by Noah Boyd
“Already auditioning excuses for the morning?” he said. “I find that most encouraging.”
“I thought you were worried about my stitches.”
“I promise to take you straight to the ER afterward.”
She pushed him to arm’s length in a halfhearted tease. “So you like my dress.”
“Do you think at this particular moment I’m going to say no?”
She pulled him back to her and tilted her head slightly, inviting a kiss. He opened his mouth slightly, barely touching his lips to hers. She pressed forward and he pulled back an equal distance, keeping the touch light and increasingly arousing. She pulled her head back. “I thought you didn’t know anything about the good stuff.”
“Must be beginner’s luck.”
She put her head on his shoulder. “Mmmm,” came from somewhere deep in her throat. “I seriously doubt that,” she said. “Do you know what the nicest thing about tonight was?”
“Was? I was hoping the nicest thing hadn’t gotten here yet. I didn’t miss it, did I?”
She raised her voice slightly to override Vail’s attempt to dismiss the poignancy of what she was about to say. “That we were able to spend a couple of hours without a single word about work.”
Before Vail could say anything, the hotel phone rang. She looked at her watch; it was almost 1 a.m. She went to the nightstand. “Hello.”
“Kate, I hope it’s not too late.” It was Tye Delson and she sounded drunk.
“Too late for what?”
“I’ve been trying to find Steve. I’ve left messages on his cell phone and on the hotel voice mail. You know where he is?”
“Is something wrong?”
“I just need to talk to him.”
“Hold on.” Kate held the phone out to Vail.
Vail craned his head back slightly in surprise. “For me?”
“Tye Delson,” Kate said.
He took the phone and Kate sat down on the bed. “Tye, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Steve.” He heard her voice crack with emotion. “I’ve been on the phone for the last two hours trying to find you. I was afraid you had already left.” She was talking loud enough that Kate could hear her.
“Left for where? What’s wrong?”
“Can I come and see you?”
“Now?”
“It’s just that I don’t want to be alone. Just for tonight.”
Vail looked down at Kate, who stared straight ahead, her face somber. “Tye, I don’t think so.”
“I know last time I came uninvited, but now I’m asking. Please.”
Vail saw one of Kate’s eyebrows arch involuntarily. “That wasn’t a good idea then, and it isn’t now.”
“Can you come here then?”
“What you need is to go to sleep.”
“Please, Steve.”
“I’m sorry, Tye, no.”
“You’re going back to Chicago or wherever, aren’t you?” The emotion was rising in her voice as though she was on the verge of tears. “The case is over, isn’t it, Steve? All of them are dead, and you’re disappearing like men always do?”
“Tye, how much have you had to drink?”
Suddenly she sounded as though she was trying to get control of herself. “I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I? I just want to know if you’ll be leaving L.A. now.”
“I’m not sure.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. “I’m going to bed now. Promise you won’t leave until you come and tell me good-bye—in person.”
“Sure, but for right now, get some sleep.” Vail hung up, and it took him a few seconds before he dared look at Kate. When he did, she pursed her lips and tilted her head, inviting an explanation. “After the tunnel drop, she showed up at my room.”
“And?”
“There is no ‘and.’ We had a drink and she left.”
“If you discouraged her then, why is she coming back for more?”
Vail exhaled through his nostrils. He leaned down and kissed Kate on the cheek dutifully. “Thanks for a nice night.”
When he got to the door, she stood up. “Steve, I’m sorry. I’m not really doubting you.”
“I know,” he said, smiling sadly. “But we are our fathers’ children.” He turned and walked out.
THE NEXT MORNING as Vail was getting out of the shower the phone rang. It was Tom Demick. “I got that address from MasterCard you wanted. I tried your cell, but you must have had it turned off, and I left you a message on your room phone to call me. Didn’t you get it?”
“Sorry, I was out to dinner. It was late when I got in.”
Demick gave him the address. It was a post office box in Aqua Dulce. “Where’s that?”
