A Killing in the Valley (27 page)

“This is true. But the case against him is strong, and he knows it.”

They crested the final curve before coming back into the city. “So what can we do?” Kate asked.

“Hope he turns up alive. With a great excuse.”

The call from Alex Gordon came after lunch. “We’ve been trying to reach Steven McCoy up at that ranch, but we’re having a hard time getting through.”

“Maybe their lines are down,” Luke answered. “There is a fire raging in their neighborhood, in case you haven’t been watching the news.”

“The fire passed by there yesterday, wiseass,” Alex said. “And their place was saved, in case you didn’t know,” he added, throwing Luke’s sarcasm back in his face.

“Who told you that?” Luke asked, feigning ignorance of the situation.

“The fire chief. That old lady commandeered an entire squad of firefighters to save her place. They’re going to be telling the story in the forest service for decades. She’s a feisty one, that Juanita McCoy.” His voice turned somber again, “Seriously, Luke, we need to be in contact with Steven McCoy. The detectives running this case are getting antsy. And so am I.” Before hanging up, he added, “Nobody wins if I have to go see the judge about this.”

Juanita came outside as she heard the detectives’ car pull up in front of her house. It was late in the afternoon—the sun was in her face. She shielded her eyes as she stared at Watson and Rebeck.

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. She kept her voice neutral. “How are you today?”

Watson knew that Rebeck, impatient, would cut right to the chase, so he jumped in first. “We’re okay, thanks,” he replied. He looked out into her property. “I hear you survived the fire. Better than most of your neighbors.”

“We were lucky,” she told them. “Divine providence, perhaps. I don’t know about how others have fared, I’ve been busy here. And the phones were down until a short time ago.”

“Is that why Steven hasn’t been checking in?” Rebeck interjected.

Juanita frowned. “How could he?”

“Right,” Watson said. Her answer was obvious, and it made them look like bullies. This was a nice old lady, and a powerful one. He didn’t want to get into a pissing contest with her. “Which is how come we drove up here.” He took a step toward the house. “Is he inside?”

Juanita shifted, blocking him. “No,” she replied. “He isn’t.”

Enough with the song and dance, Rebeck decided. “Where is he?” she asked harshly.

“Out there.” Juanita made a vague sweeping gesture with her arm.

“Out there where?” Rebeck pressed.

Juanita stared at her for a moment. “I don’t know, precisely,” she answered. “It’s a big property. He’s checking for damage. He’s been gone since early this morning. Why? Is there a problem?”

“We want to know where he is,” Rebeck persisted. “We need to document him being here, in the flesh. See him, or talk to him.”

“Umm.” Juanita thought for a moment. “I don’t know how I can help you this precise moment, because as I said…”

“He’s out there somewhere, I know.” Rebeck finished. She was in full ill-humor now. “Don’t you have a way of contacting your people? Walkie-talkies or something?”

“Of course we do,” Juanita answered, the tone of her voice insinuating that the question was an insult. “Unfortunately, they aren’t functioning now. We used up all the batteries righting the fire. My foreman is picking up fresh ones when he goes into Los Olivos tomorrow,” she lied easily.

Rebeck shifted her weight from one foot to the other. When was she going to stop wearing heels on assignments like this? As soon as they got back she was going to throw a pair of running shoes in the trunk for such contingencies. Looking good is important, but if your feet hurt, you can’t concentrate.

Watson looked at his watch. It was almost six. In less than an hour, it would be dark. “What time will Steven be rolling in?” he asked. “He can’t do anything out there after dark, can he?”

“No,” Juanita said.

“So pretty soon, huh?” he asked optimistically. He didn’t want this to go south. That would fuck things up royally, for everyone.

“Unless he decides to stay out there,” Juanita told them.

The detectives looked at each other. Was she shining them on? It felt like it.

“Why would he?” Watson asked.

“So he won’t waste hours riding in and out,” she explained. “It is a big ranch. Sometimes he stays out overnight.” She looked from one detective to the other. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? He is still physically on the ranch. I thought that’s what the bail agreement said. That he was confined to the ranch, unless given permission to leave. But it didn’t say where on the ranch, did it?” She made as if to turn away. “Should I go inside and read it over? I’m sure I understood it, but maybe I was mistaken. Do either of you happen to know?” she asked with an air of benign innocence.

