We Can See You Read online

  Eventually, when Luis was about seven or eight (Cervantes couldn’t remember exactly), June left for good, and without leaving a forwarding address. Cervantes tried to look after Luis, but failed and eventually he went to live with his paternal grandparents out in Pasadena, with Cervantes visiting whenever he could.

  With a cold predictability, Luis began to go off the rails. He was caught dealing drugs at school, then charged with burglary and eventually ended up in juvie, where he remained for several years, after a series of assaults on staff and other prisoners. By the time he was released he was in his late teens (Cervantes seemed vague on all the dates) and his mom, who was now living way to the north in Salinas with a new husband, had reappeared in his life. Luis immediately left to live with June, not even bothering to say goodbye to his father, whom he’d seen little of in the previous years, and quickly changing his last name to McPherson, after June’s new husband.

  ‘I failed Luis, I think,’ said Cervantes, staring out into the growing darkness.

  Brook raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’

  ‘Okay, I did fail him. June and I both did. I tried to reconnect with him, even transferring up here so I wasn’t far away, but he didn’t want to know. I could tell he hated me. I think Luis hated the whole world. He didn’t last long at his mom’s. From what I heard, he stole from her, got into trouble and eventually ended up in jail again. I’ve kept an eye on what’s been happening to him over the years, but none of it’s been good, and I stopped trying to make contact with him a long time ago.’

  It was a classic story. Both parents too busy or self-absorbed to look after their child. Child feels unloved and insecure. Does everything he can to get attention, including acting very destructively. Eventually grows up into a dysfunctional adult. Even so, Brook thought it took a special kind of badness to do what Cervantes’s son had done. A lot of people have bad upbringings. A lot go off the rails. Most of them eventually get back on them and make something of their lives. So her sympathy, both for Cervantes and his son, was limited.

  ‘How old’s he now?’ she asked.

  He had to think about that. ‘We had him when I was twenty-one. I’m fifty-one now, so I guess he’d be thirty.’

  Brook thought back to what Annie had told her earlier in the day about the woman who’d confronted her dad all those years ago, claiming to be pregnant with his child. Was it possible that one of June Cervantes’s infidelities had been with Brook’s own father, and that Luis was his son, not Cervantes’s? Was Luis doing this out of some kind of revenge against her? It was tenuous, but it made sense.

  ‘What are you going to do if Paige isn’t there and your son doesn’t want to cooperate?’ she asked Cervantes.

  ‘Then we call the police and Luis has to explain the tape to them. The recording’s enough to get a warrant to search his house and car. They may even be able to link him to the cellphone he gave you. He definitely won’t want us to involve the police.’

  ‘But what’s his incentive to cooperate? Because if Luis leads us to Paige, I’m still going to have to involve the police to clear my own name.’

  Cervantes was silent for a moment. Brook tried to read his expression, but it was blank, inscrutable, although a single bead of sweat ran from his temple to his cheek. ‘He’ll have an incentive because I’ll be pointing a gun at him,’ he said at last.

  ‘You’re his father. He knows you won’t shoot him.’

  ‘I made a mistake last time. I won’t make it again.’

  Brook stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ Cervantes said, still staring out into the night, ‘that this limp that I carry – this shitty, godforsaken life that I lead – is all down to Luis.’ He turned to Brook and the anger was visible all over his face as he spoke. ‘My son was the man who pulled the trigger and ended my career.’

  47

  The man now officially leading the hunt for Brook Connor was a short, squat US marshal with a buzz-cut and a swagger, who was straight out of central casting, called Seamark Jeffs. He’d done nothing to conceal his irritation when Giant had reported back that he and Jenna had been within a few yards of Connor and had somehow managed to avoid apprehending her. The fact that they hadn’t known it was her – nor could they have known what car she was driving at the time – was irrelevant, as far as Jeffs was concerned. He was pissed because they’d taken Chris Cervantes’s word as fact and had not done more to get the truth out of him. But most of all he was pissed because he’d been in charge for more than twenty-four hours and had still not been able to bring his fugitive to justice. And so he took it out on Giant.

