We were sipping the last of our wine when she broke a brief conversational lull by saying, “Tom Bates just bought a second home, a small ranch down in the Carmel Valley.”
“Good for him. He can afford it.”
“We could afford one, too, you know.”
“What, in Carmel Valley? I don’t think so.”
“No, you’re right; the Carmel area is too expensive. But somewhere else-Lake County, the Sierras, the north coast.”
“You’re not serious about this?”
“Why not? Wouldn’t you like to have a weekend getaway place?”
“I don’t know… would you?”
“Yes. I love the city as much as you do, but a change of scenery now and then would be good for both of us. Emily, too. I don’t mean day trips-quiet weekends, minivacations.”
“You sure we can afford it?” Kerry handled all the household financial matters; she has a much better head for figures than I do.
“Since Jim Carpenter promoted me to vice president we can. The market’s down now; we could get a small cabin or cottage for a reasonable price.” The prospect excited her; the candlelight emphasized the high color in her cheeks. “And we could take our time looking in different areas until we find just the right place. It’d be fun.”
“You really think we’d use a second home enough to make it worthwhile? I mean, we don’t get away on weekend trips much as it is.”
“That’s just the point,” she said. “We wouldn’t keep finding excuses to stay home or take only short day trips if we had a place of our own to go to. You’re supposed to be semiretired, but you’re right back to working four and five days a week. Wouldn’t you like to take more time off, do something besides sit around the condo when you’re not at the agency?”
“You work longer hours than I do.”
“Yes, and I’d like to cut back a little myself eventually. Don’t you think we’re entitled to some leisure time? We’re not exactly spring chickens, you know.”
“Don’t need to remind me.”
“There are other benefits, too,” she said. “Buying a piece of California real estate is always a good investment, no matter where it is, and it’ll help our tax situation. And you know we’re almost out of storage space at the condo. We could move a lot of stuff to a getaway place, not just nonessentials but utilitarian items like clothes and furniture. The living-room couch, for instance. I’d been wanting to buy a new- What’s the matter? Why are you staring off like that?”
“Storage space,” I said.
“… What about it?”
“Piece of California real estate. Storage space.”
“Are you all right? You have the oddest look on your face-”
“Lightbulb just went off.” I slid my chair back. “Wait here; finish your wine. I’ll be right back.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Make a phone call to Tamara.”
I tried her home number first; it was late enough so that she should be there by now. Five rings, while I stood shivering on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. On the sixth ring, she answered sounding grumpy.
“Got me out of the tub,” she said. “What’s up?”
“That piece of rural property Rose O’Day inherited. Didn’t you say it was in Marin County?”
“Some place called the Chileno Valley.”
“What kind of property? How big?”
“Farmland. Thirty acres.”
“Buildings on it?”
“I’d have to check the tax records, but-” She broke off and then let out a little yip; quick on the uptake, as always. “And the Chileno Valley is west of Highway One-oh-one going north. That’s where McManus and Carson were headed- that’s where they’re hiding out!”
22
JAKE RUNYON
Robert Darby cooled down some after Runyon let him come in and look through the apartment. Darby stood flushed and jittery in the middle of the living room, his red-eyed gaze flicking here and there without resting on Runyon or anything else for more than a second. Man badly in need of rest, beset by grief, anxiety, impotent rage. An unlikable, self-centered shyster whose treatment of Bryn was little short of cruel, but seeing him like this, you couldn’t help but feel for him.
“You’re sure you haven’t seen Bobby, heard from him?”
Second time Darby had asked that question. Runyon gave him a slightly different version of the same answer. “I’d tell you if I had. I’m not your enemy, Mr. Darby.”
“All right. All right.”
Runyon asked, “Did something happen to make the boy run away?”
“No.” Darby shook his head, scraped fingernails through his close-cropped hair. “I don’t understand it,” he said. “The nurse I hired, she went in to use the bathroom and when she came out he was gone. Just like that… gone.”
“How long ago?”
“A couple of hours. Just before I got home.”
“No prior indication that’s what he had in mind?”
“Didn’t say a word to her. To me, either. Closed up tight since that horror show yesterday, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat… ah, Christ. Where would he go?”
Runyon said, “His mother’s house, maybe.”
“No, he’s not there; I just came from there. First place I thought of.”
“Did you or the nurse tell him where Bryn’s being held?”
“… You think he went to the Hall of Justice?”
“Might have, if he has an idea that’s where she is. You notify the police that he’s missing?”
“No, I drove straight out here-”
Darby broke off, jerked his cell phone out of his coat pocket; fumbled it, almost dropped it in his haste. It took him a nervous two minutes to get through to either Farley or Crabtree; his voice rose and cracked a little as he talked. From Darby’s end of the conversation Runyon gathered the boy hadn’t been seen at the Hall and that they’d put out a BOLO alert for him.
“I should’ve called them sooner,” Darby said when he ended the conversation. “First Francine, now this with Bobby… just not thinking straight.”
“The police will find him. Best thing you can do is go home and wait for word.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, goddamn you!”
Runyon sidestepped the flare-up with a question. “Did Bobby take anything with him when he left? A bag, clothing?”
“What? No. The nurse looked, I looked… a jacket, that’s all.”
“What about money? Bus fare, cab fare.”
“He couldn’t have much, no more than a few dollars from his allowance…” Darby shook himself, a sharp rippling action like a dog shaking off water. “What the hell am I doing standing here talking to you? If Bobby does come here or you hear from him, notify me right away. Understand?”
Runyon said, “You and the police both,” but Darby was already on his way out.
Why had Bobby run away?
Bad environment in that flat, whether the boy had had anything to do with Whalen’s death or not. Painful memories, ghosts haunting his impressionable mind. Fear made worse by his overbearing father’s anger and grief, by a stranger called in to watch over him, by not being told what had happened to his mother. Sensitive, damaged kid huddled inside himself for security and solace, but too bright and too needy to stay that way for long. Perfectly natural that when he freed himself from his shell he’d want to free himself from his oppressive surroundings as well.
Where would he go?
Linked answer: familiar place where he felt safe, where he might find genuine comfort, where he might find his mother. Her house, his second home, the only real home he’d ever known-that was the logical choice.