Racing the Light (An Elvis Cole and Joe Pike Novel, Band 19) - Hardcover

Crais, Robert

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0525535721 ISBN 13: 9780525535720

Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

*On Reader's Digest's list of "30 new books we can't wait to read in 2022"*

Private investigator Elvis Cole and his enigmatic partner, Joe Pike, are back on the case in this brilliant new thriller from #1 New York Times bestselling author Robert Crais.

        Adele Schumacher isn't a typical worried mom. When she hires Elvis to find her missing son, a controversial podcaster named Josh Shoe, she brings a bag filled with cash, bizarre tales of government conspiracies, and a squad of professional bodyguards. Finding Josh should be simple, but Elvis quickly learns he isn't alone in the hunt—a deadly team of mysterious strangers are determined to find Josh and his adult film star girlfriend first.
        With dangerous secrets lurking behind every lead, Elvis needs his friend Joe Pike more than ever to uncover the truth about Josh, corrupt politicians, and the vicious business cartels rotting the heart of Los Angeles from within. And when Elvis's estranged girlfriend, Lucy Chenier, and her son, Ben, return, he learns just how much he has to lose...if he survives.
        Written with the heart, humor, and relentless suspense for which Crais is famous, Racing the Light delivers Elvis Cole's most dangerous case yet.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Robert Crais is the author of twenty-two previous novels, eighteen of them featuring private investigator Elvis Cole and his laconic ex-cop partner, Joe Pike. Before writing his first novel, Crais spent several years writing scripts for such major television series as Hill Street Blues, Cagney & Lacey, and Miami Vice. He was named a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America and has received multiple awards for his work. His novels have been translated into forty-two languages and are bestsellers around the world. A native of Louisiana, he lives in Los Angeles.

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1

My office occupied a two-room suite four floors above Santa Monica Boulevard on the western edge of Hollywood. Most of my business came by referral from attorneys or satisfied clients, but Do-It-Yourself parties often found me online. Prospective clients usually reached out by phone or email, most to inquire about price or learn whether I could help with their problem. Some only wanted to vent. Making an appointment was encouraged. Venters were not. Walk-in business was rare.

On the day she came to my office, the sky was unnaturally clear, a clarity so abnormal the City of Angels seemed bathed in a nuclear glow. The French doors to my balcony offered an unobstructed view to the sea, but the glare was so bright I found myself squinting. The French doors were usually open, but that day they were closed. The heat.
By ten-oh-seven, I had filed two reports and returned three calls. Another backbreaking day at the office.
 
I said, "How about we grab a sandwich and fight crime tomorrow? Sound good?"

The Pinocchio clock on the wall beside the door to my partner's office had a long nose, a jaunty yellow cap, and bulging eyes. The eyes slid side to side, but Pinocchio didn't answer. He never answered, but he always listened.

I said, "Okay, then, let's do it. I'm starving."

At ten-oh-nine, I was packing up when the outer door opened and a woman in a tailored navy pantsuit stepped in from the hall. She was tall and square-shouldered, and her sleek black hair was pulled into a short ponytail. A man in an expensive, summer-weight gray suit followed her. The man was maybe six-three, broad, and sported hands the size of catcher's mitts. They wore their suits like uniforms.

The woman eyed me with a casual curiosity.

"Elvis Cole?"

I leaned back and considered her.

"He's downtown with the mayor. Was he expecting you?"

The woman drifted closer as her friend circled to the French doors. He looked outside, opened the doors, stepped out, and raised a hand to shield his eyes. He peered over the rail, then checked overhead as if he expected Spider-Man to swing down from above. When he looked up, his jacket opened and a holster peeked out. I made them for federal agents or bill collectors.

"If you guys aren't building inspectors, I charge for my time."

The man stepped inside and went to my partner's office. The door was closed.

The man said, "Anyone home?"

I leaned farther back until my chair squeaked.

"Marines. Go in. Say hi."

The big man peeked inside and glanced at the woman.

"He's alone."

I leaned forward and touched the edge of my desk. A Dan Wesson .38 Special revolver waited in the drawer, but the drawer and the pistol were a mile away.

"Are you going to tell me what you want, or do I have to guess?"