  Giant had taken the shit that Jeffs had thrown at him without resisting too much, thankful at least that he’d done so in the Chief’s office, with only the Chief as witness, and not Jenna, who’d finished for the night. The Chief hadn’t tried to intervene on Giant’s behalf. It was clear that he also thought Giant and Jenna should have done better somehow, although quite how he didn’t actually say.

  Giant had left the station feeling like a kid who’d been chastised by the principal, wishing he’d stood up for himself more. It was a familiar feeling and it made him think – not for the first time – that his mom and his former boss had been right. Maybe he would have been better in a different job.

  Whenever he felt sorry for himself, Giant ate, and fifteen minutes later he was at home frying succulent pieces of breaded chicken in oil, using a recipe that his mom had perfected many years ago, when his cellphone rang.

  He almost let the call go. His mouth was watering so much at the prospect of a decent meal that he didn’t think he’d be able to hold back, but when he saw that the caller was one of his detectives, Joe Padilla, who never rang at this time unless it was important, he was curious enough to pick up. ‘What’s up?’ he said, removing the chicken from the pan piece by piece and putting it onto a plate covered with absorbent towels.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem, Boss. You know I told you about the phone records showing that Brook Connor had been in contact with Chris Cervantes? I’m hearing now that we’re looking for Cervantes in connection with the Logan Harris murder. Is that right?’

  ‘It is. He met with Connor today and didn’t report it to us. No one can quite work out why. You used to work with him, didn’t you? What was he like?’

  ‘He liked a drink, and he could be pretty tough, but he was straight as an arrow. I can’t see how he’d be mixed up in this. But the reason I’m calling you now is that Chris phoned me earlier, before I left for the night. He wanted to track down his son, Luis McPherson. The kid’s bad news. He’s been behind bars for most of the past three years for robbery, and now he’s out on probation. Chris wanted to know if I had an address for him.’ Padilla paused for a moment. ‘I know it’s against policy to give out information to a civilian, but because Chris is an ex-cop and a friend, and I didn’t think he was involved in any of this, I gave him the address. I’m sorry, Boss, I know I made a mistake, but will you be able to cover my back with the marshals and the Chief?’

  ‘I’ll sort it somehow,’ said Giant, pleased to be able to do his colleague a favour. He wasn’t angry at Padilla. These things happened, and Padilla wasn’t to know that Cervantes could be involved in all this. ‘What time did he call?’

  ‘I left work at seven, so it would have been just before that.’

  Giant glanced at his watch. A little over an hour ago would have been about the time Brook Connor’s car had been leaving Cervantes’s place. Was she going to see his son for some reason? Giant took Luis McPherson’s address from Padilla, told him he’d take care of everything and then called Jenna.

  When she answered, it sounded like she was outside and Giant felt an immediate flash of disappointment – wondering if she was doing something fun without him? ‘I’ve got some news,’ he told her. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Out shopping for some food. What is it?’

  He told her about the call from Joe Padilla. ‘I want t
o get over there now, see if the son can throw any light on what his old man or Brook Connor want with him. The timing’s all very coincidental. Do you want to come with me?’

  ‘Sure. Do you think we need to call in reinforcements?’

  Giant thought of Seamark Jeffs bawling him out in the Chief’s office, as if he was some snot-nosed intern rather than a senior detective. ‘No. It’s not a raid. We’re just going to talk to the guy. If things look suspicious, we’ll call in backup then. He lives over near Salinas. Do you want me to come and get you en route?’

  ‘No, from where I am, it’ll be easier to meet you over there. I’ll park close by and wait for you to arrive.’

  Giant gave her the address, ate a piece of the chicken and then, unable to stop himself, ate the rest, before finally hurrying out the door, hoping to put one over on the US Marshals Service by bringing in Brook Connor before anyone else did.

