“Family across the road. You thinking he doubled back to watch after the fire started? No, the son of a bitch was here the whole time.”
“How do you know?”
They were standing on the verge of the side road, near the blackened ruts that had led into the camp. Rinniak turned to point behind them, at a rocky hillock several hundred yards to the southeast. “Up there in those rocks. There’s a farm road back behind the hill, can’t see it from here-loops around to the county road about a mile south. Easy enough for him to slip away in the confusion, running dark, when he’d had enough.”
“Find anything up there?”
“Not much. Nothing that might ID the perp. Flattened grass where the car was parked, among the rocks where he hid to watch. Kelso was the first man up there, early this morning. He may have authority issues, but he’s no dummy.”
“I don’t see him here now.”
“Left before I got here. Where to, I don’t know. But don’t be surprised if he looks you up today.”
“I won’t be.”
“And it won’t be for the same reason I called,” Rinniak said. “He didn’t like you coming out here with Sandra Parnell yesterday. If you’d gone by the book, notified him Saturday night that the girl knew where Jerry Belsize was hiding, Belsize would be in jail now and there wouldn’t have been a fire here last night. That’s what he thinks.”
“Maybe. If Belsize hadn’t already disappeared by the time I talked to the Parnell girl. And if he’s guilty.”
“I’m starting to think Kelso’s right about that much. Why would Belsize run if he wasn’t guilty?”
“If he’s the bug, he didn’t run.”
“Not before last night, anyway. But if he’s still in the area, where? Hell, he had a good hiding place out here.”
“Better one picked out somewhere, maybe.”
“Could be. This is a big county, a lot of it rural. Planning to torch the camp all along, in that case.”
Runyon watched a helmeted CDF investigator poke and prod among the rubble. “Did Kelso arrest Sandra Parnell yesterday?”
“No. He didn’t get anything out of her, let her go with a hard warning. Laid down the law to her folks, too, not that it’ll do any good. The Parnells aren’t your all-American watchdog parents. Father’s been out of a job since the olive processors in Stander shut down a year and a half ago, spends most of his time in bars; mother works long hours at two jobs.”
Runyon made no comment.
“You spent some time with the girl,” Rinniak said. “Think she knows more than she’s admitting?”
“Hard to tell. She’s hung up on Belsize, and it’s pretty obvious she hates and fears Kelso.”
“A lot of these kids do. Price he pays for being the way he is.”
Price the community at large pays, too, Runyon thought. But he didn’t say it.
“I hate cases like this,” Rinniak said. “Too much going on under the surface, too much weird. You can’t predict what’ll happen next. And something sure as hell will, if Belsize or whoever the bug is stays on the loose.”
“Agreed.”
“Well, maybe we’ll get lucky. That’s what it’s going to take-luck.”
Runyon said, “How much longer you going to want me around?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you can head home right now. But it depends on Kelso. Officially I’m his superior officer, but this is his jurisdiction and his record is one of the best in the department. I’ve got to cut him a certain amount of slack.”
“I talked to one of my bosses this morning. They need me back in San Francisco ASAP.”
“All right. Stick around today, try not to ruffle Kelso’s feathers, and if there are no more surprises I’ll see to it you can leave tomorrow.”
K elso wasn’t at the substation in Gray’s Landing. The gray-haired officer manning the place didn’t know where he was, and the call he put in over the radio at Runyon’s request went unanswered. Runyon asked for the deputy’s home address; the officer said he couldn’t give out that information.
Down the street was an open cafe; Runyon scouted up their public phone and a county directory. D. Kelso, 377 Alderwood Court, GL. So much for pro forma security. There was also a local listing for M. amp;R. Parnell, the only Parnells in the book: 600 Basalt Street. A Gray’s Landing street map at the front of the directory showed him how to get to both addresses. Alderwood Court was closest, just a handful of blocks from downtown. He drove there first.
Cul-de-sac of middle-class houses, the kind popular in rural towns half a century ago-two stories, wraparound or half-wraparound porches, gingerbread trim. Number 377 was painted white with dark blue trim. There was no sign of Kelso’s cruiser, but a young woman was just coming through the front gate onto the sidewalk. The daughter, Ashley. Runyon circled around, pulled up next to her, hit the button to lower the passenger side window.
She stopped when he spoke her name, bent to peer inside the car. She was wearing faded Levi’s and a khaki shirt with the words “Battle Hardware” stitched over the pocket. The sun caught her midnight black hair and threw off dazzling highlights.
“Well,” she said, “look who’s here. Hello there.”
“I’m looking for your father. Know where I can find him?”
“No. He’s supposed to be here right now, giving me a ride to work. I’m gonna be late.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
She struck a coy pose, one hand on a cocked hip. “Well, gee, I don’t know. Daddy says I’m not supposed to get into cars with strange men.”
Runyon was in no mood for games. He said, “If you want a ride, get in. Otherwise I’ll just keep on looking.”
“For other girls to pick up?”
He started to raise the window.
“Okay, okay,” Ashley said, “I was just kidding.” She got into the car, sat with one knee drawn up and her body turned against the door so she was facing him. “I wish I had a car. Even one like this.”
“How come you don’t?”
“Daddy won’t buy me one; he says I’m too irresponsible. I got a ticket once driving Zach’s car, that’s why. You remember Zach?”
Runyon nodded.
“I don’t make enough money to buy one myself,” she said. “Someday, but not yet. Is this the only one you own?”
“Why?”
“It’s pretty old. I guess detectives don’t make much money.”
“Enough. You work at Battle Hardware?”
“Ever since I got out of high school, part-time. Daddy wanted me to go to college, but I didn’t have the grades. He says I didn’t study hard enough-I guess he’s right. I never did like school much.”
“Sometimes,” Runyon said, “fathers want things from their kids they can’t have.”
“Sounds like you know from experience. You have kids?”
“One son.”
“Is he smart?”
“Yes.”
“But he won’t give you something you want, right?”
He didn’t answer that. “How do I get to the hardware store?”
“It’s on Fourth and A, two blocks off Main.”
He put the Ford into gear, swung around out of the cul-de-sac.
“It’s a shitty job,” she said, “but if I couldn’t go to college, I had to work and pay my way. Daddy’s big on that kind of stuff. Being responsible, a good citizen, a good Christian.”
“Sounds like a decent philosophy to me.”
“Oh, sure. But strict fathers can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Were you a strict father?”
I never had the chance. But he didn’t say it.
Ashley was silent for half a block. Then, “There was another fire last night. You know about it, I guess.”
“I was out there a little while ago.”
“I heard it burned up the migrant workers’ camp and everything around it for half a mile.”
“Not quite half a mile. But close enough.”
“Jerry must be really crazy, setting another fire so soon.”
“If Jerry’s guilty.”
“Sure he is. Guilty as sin.”
“Some people don’t think so. Sandra Parnell, for one.”
“That’s because she’s fucking him.”
The words were intended to shock; Ashley said them with a sidelong glance. Runyon kept his eyes front.