The voice at the other end was Dallas. "You asleep?"
"No, not now."
He chuckled. "Thought you'd like to know that Davis and I picked up the old man, up at the Pamillon place. That we've got enough on him, for drug making, to go to the grand jury and maybe enough for a bomb-making charge."
"What did you find?"
"Has a lab up there, all right. We had to suit up like astronauts to go down into it. Talk about stink. It's in a cellar under some chicken houses." Ryan could hear the smile in his voice. "All kinds of stuff with his prints on it, glass jars, retorts. Old man must have thought we'd never find the place.
"And he'd dumped mountains of trash down in the estate, in a cellar, again with his prints on everything- including some electrical parts and a bag of ammonium sulfate that could relate to the bomb. We're taking prints from samples of the trash, and listing the brands, to compare with Max's list of purchases in San Andreas. Should tell us quite a lot."
"That's really great news. That's one down…"
"And one to go. I'd sure like to thank our tipster. Hope we have as good luck with the murder, with these women we're talking to. You can be sure that Wills and Parker are getting all they can."
"You don't have anything, this soon?"
"In fact, I think we can scratch three. Parker called me an hour ago. Three of them have pretty solid stories. That leaves seven, with two of those out of the country, as far as we know."
"I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I'm sure glad you have capable friends when you need them." She yawned, and rubbed Rock's ears.
"Go to sleep," Dallas said, laughing. "Keep the good thoughts."
She hardly remembered hanging up. She was deeply asleep when the phone rang again. Again, the loud, frantic barking jerking her awake along with the ringing, making her cringe at what her neighbor, on the other side of the duplex wall, would be saying-she hoped they didn't call the department.
"Ryan, it's Dad. Sounds like I woke you. I'm in San Francisco, just got back, checked into an airport motel. Catching the early shuttle down to the village in the morning. You want to meet my plane?"
"I… I'd love to. You're coming because of me, because of the murder. You haven't been home." How strange she felt, talking to her own father. How uncertain-because of what Williams had said. But how silly.
"I'm coming because I have a few days leave and need to rest up after running that training session, before I go back to work. Can you meet my plane or shall I…?"
"Yes, I can meet it. What time?"
"If it's on time, five a.m."
"I'll be there but I can't wait past six-thirty, I promised Hanni. An early installation, one she refuses to put off."
"If you're not there, I'll take a cab or call Dallas. You sound-tired? A bit stiff. You okay? You're not letting this thing get to you? I haven't talked with Dallas. What kind of leads is he getting?"
"It's not that. I… He's working on it, has a couple of guys in the city checking out Rupert's… Rupert's women. And, they know my gun didn't kill Rupert."
"Then you should sound very up, not like you just lost your last friend."
"I'm fine, really. Very very up. Just… dead tired, Dad. That's all. I'll see you in the morning, bright and early. We can have breakfast, if you're on time." But her voice caught, and the tears were just running down. What was wrong with her?
"Ryan? What?"
"Nothing. Honest. Pancakes and bacon. See you at five. G'night." She hung up, choking with tears. She wanted to bury her face against her father's chest and hear him tell her that everything Larn said was lies, that everything about her father was just as she had always believed, just as it should be. She felt like she was six years old again, badly needing comforting by her dad. Did anyone ever get too old for such comforting?
But the worst thing was, he'd heard exactly how she felt. He'd heard all the dismay and uncertainty that she didn't even know was there, all the stupid questions.
This wasn't like her, to let Williams lay this kind of trip on her. Williams was lying, there was no way she was going to believe him.
And, suddenly, she buried her face against Rock and bawled.
25
It was 4:40 in the morning when Ryan pulled into Peninsula Airport, parking in the short-term lot. She left Rock in the cab of the truck, cracking the windows and locking the doors, and hurried into the lobby hoping Dad's flight was on time. She didn't like leaving Rock very long on that expensive leather upholstery.
The big dog hadn't offered, so far, to do any of the damage his breed was famous for, but she couldn't forget the horror stories. Before she entered the small terminal she removed a police badge from her purse and pinned it on her jacket, a procedure highly irregular and illegal. Entering, she nodded to several security people, gave over her purse for perusal when requested, glad she'd remembered to remove Hanni's gun. She stood reading the schedule, then approached the security desk. The guard on duty was maybe thirty, good-looking, clean shaven, with nice brown eyes and no wedding ring.
"I have a security dog in my truck, I'm meeting his handler." Ryan widened her eyes, looking deeply at him. "This is… a sort of surprise for him. Mike worked with the dog for a year and then… well, he was wounded on the job and now he's coming home." She took a step closer to the counter. The guard did the same. "Would it… would it be okay if I bring the dog inside, just until flight six-oh-two-seven lands? My boss will be so thrilled. I promise the dog won't be a problem, I've been training him since Mike was hurt…"
The guard grinned at her and waved her on in. She touched his hand briefly, smiling up at him and headed for the truck.
Rock was as thrilled to see her as if she'd been gone for weeks. She hugged him extravagantly because he hadn't torn up the upholstery then leashed him and slipped the yellow vest on him that she had made with felt and a marking pen, neatly lettering Working Dog on both sides. Commanding Rock out of the truck she told him to heel, praying that he wouldn't let the strange sights and sounds of the terminal undo him. She didn't yet know this dog very well, he might have all manner of behavior problems that could surface suddenly in the very different environment of the airport.
Before taking him into the terminal she walked him a block up the sidewalk and back. He honored every command. Heading for gate B she glanced across at the guard. He gave her a bright smile and a thumbs up, openly admiring Rock. Outside the gate she settled down at the end of a bench, feeling strangely nervous at meeting her dad, trying not to hear Larn Williams's words: I don't believe the gossip… I thought of course you 'd heard… It's common knowledge… The women… you have to know about the women… I can't believe you never heard… Flannery had plenty of women… affairs with more than a few female parolees…
None of that was common knowledge, none of it ever happened. Not Mike Flannery, who had been totally committed to raising his girls the way their mother would want, totally committed to their high morals and to keeping alive the memory of their mother. Not this thoughtful man who had said to them a thousand times, What would your mother have done at your age, in that situation? Not Mike Flannery who had spent every free minute with his daughters working the dogs or hunting or riding, who had never had any free time unaccounted for, not Mike Flannery who had never given Ryan or her sisters any tiniest cause to doubt him. Growing up in a law-enforcement family, Ryan and Hanni and their older sister were not naive, they had all three been wise beyond their years, any of them would have noticed, would have known if their dad was fooling around.