Reilly 09 - Presumption of Death (24 page)

Nina finished lacing the boots and hung her purse on her shoulder. “I’m going,” she said. “He has come to my attention. That makes him my problem.”

“Suit yourself.” Paul stretched and went back to his computer.

Nina clumped down the steps and onto the street, where her truck was parked. Climbing into the Bronco, she strapped in and opened the glove compartment to look for the Monterey County map. Paul’s face appeared at the passenger’s window and she rolled it down. Hitchcock leapt at the door.

“I was thinking, we ought to go check on the kid,” he said.

Nina smiled. “I’ve got bottled water and cold drinks in a cooler, and the tank’s full.”

“We can talk about the autopsy report along the way.” He climbed in beside her. “Hitchcock too. He needs the exercise.”

“Same rules? You expunge all evidence of poison oak from his fur?” Nina said, opening the back door and scratching the dog between the ears.

“He’s the first dog I ever met that loves the hose, a real sport,” Paul said, clipping on the seat belt. “I wonder what he is.”

Nina started up and lowered the back window a couple of inches so Hitchcock could stick his nose out. “How many times do I have to say it? He’s a malamute!”

“There’s no such thing as a pure black malamute. Plus they don’t bark, they howl, and Hitchcock barks. He’s part Lab or something.”

“Will you stop? He’s got that curling furry tail. And he smiles like a malamute,” Nina said. Hitchcock showed no interest in their ongoing argument over his origins. He only gave a brief whine, which meant, let’s get going, shall we?

They drove out the Valley Road, each curve of which was becoming familiar to Nina, Hitchcock no doubt getting carsick in the back. Paul had brought the autopsy report. As they careened around the turns he said, “Now may I take up a few minutes of your time to discuss this latest homicide?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Ruth Frost had a hematoma on the side of her head the size of a plum. It wasn’t visible when we saw her, because she had so much hair. Now, even law enforcement agrees. Somebody hit her hard, turned on the ignition and the heat, closed the windows tight, and left her to die. The coroner says so. Is that going to be enough to convince the D.A. to let Wish out?”

“I don’t know. But who else would want to harm her but the arsonist? Who is heading up the investigation?”

“The Monterey County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Does Crockett know about all this?”

“I faxed him the report while you were in court, to be sure he’s staying in the loop,” Paul said.

Nina’s hands clenched the wheel. “It has to be somebody from Siesta Court, afraid she could identify him.”

“Let’s talk about a few thoughts running around in my head,” Paul said as they rolled through Carmel Valley Village. The school bus flashed its red lights, and Nina stopped. A group of children with the name of a day-care center on their T-shirts jostled one another into a beautiful afternoon, bumping across the street in front of them to meet waiting parents. They called laughing good-byes to one another as they ran shouting toward TVs and backyards.

The sun burned a yellow hole in the cloudless blue sky. They passed a Smokey the Bear sign telling them that the fire danger today was Very High. “I’m listening,” Nina said.

“Okay. First, ask yourself about the MO used to kill Ruth. Ruth had a defective tailpipe that billowed exhaust fumes into the trunk area, and no back seat to prevent it from drifting into the passenger compartment. She had to drive with all the windows open, and I just don’t believe she’d go to sleep with the windows closed and the motor running.”

“You said something about a hose.”

“There’s no evidence of a hose at this point. The marks I saw turned out to be natural.”

“Somebody knew about the exhaust problem, then.”

“Ben Cervantes repairs cars.”

“So do a hundred other people around here.”

“He works at Valley European Motors in the Village,” Paul said. “I went up there and talked to his boss before the cops got there. He was upset about Ruth. He’s known her for years. He said Ruth would bring her car in there and they tried to keep it going without charging her.”

Nina said, eyes on the road, “I like Ben. But I’m willing to look at him.”

“This isn’t just about Ben. Turns out Ben replaced another guy, a part-timer who drank on the job and was fired. This guy’s name is Robert Johnson. He’s half Washoe, like Danny.”

“So?”

Paul squeezed her thigh. “So Coyote’s real name is Robert Johnson. Watch it, there’s a truck coming.”

Nina pulled to the side and let the truck go by. “So Coyote probably worked on Ruth’s car at some point.”

“There you have it.”

“Then she probably knew him, Paul. If he had been in the car she saw, wouldn’t she have recognized him?”