“It’s about an hour north of here. Take the 101 to 170.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Vail hung up and looked at the blinking light on the phone. He had ignored it when he came in, thinking it was Tye Delson. He pushed the Message button. The first one was Demick asking Vail to call him. The remaining three were from Tye, each a little more drunken, a little more desperate. He turned on his cell phone and there were the same number of calls from both Demick and Tye. He took a deep breath and hit Tye’s callback number.
“’Lo,” answered a voice almost unrecognizable with sleep.
“Tye?”
“Oh, God, Steve.” Vail could hear her sitting up. “I’m so embarrassed.”
He laughed. “You should be. Are you all right now?”
“I wish I could say I was too drunk to remember, but unfortunately I do. You must hate me.”
“Yes, that’s why I called.”
“I’m so sorry.” Vail could hear her walking with the phone and then opening a door. “There is an explanation, not that there’s anything that could excuse what I did.”
“I don’t need an explanation.”
“Maybe I’ll hate myself a little less if I can give you one.”
“Then fire away.”
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Great, that’s just great.”
“What?”
“The morning paper. It’s as bad as I thought.”
“What is?”
She sat down with an audible sigh. “You know I’ve been planning to leave the United States attorney’s office. I mentioned it a couple of months ago to a reporter who was covering one of my cases. Last night I stopped at one of the local watering holes to have a drink while the traffic cleared. And this reporter’s in the bar. Looking back on it now, I’m not so sure it was accidental. We start talking. Somehow he heard that I had gotten search warrants in the Pentad case, so he starts asking me about it. A couple more drinks and he tells me he’d like to do an article about me leaving the U.S. attorney’s office. As you’ve probably figured out by now, my judgment isn’t the best when I’m drinking. Eventually I started complaining about the Department of Justice, the United States attorney’s office here, and—I’m sorry, Steve—about how poorly, overall, the FBI conducted the investigation. That is until you got here and then repeatedly risked your life without a second thought or a bit of thanks. The article comes off as if I’ve got this big crush on you. By the time I got home last night and started sobering up, I realized what direction the reporter was going to take the article and wanted to give you a heads-up. I tried to reach you, and when I couldn’t, I started drinking until I finally found you, and by that time I was a mess.”
“Is that going to hurt you at work?” Vail asked.
“That’s your only concern?”
“In a couple of days I’ll just be one of the great unwashed in a place where they don’t read Los Angeles newspapers.”
“Can you ever forgive me?”
“For being concerned about me—I think so.”
“With a little bit of luck I’ll never have to face Kate again. She must legitimately hate me. I hope I didn’t cause any problems last night.”
“Kate’s a good person. And she also will be leaving L.A. soon.”
&n
bsp; “I’m getting out of here too,” Tye said. “Do you think there’s any chance I’d like Chicago, Steve?”
He hesitated so she would understand what he was about to say had two meanings. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t find it much different from Los Angeles.”
She gave the kind of disheartened chuckle that came involuntarily after a failed long shot. “Sorry, Steve, I had to give it one last try.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE CLERK AT THE AQUA DULCE POST OFFICE HAD GIVEN VAIL DIRECTIONS to the old Franklin Movie Ranch. “It’s on Stanfield Road off Hope Creek Road.” The name on the box rental was the same as on the credit card receipt, Andrew Parker, with an address of simply Franklin Movie Ranch, Stanfield Road. The property had been used as a movie set back in the for-r ties when the studios were turning out westerns every couple of weeks. As far as the clerk knew it hadn’t been used in more than half a century.
As Vail drove along Hope Creek Road, he wondered if he was wasting his time looking for anyone else who could be involved. And more important, if he was, why? Wasting time was something he hated. Somebody else could have been involved in the murders, but that didn’t seem likely. Radek needed the power that came with being in charge. It was a big part of why he was a criminal. If there was someone else, it had to be an underling who had gone unnoticed. But there was also a practical reason for his pursuing Radek’s last clue. If a booby trap had been set, it should be located and neutralized.