“It doesn’t say exactly where on your ranch,” Watson admitted. That had been a fuckup. They should have confined him to a more specific area, rather than allowing him to roam at will over dozens of square miles, most of it rugged and hard to get to.

He eyeballed the high sign to Rebeck. “There’s no use us hanging around here,” he said. “But…” He raised a cautionary finger. “We must be in touch with him by tomorrow morning, Mrs. McCoy. Without fail. Or he’ll be in a lot more trouble than he already is.”

Rebeck, driving away, saw Juanita in her rearview mirror. The old lady was staring at them. As they drove out of sight, she raised her hand in salute.

“She’s bullshitting us,” Rebeck declared. She was badly pissed off.

“You’re not prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt?”

Rebeck brayed laughter. “No fucking way. She knew exactly what to say to be inside the letter of the law. Cunning old bitch.”

“So?”

“It’s the D.A.’s call. He’s going to have to go to the judge. Judge Yberra’s going to be shitting wooden nickels. He put his ass on the line for that old lady. He’s going to look like a fool if that kid flaked.”

Watson nodded in agreement. “It’ll be hell to pay, all around.” He groaned. “We’re all going to look like assholes if this kid’s slipped us.”

Luke got the word that night, at his house.

“If Steven McCoy doesn’t present by nine tomorrow morning, either in person or via a verifiable phone call, he will be officially proclaimed to be a bail-jumper,” Alex told him. “And when we catch the little fuck, Luke—which we will, they all turn up in the end—he can turn the lights out. Because the party will be over.”

Kate threw clothing and toiletries into an overnight bag. “I’m going out to Mrs. McCoy’s ranch,” she told Sophia. “You’ll be okay by yourself, won’t you? It’s just for tonight. If you want, you can stay at the Garrisons’.”

Sophia was friendly with Luke and Riva. She was their main babysitter. They paid top dollar, fifteen an hour. Working for them was fun, because she really liked their kids and the money paid for her gasoline and other expenses that her allowance didn’t cover.

“Why are you going up there?” she asked Kate. “It’s after ten at night, Mom.”

“Moral support,” Kate answered. “There’s a crisis. I don’t like her being alone.”

“It’s Steven, isn’t it. Did he run away?”

“I don’t know,” Kate answered tersely. “We can’t find him.”

“Maybe he got hurt,” Sophia said logically. “Trying to help.”

Kate shook her head. “He didn’t.” She zipped her bag shut. “So which? Here, or the Garrisons?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No you are not,” Kate answered immediately. “You have school tomorrow. The ranch isn’t a place for you to be now.”

Sophia stood her ground. “I can miss a day, I’ve had perfect attendance this year. Juanita’s more my friend than yours,” she said stalwartly.

Kate smiled at her. This was a good kid she had raised, almost in spite of herself. “All right. Get your stuff. We have to go, now.”

It was after midnight, but no one was sleeping. The three women were hunkered down in Juanita’s living room. All the lights were on, as if the brightness might attract Steven, like a candle attracts a moth.

Sophia and Juanita were trying to play Scrabble, but it was a listless attempt. This is like attending a wake, Kate thought, as she watched them plunk their squares down on the board. Which in a fashion, it was. Steven McCoy wasn’t officially dead yet, but in her mind she could hear the nails being pounded into his metaphorical coffin. Even though she was depressed about this looming catastrophe, she was glad she had come out here, and she was also happy that Sophia had insisted that she come, too. Leaving Juanita to deal with this misery by herself would have been heartless. And it was a condition of the job. Juanita was paying through the nose for their help. This wasn’t a 9-5 gig, it had become 24/7, both professionally and personally.

But she would be here even if she wasn’t getting paid. This was about a burgeoning friendship, particularly between an old lady and a young girl. Friends help friends. They were friends now.

The Scrabble game ended. Kate looked at the serpentined board. “Who won?”

“She did,” both Juanita and Sophia said simultaneously. They looked at each other, and laughed. “We weren’t keeping score,” Sophia said. “It doesn’t matter who wins or loses.” She stretched and yawned, sprawling back on the couch.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Juanita suggested. “The couch in my office is a foldout. I can make it up for you.”

“Why don’t you both go to sleep?” Kate told her. “We can do this in shifts. I’m not tired yet, so I can take the first watch.”

Juanita shook her head. “I’ll sleep when this is over. However it turns out.” She stood and stretched her lower back. “I’m going to put a pot of coffee on. Does anyone besides me want some?”

Mother and daughter both said “Aye.” Juanita went into the kitchen. Sophia came over and flopped down next to Kate.

“What’s going to happen when morning comes?” she asked quietly, so she wouldn’t be overheard.

“If Steven hasn’t shown up?”

Sophia nodded.

“Luke Garrison will call the District Attorney and report that Steven is missing. Then he’ll officially be a fugitive from justice, his bail will be revoked, and he’ll be a wanted man.” She shuddered. “Then it’s a question of waiting, until he’s found.”

“Dead or alive?”

Kate jerked around to look at Sophia. “That’s harsh.”

Sophia shook her head as if to say, “Not harsh enough.”

“I don’t feel sorry for him at all,” she proclaimed. “I feel bad for Juanita, what he’s put her through. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“No,” Kate agreed. “No one does.”

“But her especially,” Sophia said insistently. “She went out on such a limb for him.” She made an angry face. “He’s so selfish.”

Juanita came back into the living room. “Coffee will be a minute. Does anyone want anything to eat?”

“No, thanks,” Kate said. “Sit down, Juanita. You don’t have to be the hostess.”

Juanita turned and looked out the big front window, into the darkness. “Oh, Steven,” she lamented. “Where are you?”

The light was diffused in the shiny window glass. At first it was two small pinpricks in the dark, then it grew as it approached, two shimmering mirages.

Kate sat up with a jerk. Sprawled out on the couches, Sophia and Juanita were sleeping heavily. The lights were off in the living room—a single fixture remained on in the kitchen.

When did we fall asleep, Kate wondered? And who turned the lights off? Was it me? She couldn’t remember.

She looked at her watch. 4:20. The depths of night, when in the city even the all-night prowlers, the drunks and the predators and the street low-life were tucked away in their holes. Out here, though, where on a clear night the sky was alive with a million stars, there was an entire nighttime society: owls, coyotes (who never sleep), burrowing vermin, nocturnal hunters and gatherers. Or human predators, looking for an easy, out-of-the-way mark. Like an old lady living alone.

She slipped her shoes on. Her automatic was in her purse. She took it out and flipped the safety off. Then she moved to the side of the window, so she could look out, but not be seen by someone looking in.

The vehicle parked in front of the house. The lights were doused, and the engine stopped running.

Kate looked behind her. Juanita, too, had heard the sound. She looked at Kate. “Who is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Kate answered quietly. She leaned over and looked outside again.

For a moment, all was still. Then Steven McCoy stepped off of his grandmother’s ATV. He walked around to the other side and helped a woman get down. The woman, who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties, moved very slowly, limb by limb, like a deck chair unfolding. Normally she would have been attractive in a Katharine Hepburn sort of way, but even in the dim light Kate could see that she looked awful now, as if she had been through a brutal ordeal. The woman said something to Steven, who gave her a reassuring hug.

They walked to the back of the ATV. They leaned down and together lifted something out of the back, as if picking up a load of firewood.

“Who is it?” Juanita asked again. She got up and came toward Kate.

“Steven,” Kate told her. “And a woman.”

“Oh, thank God,” Juanita said in thanksgiving. She started for the front door.

Kate put a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait,” she said cautiously. She tucked the gun away in her jeans, so it couldn’t be seen.

They stared out the window. Steven and the woman were assisting a man, who looked to be a few years older than the woman. His arms were draped over their shoulders. He hung almost limp, like a scarecrow. Kate could see that one of his pant legs had been cut off almost to the crotch, and that a makeshift splint had been secured around the bare leg, from above the knee to the ankle. There was clotted blood on the leg, and on the splint.

Carefully, Steven and the woman carried the invalid toward the kitchen door. Before they could reach it, Juanita rushed over and flung it open.

“Steven!” she cried out. “Thank God.”

Steven McCoy looked like death warmed over, but his companions looked even worse. “You need to call 911,” he said. His voice was low and hoarse. “His leg is broken, and he’s lost a lot of blood.”