Bill grimaced at what was left on his plate, pushed it away, then ran hooked fingers over his face in a kind of self-punishing massage. “I keep thinking whatever happened, it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone all day, I’d’ve been with her up on that logging trail.”
“Would you? You like hiking in the woods?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have felt like it yesterday. Maybe she’d have gone by herself anyway.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Why beat yourself up? You’re not to blame for circumstances beyond your control.”
Wry mouth. “Standard message to a worried or grieving client. But all right. I know it’s true, I just have to wrap my head around it.”
Runyon said, “This logging road where the vehicle was parked and you found Kerry’s hat. How far from the place where you’re staying?”
“Half a mile or so.”
“And how far from here?”
“About three miles up-valley.”
“Let’s go take a look at it.”
14
There wasn’t much left to see on the logging road. The searchers yesterday hadn’t exercised any care in preserving the area as it had been; they’d obliterated the tire marks and trampled the underbrush along both sides. Maybe it didn’t matter-there hadn’t been much evidence to begin with-but it angered me just the same.
I pointed out the spot to Runyon where the mystery vehicle had been parked, the place where I’d found Kerry’s hat. I didn’t expect him to feel the same negative vibes I had; if he did, he didn’t say anything about it and I didn’t mention it. But I had the crawly, gut-wrenching sensations again, just as strong, if not stronger. They built a loathing in me for this damn road. Too much time spent here the past two days.
Jake prowled around for a time, not looking for anything specific, just getting a feel for the area. Then he went back to stand on the grassy verge. When I joined him, he said, “Where does this road lead?”
“Up over the ridge someplace.”
“Outlet on the other end?”
“According to the deputy, no.”
“Any homes along it?”
“No. Couple of homes nearby.”
“Funny. If Kerry was taken by somebody parked here, what he was doing here on a Monday afternoon?”
“Same thing she was doing, maybe. Hiking in the woods.”
“Doesn’t seem too likely if he’s local. Unless he had a reason.”
“Like what? There’s a Hunting Prohibited sign down at the intersection, and no poacher’s stupid enough to fire a rifle in the middle of the day.”
Runyon said, “The explosion you told me about. You were on this road when it happened?”
“Just turning onto it.”
“What time?”
“Not sure. Five-thirty or so.”
“And the house that blew up is close by?”
“Less than half a mile.”
He gestured at the woods below. “The partial trail you followed yesterday morning leads straight down there to the edge of the property, right?”
“Yes, but I told you, Kerry couldn’t have been anywhere near the Verriker place when it blew. She didn’t make that trail.”
“But somebody else could have that day. Was it fresh?”
“I couldn’t tell. What’re you thinking?”
“Pretty big coincidence that Kerry went missing not long before a nearby house suddenly blew up. What caused the explosion?”
“I don’t know. Broxmeyer didn’t say.”
“How sure are they it was an accident?”
“Jesus, Jake. Rigged? By somebody with a grudge against the Verrikers?”
“There’re ways to do it. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“And what? Kerry happened by and saw the guy coming back out of the woods and he’s the one who took her? Why? She wouldn’t have any way of knowing what he’d done.”
“I know it’s a reach, but still possible, isn’t it?”
Yeah, it was, and it should have occurred to me, too. Would have if my thought processes weren’t so sluggish from anxiety and lack of sleep. And I was not about to discount it out of hand any more than Jake was. First rule of detective work: Take nothing for granted, pro or con, probable or improbable.
I said, “Broxmeyer won’t like it any better than the other one, but we’ll put it to him. He needs to meet you anyway, know we’re working together.”
We got into Jake’s car; he’d insisted on driving and I hadn’t argued. We detoured down Skyview Drive so he could get a look at the Verriker property. The VFD fire truck was gone, but the place wasn’t deserted; an SUV with a caved-in side door was parked at the edge of the driveway, and a man and woman were poking around near the entrance to the barn. They stopped and stood staring as we drove by. Morbid curiosity seekers or scavengers.
Runyon said, “Must’ve been a pretty hot fire.”
“It was. Big bang, too.”
“Figures to be gas, then. Stove, furnace, water heater.”
“My guess, too.”
We went on a ways until Runyon found a place to turn around. When we came back past the Verriker property, the man and woman were still standing in the same motionless postures like a couple of scarecrows in a burned-out cornfield.
Halfway up the hill beyond, my cell phone went off. I grabbed it quick, but the call wasn’t news about Kerry. Tamara.
“Any word yet?” she asked.
“No. Nothing.”
“Damn! Jake make it there okay?”
“With me now.”
“How about you? You doing all right?”
“Hanging in.”
She’d been pretty upset when I talked to her last night. Still was, but trying to mask it by using her brisk professional voice. “I e-mailed the info you asked for to Jake,” she said. “Twelve names, but only two with histories of violence against women. Nastiest dude lives in Green Valley, the other one in a hamlet called Rock Creek about twenty miles east. Thought you’d want the particulars on those two right away.”
“Start with the one here.”
“Donald Fechaya. F-e-c-h-a-y-a. Address: Sixteen hundred Old Mountain Road, Six Pines. Arrested twice for forcible rape, first time in Reno twelve years ago, second time in Auburn eleven years ago. Convicted on the second offense, served four and a half years in Folsom. Suspect in one other rape case, but no charges filed. One arrest after his release from Folsom, on suspicion of aggravated assault, charges dropped for lack of evidence.”
I repeated the Six Pines address to myself twice to fix it in my memory. “The one in Rock Creek?”
“Jason Hooper. Owns the Roadside Garage and Towing Service there. Arrested and convicted of rape and attempted murder in Sonora ten years ago, paroled after serving six years in San Quentin. Nothing since except for one reckless driving violation.”
“No possibles in the other ten?”
“Didn’t look like it to me. Seven registered child molesters, their own kids or the children of family members in all but one case. Two with priors for statutory rape, one for weenie-wagging in public, the other for soliciting a minor for sex in a park restroom. None live in Green Valley.”
“Missing persons cases involving women?”
“Several, but mostly teenage runaways. No woman over the age of forty in the past six years.”
Which meant nothing one way or the other. “What about unsolved rapes and abductions?”
“Not much there, either,” Tamara said. “Two unsolved rapes in the county, the most recent eight years ago, neither one in Green Valley. The only reported abduction still open is a child custody case-father snatched his son from his ex-wife and disappeared.”
Another statistic that didn’t have to mean anything. Most rapes go unreported even in this supposedly enlightened age. I said, “Okay. One more thing you can check on. An apparently accidental explosion up here the evening Kerry disappeared, destroyed the home of a couple named Verriker. I’m not sure of the spelling. See what you can find out about them.”
“You think there might be some connection?”
“Too soon to tell. Covering the bases.”