“7419! No!”
“There you go, that was easy. And you used the burner phone for…?”
“SaintMichael said if I ever wanted a ‘gift’… I’d use it and get a message with a place.”
“What place?”
“I don’t know!”
He was lying, and I carved another line, then let the blade hover lower, not touching, just enough that he understood exactly where this could go next. I didn’t need to say it out loud.
“It was… it was a house. In the Valley. Like, North Hollywood? No, Van Nuys.” He shook his head, frustrated,trying to pull it from memory. “It had… it had a broken fence. A blue mailbox. And a… a car on blocks in the driveway. Tony lived there, but he’s dead now!”
“Last name?”
“I don’t know, he was just Tony!”
“Street.”
“I don’t know the street.”
“You saw it.”
He started sobbing again and I crouched in front of him so he couldn’t hide behind tears.
“Talk, and you might live,” I said.
His gaze snapped to mine, and for a second, there was a flash of relief there.
“I don’t know!” he said, voice cracking, “I wish to God I could tell you something else.”
I gripped his knee, right at the tail end of the cross carving, and I dug my thumb into the exposed muscle. He cried and sobbed.
“Ker-Kernville.”
“What about it?”
“They said…” He was sobbing so hard I could barely hear him. “Out past Kernville there’s a place.”
Eighteen minutes.
“And a motel.” His breath came in short bursts. “Off the 110. South. The sign… It’s red. A star. They use Room 12. Always Room 12.”
“Motel name.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You do,” I said.
He stared at the concrete, jaw lax, then whispered, “Starlight. I think. Starlight Motel.”
I sent what I’d recorded so far to Caleb and knew he’d pass the intel along to Doc, who would take it from there.
I glanced at the timer.
Sixteen minutes.
That left plenty of time to play and see what else I could get out of the good reverend.
