“Whatever his plan is,” I said, “chances are he wants to work it on familiar territory. Chances are, too, the place he rented in Half Moon Bay has some degree of privacy. He’d feel safe there. As far as he knows, nobody is on to the fact that he was living on the coast, much less has the address. He used a different name when he rented it.”
I was getting through to Dixon, finally; I could see it in his eyes. Marian helped by taking his arm and saying, “It makes sense, Pat. Can’t you see this may be our best hope of getting Chuck back safely?” He looked at her, sucked in a raspy breath, and then did that hair thing again, using his knuckles this time. Thumping his head with them as if he realized how close to coming apart he’d been and was trying to knock some sense back into himself.
“All right,” he said. “All right.”
“You’re not in this alone,” I said, “and you can’t tackle Latimer alone. Has that gotten through to you?”
Jerky head bob. “But what can you or anybody else do? If Latimer is in Half Moon Bay, if that’s where he wants me to come, you can’t go along. I told you what he said—”
“There’s another way.”
“What way?”
“I go out there ahead of you. Leave right away.”
It didn’t compute. His head wagged this time.
“To check out the address,” I said. “If Latimer’s there, I should be able to tell it.”
“Then what? You’re not thinking of—”
“Going in after him myself? No, of course not. Set up a surveillance. Look for a way to get at him, some sort of weak spot we can exploit.”
“Suppose there isn’t one?”
“We’ll still have one thing working for us. The element of surprise. Two of us coming at him, when he expects only you.”
“How do we use the advantage?”
“We’ll figure that out later. Depends on what I find when I get out there. Circumstances.”
“If he sees you, becomes even a little suspicious—”
“He won’t. I’ve got better than thirty years’ experience at this kind of thing.”
Dixon indulged in more scalp-rubbing. “And while you’re checking the address, what do I do?”
“Just what you’ve been doing. Wait for his call.”
“It might be hours. I can’t stand much more waiting, not knowing. Look at me… I’m half crazy already.”
“You’ll know what I know as soon as I find it out. Where I am, what I’m doing.”
“You mean we confer by phone.”
“Right. I’ve got a mobile unit in my car, and if you have a second line here—”
“We do. Fax line in my office.”
“I’ll call you on that line when I get there and we’ll keep it open. You let me know as soon as you hear from Latimer. Cell phone in your car?”
“Yes.”
“Good. When you leave here we’ll stay in touch on that line, no matter where he tells you to go.”
“Suppose it’s not to Half Moon Bay?”
“No profit in worrying about that now. One step at a time.”
Abruptly he moved away, took a couple of restless turns around the room. Thinking it over, weighing it. Pretty soon he stopped and asked Marian, “What do you think?” which surprised me a little. If she had the same reaction she didn’t show it.
“It’s better than the other way,” she said. “It’s something.”
“All right,” he said to me, “we’ll do it your way. But I’ll tell you one thing right now — I’m not going to Half Moon Bay or anywhere else without a gun.”
Marian said, “Pat…”
“No. There’s no argument on that issue.”
“Your choice,” I said. “As long as you use restraint.”
“I’m no cowboy with a handgun, don’t worry about that. What about you? You carrying?”
“I will be. Colt .38 in my car. And I’m not a cowboy, either.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
We exchanged phone numbers. Two minutes after that, I was back in the car and rolling.
18
The fastest route to Half Moon Bay from the Dixon house was south out of the city on Highway 280, then across Crystal
Springs Reservoir and up through the coast range on 92. The drive took about forty-five minutes, and when it was done I was gritty-eyed and hungry again and badly in need of some kind of stimulant. Long, hard, bad day. And the way things were shaping up, the night could turn out to be worse. Much worse.
Latimer worried me the most, but Pat Dixon was a close second. He’d seemed better when I left, in full control again. But the strain had taken its toll, and the longer he had to wait for Latimer’s call, the more strung out he was likely to become. Stress affects different people in different ways, and in some it makes them unpredictable in their actions and reactions. Dixon struck me that way. I did not like the idea of him bringing a weapon, but if I’d protested, it would have only made him more determined and he’d have snuck it along anyway. In any event, it wasn’t my place to dictate to him. The thing for me to do was to keep him as calm as possible, thinking clearly — when we talked on the phone and when we were together again. If we got into a confrontational situation where the guns came out, I’d take over if necessary and let the weight of the consequences fall on my shoulders.
A hell of a burden to even think about. But I’d dealt myself into this and I had better be prepared; the name of the game was survival.
On the edge of town I made a quick stop at a convenience store, to buy a couple of nutrition bars and a large container of coffee. I needed the coffee in order to stay alert. In the car again I shuffled through my collection of maps, found the one for San Mateo County, and looked up Bluffside Drive. It was off Highway 1 a couple of miles south of the town proper, a squiggly line that meandered through what looked to be open country, ran along close to the ocean for a short ways, and then dead-ended. Not much more than a mile in total length. Could be a lot of houses out there, could be only one or two.
Sipping coffee, I drove on through town to the coast highway and turned south. It was overcast here, as it often is along this coastal stretch no matter what the time of year. No fog tonight, though, just a lot of high gray clouds that gave the Pacific a sullen, monochromatic aspect and a stiff wind that roughened and whitecapped it. Bad luck there. Fog, particularly the kind of thick mist that obscures shapes and deadens sounds, would have given us another advantage.
After a mile and a half by the odometer I slowed to make sure I didn’t miss the highway sign for Bluffside Drive. No problem on that score; I spotted the sign in plenty of time to ease into the turn. Three houses were clustered on the south side near the intersection. I peered at the roadside mailboxes as I slid past. On one of the boxes was the number 75 in reflector yellow, which meant that 850 was some distance farther along, close or “closer to the ocean.
There weren’t any more houses in the immediate vicinity. Cypress trees and then a field of artichokes on the south. On the north, several acres of pumpkin vines stretching seaward. Pumpkins are a major crop in the Half Moon Bay region. The town holds a pumpkin festival every fall to celebrate the harvest; Kerry and I had come down for it once, watched the judging for the largest of the season. First-prize winner had been a 960-pound monster—
Mind wandering. Stay focused!
I passed another house, then a fairly good-sized farm. The farm address was 400. Ahead the road hooked left and appeared to run along a line of low bluffs; I could hear the pound of the surf when I reached that point, even with the windows shut. Once I negotiated the curve, in the crook of which was a windbreak of bark-peeling eucalyptus where a long-gone ranch or farm had been, I had a clear look along the last quarter of the road. Three… no, four houses, set well apart from one another on the ocean side.