Rinniak said, “Games, for Christ’s sake. As if arson and murder and false imprisonment weren’t enough.”
“It’s all wrapped up together.”
“Yeah. I should have tumbled to it myself, some of it anyway, but it got by me. I just didn’t see any of it.”
“Too close to the situation.”
“That’s no excuse.” Rinniak shifted position, blew out his breath in a hissing sigh. “Sick thrills. People nowadays… so damn jaded.”
“That’s part of it. See how far they can push the envelope.”
“Devil’s work. You suppose that’s why they killed Silvera?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s not the reason they intended to kill Jerry Belsize.”
“Retribution. Revenge.”
“It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“What the hell could he have done to them?”
“I made you a guess earlier.”
“That’s not enough to torture him like that, kill him.”
“It might be to them.”
“So goddamn normal on the outside, and on the inside, lunatics out of control… Christ, I just can’t seem to get my head around it. Nothing like this ever happened in this county before.”
“And probably won’t again.”
“Take a long time for people to get over it,” Rinniak said grimly. “And some of them never will.”
They lapsed into silence again. That suited Runyon. He’d been over it and over it with Rinniak and the sheriff, Macon, after he left the hospital and then again on the drive down here and during the long wait since. Rinniak couldn’t seem to let go of the concept. Just kept picking at it verbally, often enough to indicate that he was doing the same inside his head. Runyon didn’t blame him. He’d done enough thinking about it himself. Too much. He tried to turn himself off again, didn’t have as much success this time.
Eleven fifteen by the luminous dial of his watch.
The night breeze sharpened, then just as suddenly died. The cricket sound seemed to grow steadily louder, as if it were building toward some kind of crescendo.
Eleven thirty.
Eleven forty.
Rinniak said, “Headlights coming,” as he had each of the other few times a set had appeared from the direction of Gray’s Landing.
“I see them.”
The beams threw a sheen of brightness on the dark sky, made silhouette shapes of the RipeOlive buildings as they drew closer. The previous headlights had been hidden as the vehicles passed by, then reappeared briefly on the far side before they vanished. Not these. The car slowed as it came past the water tower, made a quick, sharp turn onto the plant road. As soon as it bounced up over the railroad right-of-way, the headlamps went dark.
“By God, Runyon, you were right. It’s them.”
“Looks like it.”
They watched the car swing over onto the dirt road, raise dust as it followed the fence line around. Pale moonlight put a sleek gleam on its metal surfaces. It rolled along slow to the rear gates, stopped close to it on the near side; the engine noise died. Nothing happened for a time, long enough to cause Rinniak to say, “What the hell are they waiting for?” Then both doors opened at once and the two of them got out. Both wore dark clothing, dark caps of some kind. One opened the trunk, handed out a pair of rectangular objects that had to be gallon tins of kerosene. The other things that came out were small, unidentifiable blobs. Timing device and flashlights, probably.
The shorter one carrying both tins, they went to the gate and inside at an angle to the far corner of the shed. Blended into the deep shadows cast by the building.
Rinniak was already out of the cruiser by then. Runyon and the two deputies joined him. Nobody said anything; they’d already worked out the logistics. Single file, each with a six-cell torch, the four of them picked their way out of the grove, across the road, and through the open gate. The deputies took up positions along the near side of the shed. Runyon followed Rinniak to the far end, into the heavy darkness along the sidewall. You couldn’t see the unlocked warehouse door from the front corner, but it wouldn’t matter unless the firebugs went the other way when they came out, and it didn’t figure they would.
It wasn’t a long wait. Voices drifted out of the shadows first, one louder than the other, angry. Shapes, then, the leader moving fast across the moonlit yard, the other one lugging the kerosene tins. Still talking to each other, the words distinguishable now.
“… how he could’ve gotten free.”
“Pulled the handcuffs loose somehow, damn him.”
“Oh God, he’ll tell on us. What if he already has?”
“Don’t get excited. He couldn’t’ve been gone long. Or got far after five days in there.”
“You think he might still be around here somewhere?”
“Dead, I hope. We’ll look before we set the timer.”
“We’re not going ahead with the fire…?”
“Like hell we’re not.”
Rinniak murmured, “Like hell you are,” and touched Runyon’s arm, and they stepped out together and put the lights on.
“County sheriff’s officers. Stand where you are.”
The stabbing glare brought them up short; the command rooted them in place. Sandra Parnell dropped both kerosene tins, one arm lifting to shield her eyes; she stood in a terrified freeze, like a jacklit deer. Ashley Kelso’s bugeyed stare held a mix of fury and disbelief.
The two deputies came pounding up, their lights joining the others. “Kelso’s daughter, all right,” one of them said. Another one having trouble coming to terms with it.
Rinniak started forward, saying, “You’re under arrest-”
The rest of it got lost in a sudden shrieked “No!” from the Kelso girl. She threw her flashlight at Rinniak, missing him, and bolted-a stumbling headlong charge toward the back fence.
Runyon was closest to her flight path. He cut her off, chased her down, managed to catch hold of her arm. She rounded on him, cursing, spitting like a cat, and clawed stinging furrows into the back of his hand, tried to get at his face with those flashing nails, tried to kick him in the groin. He threw the six-cell down and fastened grips on both arms, jerked her around, and bent her back hard against an upthrust knee. She kept on fighting him, screaming obscenities. One of the deputies was there by then and she fought him, too, tried to bite him. It took both men to wrestle her to the ground, Runyon to hold her down while the deputy shackled her hands behind her back.
The fight went out of her. But not the viciousness. She rolled over, sat up glaring at Runyon. “You!” she said. “You son of a bitch, you did this!”
He ignored her. Blood ran from the scratches on his hand, trickling between the fingers. He wrapped his handkerchief around it.
“I should’ve killed you in the barn!” Ashley screamed. “I should’ve hung you up with Manny like I wanted to!”
The deputy said, “You better be quiet, kid-”
“Fuck you!”
He took her arm, roughly, and lifted her to her feet.
“Leave me alone!” She looked at Runyon again. “Jerry’s dead, isn’t he? Tell me he’s dead.”
“He’s not.”
“You’re lying.”
“He’s in the hospital in Red Bluff. Expected to live.”
“Shit!” She squinted past him, to where the other deputy was putting handcuffs on Sandra Parnell while Rinniak recited her rights. “Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”
Ashley wasn’t asking about Jerry Belsize now. Runyon knew who she meant, but the deputy said, “You heard him. In the hospital.”
“Not him, my father. Don Kelso, the big tough cop. Didn’t anybody tell him? I wish he could see me right now. Pay him back, the son of a bitch. No more telling me what to do, what not to do, how to live my life. No more orders, no more bullshit, no more Daddy’s good little girl!”
“Jesus,” the deputy said.
Sandra Parnell began to cry.
R inniak finished helping the deputies load the two women into the caged backseat of their cruiser, came over to where Runyon stood waiting. “Okay,” he said wearily. “How’s your hand?”
“It’ll be all right.”
“You should have it looked at.”