The Sentry Read Online Free PDF Page A

people behind the wheels of the passing cars, thinking about what she had said: They always come back .
    Pike was across from the gas station when a maroon Monte Carlo slow-rolled past with the windows down. Two young men were in front, with a third in back, all three showing gang ink and jailhouse faces. They stared at Pike as they passed, so Pike stared back.
    The man in the back seat made a gun of his hand, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
    Pike watched them go, thinking how Dru Rayne had run for cover.
    They always come back .
    No, Pike thought. Not if they fear you.

3
    W ay it worked for anyone else, Officer Hydeck would inform her watch commander that the victim and suspect were en route to the hospital. Her watch commander would relay this information to the Detective Bureau duty officer, who would dispatch detectives to the hospital, where they would speak with Smith and Mendoza, and likely the paramedics. If Mendoza ID’d his accomplice, their case would be made. If Mendoza refused to cooperate, the detectives would call Pike to arrange an interview. They would ask to drop by his home or place of employment, or arrange to meet at a mutually agreeable location, everything low-key and friendly. This was the way it would work if Pike were anyone else, but Pike knew it would work differently for him. Someone would recognize his name, and what the investigators did and how they approached the case would be different.
    Pike was correct.
    Eight hours, twenty-seven minutes after Pike eyeballed the maroon Monte Carlo, he returned home to find two detectives in his parking lot. Pike lived in a gated condominium complex in Culver City, not far from the scene of the assault. The condos were bunched in four-unit quads, and laid out so two or three quads shared their own parking lot. Entry to the complex required a magnetic key card to open the drive-through gate, but here they were, a male and a female detective waiting in a predictable tan Crown Victoria.
    They climbed out of their car as Pike pulled in, and were waiting with their badges when he stepped from the Jeep. The man was in his fifties, with a fleshy face, thinning red hair, and a blue summer-weight sport coat. The woman was fifteen years younger, with raven hair, black eyes, and a navy pants suit that hung as if she had recently lost weight. Her gun dimpled the coat at her waist, and she stood with her hand floating close as if she might have to draw. Nervous. Pike wondered what she had heard about him that left her so afraid.
    The older detective nudged the woman, showing her an exhibit at the zoo.
    “Joe Pike.”
    Then, louder, to Pike, as if Pike was an animal who had been oblivious to the nudge.
    “When they said it was you, I thought, well now, if he doesn’t shoot me, this one will make my day.”
    The way he said it made Pike look closer. He now seemed familiar, but Pike did not recognize him.
    The man held his badge higher, making sure Pike saw.
    “What, Pike, you don’t remember me? Jerry Button, from Rampart. Out of Pacific Station now. This is Detective Futardo. We’re here on the Smith assault, so no shooting, okay? Don’t shoot us.”
    Rampart brought back the name, but this Jerry Button looked almost nothing like the sharp young officer Pike remembered. This Button was thirty pounds heavier, with blotchy skin and puffy eyes. That Jerry Button had gone through the Academy a couple of years ahead of Pike, and was a fast-track patrol officer in Rampart Division when Pike was a boot. They had been friendly, but not friends. Button had shunned him when Pike resigned, but most of his fellow officers had. Pike couldn’t blame them.
    Pike read their ID cards, more than a car-length away. Futardo was a D-1, which told Pike she was new to the Detective Bureau and fresh out of a car. Button was now a Detective-3, which was a senior grade usually held by supervisors. A D-3 was too much horsepower for a simple assault.
    Pike said, “How’s Mr.