MINUTES AFTER MIDNIGHT, I RODE SHOTGUN AS COLIN HURLED US WEST ON THE 90 freeway. The high-rise apartments of Marina del Rey twinkled in the dark, and the residents of those million-dollar spaces slept, screwed, or watched late-night sailors slip into the harbor. Their double-paned windows muffled the wails of ambulance sirens at the nearby hospital where Jane Doe recovered after being found barely alive near Bonner Park.
An e-mail from Olympus456 made the Motorola radio in my lap chime.
Dearest Melpomene, you denied her my great gift. The rumpus will end soon. There are many worlds left. Many worlds with good things to eat.
“No ciphers,” Colin said. “And he called you—”
“I know.” Melpomene, the Muse of tragedy. I read the message as worry churned my gut.
“Sounds like he’s disappearing soon,” Colin said.
“This isn’t Payton Bishop,” I whispered.
“Maybe it is,” Colin said. “Maybe the e-mail just took a long time …”
Tears burned my eyes, and I took a deep, exhausted breath. “Maybe, but I don’t think so.” My mind turned over phrases written in the message. Wild rumpus … Worlds … Good things to eat. I tapped my phone’s screen.
“What are you looking for now?” Colin asked.
“The text of Where the Wild Things Are.” I selected the video of the children’s story being read by Christopher Walken.
Colin glanced at me. “Why are you—?”
“Sh!” I closed my eyes as the famous actor recited words that had peppered many of the monster’s messages to me. At the 2:15 mark, my eyes popped open.
… someone loved him best of all.
Every hair on my body stood. “Oh shit!”
The Motorola beeped—the dispatcher told me I had a call come over the switchboard.
My pulse banged in my aching wrist as I waited to be connected.
“Is this Detective Norton?” The woman sounded scratchy, as though she had been chain-smoking the cheapest packs of cigarettes between bouts of crying.
“Yes, it is. Who—?”
“This is Liz Porter. We met at—”
Wide eyes on Colin, I said, “You’re Trina’s mother.” I fumbled for a pen and notepad.
“I know it’s early, or late or whatever,” she said, “and I know you have so much to do, but I really need you to talk to my daughter.”
I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak.
“That girl they found on La Brea?” Liz said. “That’s my baby. Trina’s alive.”