The King of the Sun Paperback - 2001

Excerpt

Detective Sergeant Alicia Aldrich, one month into her new assignment in the homicide division of the California Highway Patrol, was spending a late Sunday afternoon in May with her sister's family when the beeper on her belt intruded. Janet, Alicia's niece, was turning nine and the family was in the midst of a birthday party. An urgent alert to call in to the dispatcher at the San Bernardino County State Police headquarters was not what Alicia needed.

Alicia's gaze shifted from Janet's happy expression to the face of her sister, Linda, and that of Linda's husband, James. Linda was two years her junior and the closest person in the world to her. Alicia's hand slipped to the beeper at her belt and silenced it.

She had wanted her current job -- sought it out, in fact. But whatever the message was today, she wished it would go away. She and Linda had worked hard to prepare for this day. The national crime statistics be damned, Alicia mused: she was as busy as any woman in law enforcement had any right to be.

Homeboy gang wars, crazies in the Mojave Desert, head-banging lunatics who lived up in the San Gabriel Mountains, organized crime hits, jilted ex-spouses insane with jealousy, and latter-day acid heads possessed by chemicals. There was no end to the inspiration for carnage.

Alicia's mind drifted from the party and the anxious faces of four little girls: her niece and three of her girlfriends. Several minutes passed and the party continued. Then the beeper chirped again. Exasperated, conceding defeat, Alicia snarled at it.

Janet laughed. The other children watched in anticipation.

Linda grimaced.

James rolled his eyes.

The roll had an I-told-you-so quality to it. James was a mid-level marketing manager for a Japanese car company that had recently plunked down their national-sales headquarters in Orange County.

James didn't receive weekend work calls and he didn't understand why a woman -- his wife's sister, in particular -- would want a job that included them, much less a job that included endless weekend tours and rotating round-the-clock shifts. James was a piggy on such issues. He didn't understand why a woman -- again, Alicia in particular -- would want to be a police officer, either.

"Sorry," Alicia finally said. "I need to use the phone."

"You know where it is. From the last time you were here," James said.

Linda shot her husband a glance.

"Who's calling you?" Janet asked.

"Someone at the police station," Alicia said. "They might have a problem."

"'Might'?" James said.

"Might," Alicia said firmly, her irritation showing.

"Do they ever call you just to tell you that they don't have a problem?" James said. He smiled mildly, proud of his wit.

"Shut up, Jim," Linda said.

"Don't tell me to shut up. It's my house," James answered.

The children smirked.

"Use the phone in the kitchen, Ali," Linda said.

"Does it mean a bad guy did something awful?" one of Janet's friends asked.

"Maybe," said Alicia, touching the girl's shoulder gently.

Alicia looked at the family gathered around her. "Hey, look," she suggested. "Let's cut the cake before I phone anyone. That way, if I have to leave..."

James picked up the cake knife. "Who wants to do the honors?" he asked. By asking, he was about to appoint himself.

"Aunt Alicia!" Janet blurted. "She knows all about knives!"

James's hand stopped on its way to the cake. He raised an eyebrow and handed the knife -- stock first -- to Alicia.

"Maybe Daddy wants to cut your cake," Linda said to her daughter.

"No, no. I insist," James said, forcing the cutlery on Alicia. "Alicia knows all about knives, right? So she can carve the cake."

With a final second of hesitation, Alicia accepted the utensil.

Her sister and brother-in-law had been right, of course. She did see more carving equipment in the course of an average day than most women. And usually it wasn't in a happy context. Truth was, when she normally encountered a knife in a domestic context, there were usually bloodstains on the floors and walls.

Alicia took the cake knife in her hand. She looked at her niece. The blade gleamed in the California sunshine streaming through the window. She saw blades this large more often at crime scenes and on coroners' reports: she had already been corrupted by her career so much that this was instinctively where her thoughts traveled.

Alicia flipped the knife gently in the air. It spun once and she deftly caught it by the handle. "So I get to cut?" Alicia asked.

Janet gave her a little shrug. "You have to!" she insisted. "A knife is dangerous, and you're the policeman in the house."

"Policewoman," Alicia corrected. "Or 'police officer.'"

"Detective!" James said, his tone prickly.

"Even at her age, she knows you're more familiar with knives and various blades than the rest of us," her sister offered.

"That's right!" Janet said. She folded her arms insistently and smiled.

Linda started to laugh. She gave her sister a wink.

"Good logic," Alicia answered the little girl.

James looked bored.

His eyes drifted to the television in the next room -- its sound turned down -- that showed a squadron of stock cars racing around a dirt track. Alicia followed his eyes and was for a moment reminded of a similar track she once visited where a driver had murdered his girlfriend and stuffed her -- minus her hands and head -- into the trunk of just such a car.

Alicia remembered that the vehicle had a purple chassis and black doors -- purple and black, the color of a bruise -- and when she had pried open the trunk there was the stench of butchery and death.

Her mind flashed back to the present.

Happy birthday.