  48

  ‘Why did you never report your son for what he did to you?’ Brook asked Cervantes as they drove along a quiet stretch of road towards his son’s house.

  She was angry with him. She’d been angry with him ever since he’d told her that Luis had been the man who’d shot him. Because if Cervantes had done something about it then, her own life would still be intact, and Paige would be sleeping softly in her bed surrounded by her toy animals, and Luis McPherson would be rotting in jail.

  ‘I didn’t hand him in because he was my son, and I guess I knew that I’d let him down and was responsible for what he’d become. I thought about confronting him afterwards, but when he ended up in jail for something else a few weeks later, I figured it was best to let him be. If it’s any consolation to you, I regret that decision now.’

  ‘It’s not,’ she said, staring out of the window. Night had fallen and trees lined both sides of the road now, with signs containing house names and numbers or mailboxes nailed to the occasional one, and narrow driveways disappearing off into the woods. According to the satnav on the dashboard, they were almost there.

  Cervantes slowed the car. ‘That’s it,’ he said, as they passed a narrow turning on the left and he pulled over to the side of the road just beyond it.

  ‘How are we going to do this?’ asked Brook as they walked along the edge of the road, back to the turning.

  ‘Carefully,’ he said. ‘And I’ll do the talking.’

  He didn’t cut a particularly impressive figure, with his cheap suit and painful-looking limp, and she wondered if she was making a big mistake letting him take the lead.

  A car came past, its headlights temporarily blinding her, and she stepped into the undergrowth, keeping her head down and a hand over her face to prevent herself being recognized. The car slowed down as it passed them, then immediately picked up speed again.

  Brook cut in behind Cervantes as they walked down the track towards the house where, according to the probation service, Luis McPherson was currently residing. It was a ramshackle wooden property, with a dark-coloured pickup in front. The lights were on inside and the curtains were drawn.

  A security light came on as they approached and Cervantes stopped. ‘Let’s have a look around the back,’ he whispered, and they made their way around the side of the house, keeping in tight to the undergrowth. There was a small yard at the back and, although it backed onto pine trees, the grass was long and unkempt, and it was clear that the photo of Paige earlier that day hadn’t been taken there.

  The curtains were drawn at the back of the house as well, making it impossible to see who, if anyone, was inside.

  Cervantes tried the back door, but it was locked. He mouthed the words ‘Don’t worry’, then leaned on his stick and took a small cloth package from inside his jacket. Next, he placed the stick against the door and got very slowly and stiffly down onto one knee. That was when Brook saw that the package contained a set of picks and, as she watched, Cervantes carefully picked the lock until the handle turned with a satisfying click.

  She put her hands under his shoulders and helped him back to his feet, her finger brushing against his shoulder holster. Cervantes was light and only a couple of steps away from frail, and it occurred to Brook that she could take the gun from him right then and there. She knew she’d have no problem getting Luis Cervantes to talk, no matter how tough he thought he was. She’d fired a gun in anger on two occasions now, and she’d shot two men. The fact that both of those incidents had happened in the past forty-eight hours had hardened her considerably.

  Cervantes must have guessed what she was thinking because he turned his body away and gave her a sharp look, before slipping the gun from its holster. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Brook,’ he whispered. ‘This is dangerous enough without me having to worry about you.’

  She nodded and stood to one side, out of sight of whoever might be behind the door, as Cervantes opened it and stepped inside. She gave it a couple of seconds and followed him into a narrow, unlit hallway that ran the length of the house. Light spilled out from a room up ahead, and Brook could hear the sound of someone moving about inside.

  Cervantes led the way. He was moving at an almost glacial pace, his gun in one hand, his stick in the other, trying not to make it tap on the floor. As she walked behind him, Brook looked around for any sign that she was in the same place where the first photo of Paige had been taken, or indeed for any sign that she’d been here, like kid’s toys, but the place was largely empty and there was nothing familiar about it.

  Cervantes stopped at the open door and then stepped into the light.

  ‘Hello, Luis,’ he said, and Brook felt a potent mix of fear and relief as she moved around behind Cervantes, still keeping in the shadows, and saw for the first time the man who’d kidnapped her daughter.

  He was a good three inches taller than his father, lean and rangy and surprisingly good-looking, with well-defined features, long dark hair and golden skin – more like a surfer than the hardened criminal she’d been expecting. He was standing in a large kitchen wearing jeans and a hooded jacket, and holding a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. Next to him, on the table, was an open holdall and a gun that was a few feet out of his reach.

  He looked at Cervantes in surprise, and then his lips formed into a thin smile. ‘Well, well, well. Long time no see, Dad. What brings you here?’

  Brook immediately recognized his voice from the earlier phone call and she felt her whole body tighten as the adrenalin surged through her.

  ‘Why are you pointing a gun at me, Dad?’ he continued. ‘And who’s that behind you?’ He saw Brook, and his expression tightened. ‘So it’s not a social call, then?’

  ‘We’re way beyond social calls,’ said Cervantes, his voice trembling with emotion. ‘You know why I’m here. I heard the tape of your call to Brook. The one where you demanded ransom money for the return of her daughter.’

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ MacPherson said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There was something mocking in his tone that made Brook seethe with anger.

  ‘You know exactly what he’s talking about,’ she said, stepping into the light. ‘I’ve got you on tape, telling me that you know where my daughter is and demanding more money from me. I’ve also got the photo you sent of Paige.’

  ‘You must have the wrong person, bitch,’ he said, the handsome face now twisted in a sneer. ‘But what I do know is that, even with your hair cut short like that, you’re the woman the cops are looking for about all those killings.’

  ‘Well, maybe it’s time for us to call the cops then and play them the tape,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ll use the cellphone you left for me.’

  She could see him tense. He was scared. But the tape on its own wasn’t going to convict him of anything, or the photo – even an amateur like her realized that. So there was something else worrying him.

  ‘Where is she, Luis?’ said Cervantes.

  ‘It’s Lou. I haven’t been Luis since I was a kid.’

  ‘She’s a little girl. She’s five. Please tell me you h
aven’t hurt her. We just need to know where she is.’

  ‘Why don’t you stop pointing that gun at me, Dad?’

  ‘Not until you tell us where that little girl is. Is she here?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘What’s in the bag, Son? It looks like you’re going away somewhere.’

  ‘You don’t get to ask me questions, Dad. You haven’t earned that right.’

  Brook could see McPherson looking towards the gun on the table next to the bag, only feet away from his left hand. She would have run in and grabbed it herself, but Cervantes was blocking her path.

  ‘Tell us, you cowardly asshole!’ she hissed from behind him, the frustration at this impasse getting the better of her. ‘Is my daughter here?’

  ‘I don’t know shit about no little girl,’ said McPherson. ‘You’re insane, coming here like this, making accusations. Dad, you might want to calm this woman down. And you might want to be careful about the company you keep. She’s wanted for mass murder.’

  Brook wanted to kill him then. To rip the arrogant bastard apart, piece by piece, until he told her where Paige was. Because right now McPherson might have been tense, but he was nowhere near scared enough. He needed to experience the kind of fear that Brook had had to endure these past four days. She considered grabbing the gun from Cervantes, but it was too risky with the other gun still on the kitchen table. She didn’t like the expression on Cervantes’s face, either. He looked torn and indecisive.

  ‘Don’t let this bastard move,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘If Paige is here, I’m going to find her.’

  She looked round hurriedly, shouting Paige’s name and ignoring McPherson’s shout to get the fuck out of his house, and almost immediately she saw a door that led down to the basement. If you were going to hide someone, that was where you’d do it.