They turned without a word, returned to the outer office, and the big woman opened the door. A small, older woman clutching an enormous brown purse entered. She wore no makeup or jewelry, and looked to be in her seventies. Her wispy hair was more gray than not, and her thin, flower-print dress looked shabby. She glanced at me, glanced quickly away, and turned to the woman in the blue suit. She appeared uncomfortable.

The woman in the blue suit gave her a gentle smile.

"We'll be right outside, Ms. S. Take as much time as you like."

"Thanks so much, Wendy."

Wendy and her partner left, and Ms. S finally looked at me. She raked threads of hair behind an ear, but they floated free and drifted toward the ceiling.

"You're Mr. Cole? The detective?"

I stood, hoping she couldn't hear my stomach grumble.

"I am. And you?"

She came to my desk and held out a weathered hand. She was one of those people who should've avoided the sun, but hadn't. Faint spots and fine creases covered her skin.

"My name is Adele Schumacher. Forgive me for not phoning first. I don't care for phones."

I glanced toward the hall.

"And them?"

"Wendy and Kurt?"

She frowned as if my question was odd.

"They're my helpers."

I nodded. Helpers.

"I apologize for showing up without an appointment. If now isn't a good time, I could wait or come back later if you'd-"

I held up a hand, stopping her.

"I think I can fit you in. Please, sit."

She sat in one of the leather director's chairs across from my desk. I took my seat again, facing her.

"All right, Ms. Schumacher, how can I help?"

"You find missing persons."

A statement of fact.

"Among other things, yes. We offer a wide array of services."

We. This was the detective presenting himself as a multinational corporation.

"My son was kidnapped. I'd like you to find him."

I pulled a yellow legal pad close.

"Are we talking about a minor child?"

"Josh is twenty-six. Joshua Albert Schumacher."

She spelled his first and last names. She probably figured I was smart enough to spell Albert.

"If you believe he was kidnapped, you should call the police."

"I filed a missing persons report four days ago. The first detective referred me to a second detective, but I haven't heard from her since."

I nodded. She probably filed the report at her local division station, but division dicks don't look for missing people. The division dick would have passed the case downtown to a detective at the Missing Persons Unit.

"Uh-huh. Have you received a ransom demand?"

"I have not and don't expect to. I believe Josh was kidnapped to silence him."

"Silence him?"

"Yes."

She drew a 9x12 manila envelope from her purse and placed it on my desk.

"I have pictures of Josh here, and information you'll need. Address and phone, a key to his home, and so forth. The second detective's card is here, too. She was smug."

I made another note. Smug.

"Why would someone want to silence him?"

"He's an investigative journalist. He was going to expose them."

"Expose who?"

"You may have heard of his show. In Your Face with Josh Shoe. It's a very popular podcast."

"Sorry. I'll look it up."

"He's becoming quite famous."

"I'll give it a listen."

I tapped the pad with the pen, encouraging her to continue.

"So who is it Josh was going to expose who kidnapped him but hasn't demanded a ransom?"

She raked the hair behind her ear again, but it still didn't stay.

"He's likely being held at a secret facility. If so, your job will not be easy."

"Secret facility?"

"In Nevada. They might be holding him at Site 4 or Area 6, but he definitely went to Area 51. He's been there several times."

Pinocchio's eyes slid from side to side. Their unchanging precision was reassuring. I cleared my throat.

"Area 51. Where the government develops stealth aircraft."

Her eyes grew bright, like bits of mica catching the sun.

"Stealth technology is the least of their projects."

I jotted another note. Aliens.

I wondered if Wendy and Kurt were outside, laughing.

"Uh-huh. And did you explain this to the police?"

Adele Schumacher sat a bit taller.

"They dismissed me just as you have. The difference between them and you is you work for hire. You are my last best hope, Mr. Cole. I need you."

She fished a white envelope from her purse. The envelope was thick and held closed by pink rubber bands. She peeled off the bands and showed me the contents. The envelope was fat with hundred-dollar bills.

She said, "How much would you like?"

I wet my lips.

"You shouldn't carry so much cash, Ms. Schumacher. You could lose it."

"Electronic transactions are not secure. Cash is secure. How much?"

She pushed the envelope toward me.

"I don't...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: G.P. Putnam's Sons
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0525535721
• ISBN 13: 9780525535720
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar