“What is it?” Susan asked with authority. “What have you found?”
The man did not respond until he had come right up into their circle, and then he paused to look at each of them before saying, “I’m afraid it’s a body.”
There was a shocked silence, during which they stared at the chief as though he must be mistaken. Then, next to him, Joshua heard a choking sound. Turning, he saw Susan, one hand to her mouth, her face white and her eyes wide with horror. “No,” she whispered. “No, that can’t be. Someone died? Here? Who?” She began to take deep, shallow breaths.
“We can’t know that right now,” the fireman said. “I’ve already called the police, and when they arrive, we’ll determine if this was an accident or a homicide. In either case, it seems apparent that whoever it was, they were a victim of arson. I have to ask you if you know of anyone who might have been here last night.”
Over the shock and horror of realizing that someone lay dead a few yards away, Joshua felt an immense wave of relief that they had had Leah report the fire. He turned to look at the Hughses. Rowland’s mouth was hanging open; Susan was shaking her head and looking nauseated. Both of them said they had no idea.
Joshua had a thought. “You know, I hike in this area quite a bit, and I often see places where homeless people have set up a camp. I mean, this is kind of far from the main road, but, what if it was one of them?”
Susan had both hands over her mouth. “Oh, how horrible,” she said, barely audibly.
“That’s a distinct possibility,” the fireman agreed.
“Could it be”—Susan seemed afraid to speak—“the person who set the fire?”
“That was my first thought.” The fireman looked back to the spot where the group of firemen stood, just near the edge of the burned-out area. “If it was somebody vandalizing, and they were drunk, which is a reasonable assumption, then they could have gotten disoriented and accidentally done themselves in.” He turned back to the four civilians. “We’ll have to wait and see. I’m afraid you’ll have to answer some questions when the police come.”
“Of course, anything we can do,” Rowland said immediately.
Susan leaned toward her husband and winced again. “Do you need to sit down?” the fire chief asked.
“No, I need to lie down, flat, with ice and painkillers, but I don’t have time for that,” she said impatiently. She seemed to have regained control of herself.
Sterling was watching her with concern. “You know, Greer offered to give you a treatment. Maybe a massage and whatever magic she performs in that little room would be just the thing,” he suggested.
Susan looked impatient, but Rowland cut in. “Honey, I’m going to insist on it. You need to relax. You’ve been through a horrible ordeal, and as usual, you’ve acted like a champ, but I will not let you run yourself into the ground. You call her and make an appointment.”
“Rowland, I don’t have ti—”
“Promise me,” Rowland said with more power in his voice than Sterling had heard before, and it came to him that this was a man who, while appearing to be uniformly innocuous, could bear the scepter or the sword when necessary. He and his tough-as-nails wife now seemed more evenly matched, and sure enough, she succumbed to his insistence.
“All right. You’re right. I’ll do it.” Once she agreed, it seemed a relief to her. “I could really use a break; this has all been very—” She broke off as her face twisted, and then she seemed to make a valiant effort to get her emotions under control. When she appeared to have won the battle, she said to her husband, “After the community meeting, okay? I’ve just got too much to do today and tonight to lie down.”
Rowland did not look altogether happy, but a good leader knows when to compromise. “Not all right. You are going to call right now, and afterward you are going home to work in bed and on the phone until the meeting. Got it?”
He put a hand firmly around her waist and led her to his car.
The three men watched them go, and then, without looking at the other two, the fire captain said, “That’s one tough lady.”
Sterling peered at the man, his keen eyes squinting in the sun. “You should try doing business with her,” he said dryly.
A small, mirthless laugh came from Captain Williams. “No, thank you” was all he said.
On the low road of packed dirt cut into the hillside just below them, a water truck had been standing since Joshua and Sterling arrived, no doubt on hand for the cleanup. Now, as Joshua watched, the door to the cab creaked open and a tall, thin man, as gangly and tough-looking as jerky, emerged. He was dangling a cigarette from his thin mouth, and he put it out carefully before coming to join the fire captain.
“Hey, George. What’s going on?” he asked, flicking his baseball-capped head in the direction of the small group of blue uniforms.
“Hey, Sheldon,” Captain Williams replied. “Found a victim.”
Sheldon’s skin looked so dry that Joshua wondered if it would be crunchy if he touched it. “Shit,” he said, shaking his head.
At that point the truck’s cab door opened again, and a small boy, his hair mussed to one side as though he had just woken up, stuck his head out and looked around.
“Tyler,” Sheldon called out, “stay in the truck.”
“I’m hot!” the boy called out.
Sheldon looked around. “All right, come on up here, and you can sit in the shade by the fire truck. Is that all right, George?” he asked the fire captain.
The captain smiled. “Sure. Hey, Tyler!” he called out. “You working with your grampa today?”
“Poor thing had to sleep in the truck last night. His mom ran away from the rehab, and I finally had to take custody.” Sheldon, though apparently not loquacious, summed up what was probably a long story with that single sentence.
The boy, who looked to be about eight, was struggling up the hill. His jeans were clean and dark blue like his grandfather’s; his T-shirt was not quite as clean, however, and looked as though a large portion of some fast food had touched down on it on the way to, or from, his mouth.
“You remember Captain Williams, Tyler?” Sheldon asked, and his voice gave the warning that a proper greeting was required.
“Yes, sir. How are you, sir?” Tyler reached out a slight hand, and the captain, looking amused, leaned down to shake it.
“I’m fine, thank you, Tyler. How are you?”
“I’m real good, thank you, sir.” Tyler glanced up at Sterling and Joshua. Sheldon had not mentioned or acknowledged them past a nod of anonymous greeting.
“Hi there. I’m Joshua,” Joshua said with a smile, deliberately not offering to shake to let the kid know that he was a kid too. “And this is Sterling.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sterling,” Tyler said formally, offering the hand a bit more hesitantly.
In spite of the sobering situation at hand, Sterling couldn’t repress a small laugh. “I’m Mr. Fincher, but you can call me Sterling; that’s my first name.”
Joshua was watching the boy, whose eyes had gone wide when he heard Sterling’s accent. His small mouth tightened, and some sort of struggle seemed to be going on inside him. He looked up at his grandfather and the grin of pride on his stern, weathered face, but the boy received no warning from that quarter. Seemingly bolstered by that fact, he apparently came to a decision. Tyler looked back up at Sterling and asked, “Are you a foreigner?”
This time Sterling laughed outright. “Well, I was. I’m an American now.”
Tyler nodded, looking pleased with his own astuteness. “I thought so.”
Coming up the road was a car that Joshua recognized from past experience as an unmarked cop car, so he was not at all surprised when a man with a hard face topping a body that somewhat resembled a Peterbilt truck got out of the passenger side. “Detective Sheridan,” Joshua said quietly to no one in particular. The senior detective took his time looking around the location. Spotting Captain Williams, he made his way toward the small g
roup of men and a boy.
A younger man, dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt that gave a clear view of the badge and gun holster affixed to his belt, got out of the driver’s side. He was sporting one of the most obvious hairpieces Joshua had ever seen.
When Detective Sheridan got to them, he shook hands with the fire captain and then looked long and hard at Joshua. Joshua tried to hold the officer’s somewhat rheumy gaze but found himself squirming.
“Detective Sheridan,” he said again, this time by way of greeting.
“Joshua Sands.” The bulky man let the name hang for a few seconds as though considering it from all angles. “Fancy running into you in the middle of a murder.” There was enough irony in the statement to defuse the innuendo somewhat.
Sterling interjected, “I’m not sure I should say it’s nice to see you, given the circumstances, but let me reassure you, detective; Joshua is here only because he works for me and I’m the landscape architect working on the development.”
“I see.” The detective transferred his deceivingly indifferent gaze to Sterling. “Mr. Fincher, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” The two men shook hands.
“This is my partner, Detective Wright,” Sheridan said. The forty-something man standing beside him was red faced, well built, not more than five foot ten but with the muscular arms and thick legs of a man who considered a day wasted when he didn’t bench-press the weight of a small pony several hundred times. Joshua tried hard not to stare at the place where the black of his hairpiece met the fading brown of his actual hair. He wondered how the man, a detective no less, could possibly have thought that no one would notice.
Introductions were made all around, and then the fire captain’s walkie-talkie sputtered. After a quick consultation he turned to Sheldon.
“They’re ready to spray the load,” he told him.
Tyler started out after his grandfather, but Sheldon held him back. “You stay up here, young man. I’ve got to go turn the truck on so they can pump this water out where they need it.”
“He can hang out with me for a few minutes,” Joshua said.
Sheldon looked from the eight-year-old to Joshua and then back again. “You okay with that?”
“Yes, sir,” Tyler answered. Sheldon looked up at Joshua, who nodded, before heading back to his truck.
Casting around for something to say, Joshua asked Tyler, “You been up here all night?”
“No, sir, we had to go up to Big Bear yesterday afternoon.”
“Wow,” said Joshua. “You drove that truck all the way up to Big Bear?”
Tyler looked seriously up at Joshua and shook his head. “No, sir. My grandfather drove it. I just rode along.”
Joshua put a hand on the boy’s shoulder as he suppressed a laugh. Another vehicle was making its way up the packed dirt road, the coroner’s van.
“Come on,” Joshua said, wanting to distract Tyler, and himself. “Let’s go take a walk up here and see if we can find a fox hole or a wood rat home.”
But Tyler was not so unaware as all that. He peered down to the spot around which the detectives were gathered and watched as the coroner’s team climbed out of the van.
“What did they find?” he asked suspiciously.
“Let’s go and let these people do their work, okay?”
“What did they find?” Tyler asked, more insistently.
Joshua looked down at the boy and knew he couldn’t lie, but it wasn’t his place to tell the whole truth.
Gently, he said, “You’ll have to ask your grandfather, but it’s something very bad.”
Tyler seemed willing to accept this answer, and with the same trusting heart, he took Joshua’s hand, and they both turned away from the direction of the charred, once-human remains.
Chapter 24
Even though it was not yet eight thirty in the morning, Jenny could see the sweat under King’s saddle frothing with the repetitious motion of his walk. She’d decided this should be her last ride until after the baby, so she’d kept the ride short, easy, and early. Even so, she was grateful that they were almost back to the barn. The last part of the trail passed under a grove of live oaks, and Jenny sighed audibly as they passed into the relief of the shade.
Removing her cowboy hat, she anticipated with relish a cool-down from the hose for King and herself. Then, giving King his rein and leaning back, she closed her eyes and lost herself in the rhythm of his step.
“Morning.” The voice came, deep and sudden from just a few feet to her right, startling her.
Sitting upright with a jerk and opening her eyes, Jenny tightened the reins and clucked soothingly to her horse, but King didn’t so much as break his easy stride. Most likely he’d seen the man long before they got there.
A few feet off the trail, Reading leaned against the trunk of one of the largest oaks, a lit cigarette in one hand and smoke streaming from both nostrils like inverted twin chimneys.
“Oh, Reading.” Jenny put a hand on her chest and brought King to a complete stop; he stamped impatiently and tossed his head, eager to get back to the barn. “You scared me. I wasn’t paying any attention.”
“Hard to when your eyes are closed,” he noted.
“What are you doing up here?” Jenny asked, eyeing the lit cigarette like it was a Molotov cocktail.
He shrugged. “Took a little walk, having a smoke.”
“Isn’t that kind of dangerous? I mean, smoking up here when the fire hazard level is beyond extreme?” She asked, trying to make the question sound casual.
“Isn’t it a little dangerous horseback riding eight months pregnant?” he retorted, raising his eyebrows knowingly.
“Seven months. And, touché,” she said begrudgingly.
“How does your husband feel about you coming out here by yourself?”
“He’s fine with it,” Jenny lied. Something about Reading, the way he watched her without blinking, the stillness in his body as though waiting for something, gave her the creeps. She wondered how she could get such a different sense from Mindy, who was so kind and open. Well, it wasn’t the first time she’d liked only one half of a couple; that happened. She was sure that her husband, Lewis, probably struck some people as unfriendly as well; he wasn’t exactly the most gregarious person.
With an economy of movement, perhaps in defense against the heat, Reading lifted the cigarette to his mouth in a kind of slow-motion arc. “He’s out of town on a job, right?”
“How did you know?” Jenny couldn’t stop herself from asking.
He exhaled a luxurious stream of smoke. “Mindy. She loves talking.”
“Oh, of course,” Jenny laughed. But for some reason, she didn’t feel comfortable discussing it with Reading.
“When’s he coming back?” Reading asked.
Instead of telling him that it would be another three weeks, Jenny offered a chirpy “Soon, real soon.” Then she gave King the smallest of nudges to urge him forward. “See you back at the barn!” she called over her shoulder.
If he made a response, she did not hear it. A minute later, she emerged from the grove and the sun hit her like a shovel on the back of the head. She could see the back of the barn at the far end of an open field, through which the path ran in a sultry curve. The air was suddenly so still that it felt like an expanding solid mass pressing in all around her.
As she neared the barn, she was struck by the silence of her surroundings. No breath of wind moved the dry scrub brush, no birds called, there were not even the chirrups of insects in this desert heat. Only King’s footfalls, muffled by the deep layer of soft dust on the trail, sounded distantly, as though they were so heavy they couldn’t lift themselves to her ears. Then one other noise floated through the thick stillness to her ears—one that she could not identify.
It was a repetitive whoosh, almost as though someone were blowing bellows at a fire: whoo, whoo, whoo. It was strange and solitary in the pressing stillness of the air. She looked around for the source, her mind s
earching for an image of something that she could attach to the airy wave. And then she saw it.
As she watched in amazement, a black crow, its feathers glowing with an indigo sheen in the unfiltered sun, passed above her, and with every beat of its dark wings she could hear the perfect rush of forced air, whoo, whoo, whoo.
Jenny rode on, feeling as though she alone had witnessed a moment in which the season had revealed itself to her in animal form: awesome, relentless, menacing, and very much alive. She had heard it breathing.
Chapter 25
“I can see a man with white hair, over your left shoulder,” Joshua said in a hushed voice, as though if he spoke too loudly, the image would run away.
He was seated at Whitney’s dining room table. They were spending the hot afternoon inside, and she had volunteered to let Joshua practice on her. Now that it had become apparent to Joshua that spirits, or whatever they were, were going to be popping into his field of vision whether he had asked for that particular talent or not, his primary goal had become to control and understand the phenomena.
With that objective in mind, he sat next to Whitney, their chairs turned toward each other, his notebook open on the table in front of him. Two large glasses of iced tea sweated rings onto the tablecloth in front of them.
“What’s he doing?” Whitney asked.
“Looking happy, but I think that where the figures appear is important,” Joshua tried to explain. “Over the left shoulder seems to be a man who knew you, like a father or a grandfather, or maybe a father figure.”
“My father passed away two years ago,” Whitney told him. “Is his hair long?”
“Longish.” Joshua tried to focus on the figure. He was standing with his arms open, as though showing off how radiantly happy he was, and he kept pointing to his feet. But there was something else. As though the body of the figure were transparent, Joshua could see inside of him, and as he focused more closely, he could see movement. At first he thought it was blood pumping through veins, but then he realized it was a serpent, snaking its way through the man’s body. Up, down, and around in a figure eight.
Speak of the Devil Page 17