“She told us she didn’t see well enough,” Paul said. He drank some water out of a plastic bottle. “But if-let’s follow it through-if Coyote was in the car, he might have been worrying about Ruthie. Maybe so worried he thought about that broken exhaust pipe and the lack of a back seat, which would let the fumes in and kill her.”

“He had the means and maybe the motive,” Nina said. “The minute I saw that van at his camp I was sure he was involved in the fires.”

“So let’s take it further. Let’s say Robert Johnson-Coyote-was the driver that night in his van, and he dropped someone off on Siesta Court. Like the Cat Lady said.”

“Okay.”

“Who did he drop off? Assuming it wasn’t Danny?”

“Danny had a tip,” Nina remembered.

“Right. Smart girl.”

“Ben Cervantes and Coyote?”

“My thinking exactly. Danny knew who they were climbing up the hill to photograph.”

“He would turn in his uncle? His uncle was doing this with Coyote?”

“Maybe. Or maybe just Coyote.”

Nina said slowly, “But instead Coyote saw Danny and Wish first and Coyote killed Danny on the mountain. And tried to kill Wish.”

“You’re leaving Ben out, but I can understand your squeamishness. You liked him, I could tell. I’d also prefer to think Ben didn’t help kill his own nephew. But…”

They had hit the hairpin turns in the road. To one side, a fenced golden meadow waved, and on the other, a glorious old oak forest rustled, maybe some of those same trees surviving from Steinbeck’s time, when he loved this same land. In the midst of all this beauty, someone out there was burning trees and killing people. She felt sick thinking that Ben Cervantes might be part of it.

“I don’t think it’s Ben.”

“Because?”

“I just don’t. I don’t think he could lie that well to me.”

“Ah, Nina.”

“Anyway, Coyote is probably a very dangerous man,” Nina said. “We have to check on that boy.”

“That’s why I came along, even though I think it’s premature. Because my woman insisted on coming.”

Nina glanced quickly at him and saw that he had unconsciously patted his shoulder holster. “I’m glad you came. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Coyote and that saw-toothed dog of his will be busy somewhere else hunting deer together.”

They drove on through the buzzing forest, immersed in their separate thoughts.

Eventually, tired and hot again, but this time more sure of the way, they found the tent in the clearing in Wood Tick Canyon. Once again, Nina avoided the malevolent poison oak, mature vines thick as her wrist, coming hungrily at her from the branches and bushes she passed. She took some satisfaction when it crackled underfoot, but then realized she would have to ask Paul to detoxify her boots along with the dog.

Outside the tent were few signs of activity-a stump with an ax stuck in it alongside a fresh stack of kindling, and a dead geranium in a black plastic container. The canvas door was lashed down. A tin bowl half full of water sat under the nearest tree, with a long chain wrapped around it once, the other end lying on the ground.

No sign of a car. No pit bull, no sign of Coyote. Nina expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Paul put Hitchcock on a leash. They picked their way to the tree where Paul had noticed the boy and Nina saw, where three stout branches intersected, Nate, huddling on a pile of branches and rags. He had been watching them for some time.

“Hello.”

“Hello, Nate.”

“Did you come to get me? I made a call. Mother taught me to call.”

“Would you like to come down and talk to us?” Paul said.

“I’m not allowed. Loud and louder until you want to scream like I scream. Ice cream. Never get any anymore. More.”

“I brought you a Coke,” Nina said, holding up one of the cans they had brought along. “It’s cold too. But I can’t get up there.”

“But I can’t come down. So, so, I need to sew my pants, they’re ripped.” But he made some movements, as though he were trying.

Paul bent down, examining the tree. “Shit,” he said. “Look here.” In the back, screwed into the tree, was a ring with a chain welded to it. The chain led upward.

Nina looked, following the chain up into the tree, where it ended at Nate’s nest. Down in the ground at the foot of the tree, she spotted signs of disturbance, signs of a struggle. “That’s it,” she said. “He’s coming with us.”

Paul drew her aside. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not too up on schizophrenics, or whatever the current parlance is, but I have a feeling nobody is making sure this kid takes his meds. He’s going to be unpredictable. We should call the sheriff.”

“We’ll take him to the sheriff. This is child abuse. I won’t stand for it another minute! Look, let’s get him out of here before Coyote gets back. Let’s avoid an incident. Anything could happen. Please, Paul.”

Paul said, “Just stick him in the back seat? I don’t want him behind me.”

“In the front seat.”

“Where he could grab the wheel?”

“Okay,” Nina said. “I’ll drive and you two sit in back where you can keep an eye on him.”

“That ought to be a pleasant journey.” But he took hold of the ring and tried to pull it out. “I get the feeling Coyote did not want Nate to be able to take this thing on and off easily. Can you talk him down so I can look at the other end?”

Nina moved out so she could see Nate better, and said, “Can we take you for an ice cream, Nate? Will you come down so my friend can take off the chain?”

“He’ll be mad, mad, mad. Oh, he’ll be mad.”

“We’ll keep you safe.”

“Can I tell him you made me?”

“Sure you can.” The boy seemed to shake his nest and then a skinny leg appeared and positioned itself on a branch. He hauled himself out of the pile. His leg bore a heavy shackle that looked a lot like the one Wish had been wearing in court that morning. The rest of the chain swung down suddenly, clanking, and pulled him off-balance, but he managed to hang on. He slid down and his feet came close enough to Paul for Paul to grab him. In a moment he was on the ground.

“Here I am. How do you do.”

Nina held out a hand to steady him while Paul knelt down to examine the shackle.

Nate was skinny and short, but the beginnings of adolescent stubble and the Adam’s apple confirmed to Nina that he was just past puberty, about thirteen, as the cowboys at Alma’s had said. He looked Native American. He still wore the dirty flannel shirt with his narrow chest exposed in front, his jeans were in shreds, and his feet were bare. He smelled bad. The chain gave him about ten feet to wander around the base of the tree.

Paul hurried back to the Bronco for Nina’s tool kit, while Nate and Nina waited. Nate seemed nonchalant, as though he had placed his fate totally in their hands. He looked around, surveying everything, without anxiety, with an expression of wonder and pleasure and something else, a light in his eyes that made Nina uncomfortable. He drank down the soft drink thirstily and Nina noticed that he was missing some teeth. Hitchcock sniffed him and Nate backed away. “Go lie down,” Nina told Hitchcock.

Paul came back and knelt with his toolbox by the shackles. Pulling on leather gloves, he took a small hacksaw and began sawing.

Hitchcock’s ears pricked up and his head swiveled toward the Bronco. Nina thought she heard something and looked anxiously down the dirt road that came off Arroyo Seco.

A car.

“Uh-oh,” Nate said.

“Hurry!” Nina said.

“I hear it.”

Nate said, “Ow!” Just as Coyote’s tan van pulled into the clearing, the shackle fell away. The pit bull in the front seat of the van was already growling, its bullet head extended out the car window.

The van’s motor died. Coyote sat inside, about a hundred feet away, not moving. Afternoon light behind him made his face indistinct. Paul straightened up. He picked up Hitchcock’s leash and handed it to Nina, saying, “Hold on to him. Nate, you stay with Nina.”

He walked slowly toward the van, his boots kicking up miniature dust storms behind. The sun beat down hard in the clearing, making a minidesert out of the setting.

Nina, leash wrapped around her hand, stood beside the boy, fighting off her fear for Paul.

The pit bull leapt out of the half-open window and came at Paul. At the same time, Hitchcock leapt forward, teeth bared. She could have held him-could have stopped him-but she let him go, to fight.

The pit bull, seeing Hitchcock, veered behind Paul and the two dogs met in a snarling, snapping fury, rolling over and over in the dirt. Paul backed away and pulled out his gun, but he couldn’t do anything with it. The two dogs made one whirling blur. Nate pressed against Nina, whimpering. She pulled him behind the tree.

Coyote sat in his van, unmoving. Paul picked up a piece of cut firewood from the woodpile and ran up to the dogs, who snapped and bit, completely beyond command. Looking for his chance, Paul held the piece of wood up and hit the pit bull on its back. It let out a shrieking sound, but it had its jaws embedded in Hitchcock’s neck now and would not let go. Paul hit it again.

Out of the van’s window a rifle barrel appeared, growing longer as it extended out. “Paul!” she screamed. Concentrating on the maddened dogs, he didn’t hear her. She kept her eyes on the rifle, now pointed directly at Paul-what could she do? “Paul!”

Paul hit the pit bull on the skull. Its jaws opened slowly. It let go of Hitchcock, rolled over, and lay still. The rifle swiveled, following Paul’s movements. Again, she screamed. This time he heard her. With a movement so fast she barely registered it, he threw himself facedown to the ground, then began crawling rapidly into the brush.