Dark Passions by Jeff Gelb Page B

McCrary.”
    Buttons were pushed, ear piece adjusted, hushed words spoken, then Michael was ushered into Alsop’s office.
    Alsop stood. He looked through Michael more than at him. Michael recognized the guy but couldn’t place him. The man looked haggard, wan. They shook hands. Alsop motioned for Michael to sit down. Michael explained why and when he wanted to use the roof.
    Alsop’s voice came raspy, and he coughed. “Sorry. We don’t do roof parties, Mr. McCrary. Private for two or forty-two. Too many security issues.” Alsop locked eyes with Michael then. Something sparked there in his deeply set, shadow-ringed eyes. “Have we met before?”
    â€œI practically live on seven, but I work out in the gym on the third floor. You?”
    â€œUsed to. Have trouble sleeping lately. No energy. You eat in the cafeteria?”
    â€œNo, I go out with my partners to the Promenade. Maybe I met you at one of Julian’s parties.” Michael remembered that was it, then suddenly realized where else he’d seen Holden Alsop, up close and personal. His blush started under his arms and turned his face bright red.
    Alsop raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
    Michael nodded. “Yeah, it was that party a year ago. The one at Julian’s new house?” Michael stared out the window. It was also the night Carmen had bewitched him. “So, no roof celebration.”
    â€œNo, sorry. But good luck with whatever you put together.”
    Michael stood, started to walk out. One word to Julian and the roof was his, he could bypass Holden Alsop. Why hadn’t he considered it before? He’d never have to see Alsop again. At least willingly. “Hey, I’m going to go through Julian on this, just to give you a heads-up.”
    Alsop stood. “Knock yourself out.” Then he frowned, concentrating, staring at Michael. He looked away, sighed. “I remember now.”

    Ben, in his Hawaiian shirt over what he called his Midwestern tan, a shade of white mushroom, sat at a table practically on the beach. His old friend from the police academy was late meeting him for lunch. Not that he minded. LA was pleasantly different from Minneapolis, with its ocean, fantastic weather, and beautiful women every two feet. He liked it a lot better.
    He thought he saw his pal shuffling through the crowd but doubted it. This guy looked eighty years old. Then the man waved. Ben’s warning bells clanged. He’d seen that worn-to-the-bone look before. It was Jim all over again.
    â€œHey, Benny, looking like a man on a vacation.”
    â€œHey, my oldest friend calls and says he needs me, I’m here. It doesn’t hurt that you got a beach in your backyard.” Ben bear-hugged his friend, so thin now. “Still with the permanent tan, hey, Holden? I guess being out here in paradise, you can have one of them.”
    Holden Alsop fell into his chair. “Yeah, Benny. You can have just about anything out here. Sometimes too much of it.”
    Ben motioned for the waiter to come over. His mineral water with lime was warm, and his friend really needed something stronger. “What are you still drinking, man ... wait, scotch?” Holden waved him off, shaking his head. “Okay, another one of these for both of us.”
    They sat in silence awhile, watching the waves roll in. Ben waited for the story to come. He guessed Holden was considering how anyone, even his oldest friend, could believe what he was about to tell him. Impossible.
    But Ben would tell him how he could believe it, about Jim and all the others he found in his research. He’d tell him about his plan—that he found the sisters and now had photographs of them. How he hired guys to put up a website that linked to dating sites warning men online. About the informal blue line of friendships that ran through every police station in the nation, where there now were flyers with the sisters’ faces on them, and