d be a shame if you…slipped.”

That surprised a grin from him, one that vanished when they peered over the edge. The path the officer had indicated was no more than that, more large rocks than a trail. He swallowed a retort and saved his breath for the climb.

Ten minutes later, Enrico Mendes detached himself from a small group of people on the beach and headed toward them. He was short and swarthy, with a heavy mustache that obscured his upper lip. He speared a look at Reese. “She shouldn’t be here.”

“Reese will stay clear of the activity,” Hayes responded, as much for her benefit as the deputy’s.

“I don’t want to see this splashed on the front page of the Gazette tomorrow morning.”

“She’s on leave from work.” He walked past the deputy and he reluctantly followed.

Hayes stopped when Mendes did, watching crime scene techs in white Tyvek suits, bonnets, and shoe covers sticking evidence markers in the ground. Others photographed the spots.

His gaze traveled beyond them to the blackened pit dug in the sand.

A few charred pieces of driftwood jutted from it, but his attention was on the shape curled in the center.

Hayes had seen more than a few fire victims. The heat drew the limbs inward, so the remains appeared to be in a fetal position.

There was a path cleared in the sand leading toward the hole.

The body had likely been dragged. Which meant that the victim had been dead or incapacitated prior to being burned.

Hayes traced the trail to its origin. Seeing the direction of his look, Mendes said, “We found some blood spatter over there. It was likely the scene of the initial attack. There’s not much left of the victim.

The figure was face up, so the flames ruined any chance of facial identification.

Greg Pollack, that guy you messaged me about, parked his car above.

That’s what caught the CHP’s notice. The patrolman ran the plate and saw the outstanding warrants.

Looked for the owner and noticed this. Called it in around nine a.m.”

“He didn’t observe anyone else in the area?”

“The place is usually deserted, although you’ll get a few people pulling over up above and taking pictures of the view.

The ones who do come down here at night are usually doing something they shouldn’t.

” He pointed an index finger at a blackened metal frame several feet past the body.

“Looks like the victim went in with a lawn chair, or it was tossed on top. We’re waiting for the medical examiner’s office to show up.

The pit is shallow. The sand at the bottom would probably have been damp.

That could have prevented the flames from thoroughly consuming the body. ”

Hayes nodded. He’d seen fire victims unrecognizable from the front, only to move the corpse and find the skin on the back largely intact. They wouldn’t know until the ME had the victim in the morgue.

“Did you notice anything distinctive about Pollack yesterday that might help ID? If he turns out to be the BBQ guest over there?”

He pulled out his cell and brought up the photos he’d taken of the man yesterday.

“This is what he was wearing in the afternoon. He had some kind of black rope bracelet on his left wrist, which likely wouldn’t have survived the flames.

” He used his thumb and forefinger to enlarge the image.

“But see the metal tabs on the front and back of it? If the victim is Pollack, you might find one of them in the ashes after the body’s removed. ”

Mendes pulled out his phone, snapped a couple of photos of the image, and texted them to someone. “We’ll watch for them. The Fusion is locked. We might find the keys on the vic, too, although that wouldn’t be—” The deputy’s phone dinged, and he stared at an image on the screen.

He looked up to squint at a tall Black woman in plain clothes standing near the remains. She gave him a thumbs-up. Shoving his cell toward Hayes, he said, “Looks like as good of an ID as we’re likely to get.”

Staring more closely at the image, he noted evidence marker three stood close to an item partially obscured in the sand, near the start of the smooth flat path where the body had been dragged. Adrenaline kick-started in his chest.

He recognized the thin black string dangling from a metal piece. It looked like a match to the bracelet he’d seen on Pollack yesterday.