Vail turned onto Stanfield Road, which then climbed along the barren foothills, through large boulder-sized outcroppings that he recalled were ever present in the old cowboy movies. Finally at the peak of one of the hills, he saw a rutted dirt road off to the right that wound down around some large rock formations. A simple nailed cross of wood crudely lettered said, “Franklin Ranch.” He turned in and drove slowly, trying to keep the car from bottoming out in the ruts. Once he circled below the boulders, he could see three dilapidated buildings in the flats below. He stopped and got out into the scorching sun. Using the monocular, he scanned the area, looking for any indication of recent use. The single-story structures were less than two hundred yards away. He decided to go the rest of the way on foot.
He opened the trunk and slipped off his suit jacket, tie, and shirt, leaving him in his T-shirt. The shotgun case contained a canvas bandolier of shells with a Velcro closure, which he wrapped around his waist and secured. There were scattered shells in the case, and he loaded five of them, alternating the double-aught buck and deer slug. He racked the first one into the chamber and clicked the safety on. His cell phone rang. The caller’s ID was blocked. “Hello.”
“Hi.” It was Kate. She waited for his response.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“I guess that’s what I’m calling to find out.”
“Other than a long, icy shower I had to take last night, we’re fine.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“Only someone who didn’t care would.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Where are you?”
“Sightseeing.”
“That sounds evasive.”
“Apparently not evasive enough. I’m in Aqua Dulce. It’s an hour north of L.A.”
“This is the part where I try to pin you down with a series of escape-proof questions.”
“Fair enough. The credit card used at Sargasso’s came back to an Andrew Parker at the Franklin Ranch in Aqua Dulce. I just got here.”
“Does that mean you think there’s someone else involved?” Her tone had that impatient “here we go again” charge to it.
“It is a very small loose end, and you know how they drive me crazy.”
“Should you be out there alone?”
“All the black hats are gone, remember? I just want to see if there’s something out here Radek might have rigged that’ll hurt someone if they stumble across it.”
“Were you going to tell anybody about it? What happens if you get hurt?”
“There’s no urgency here. Anything suspicious, I’ll call in the locals.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“I’d come out there myself, but I’m buried in paperwork. I’ve been making a list and so far I’m up to almost thirty 302s to dictate. And that isn’t counting the evidence and lab transmittal letters. Let me send somebody out?”
“I’m standing here looking at the place. This is just a walk in the park. By the time they get here I’ll be headed back.”
There was a hesitation and then Kate said, “Have you seen the morning paper?”
“No.”
“Tye’s kind of doing an exit interview in it. You might want to get a copy.”
“I hope that’s not you being mean.”
“So you have seen it.”
“I talked to Tye first thing this morning. She wanted to apologize. She wanted me to pass it on to you because she figures she could never face you again.”
“Interesting. I would never have guessed that a man who could so casually throw bank robbers through windows would be so protective of someone who had embarrassed him.”
“What makes you think I’m embarrassed?”
“I guess that was me being mean. I’m sorry. How about I buy you dinner tonight?”
“Do you know who Sisyphus was, from Greek mythology?”
“With great apprehension I’ll have to say no.”
“For offending the gods, Sisyphus, a man of many indulgences, was sentenced to Hades, where he was to roll a boulder up a steep mountain, with one small catch. Just as he was about to reach the top, it would always roll back down, forcing him to start over. He was to do this throughout eternity.”
“And you think that’s us.”
“It did seem like the gods were conspiring against us last night.”
“I say we try shoving it up the mountain one more time to make sure we are actually in hell,” she said.
“Sometimes understanding the futility of our fate is the only form of happiness we’re allowed.”
“Funny, I’ve always found the struggle to be the real reward.”
“That confirms something I’ve long suspected—you’re a better person than I am. If you want to again risk the wrath of the gods, I’ll be back this afternoon.”
He hung up and let his eyes trace the twisting road leading down to the ranch. There was little shade; in fact, there were only a few scrawny trees scattered across the property. Vail glanced at the sun for position, its unrelenting glare warning that it was going to be another hot day.
Vail took his time getting down to the three ancient, colorless structures. They were nothing more than shades of gray, as if permanently in an old black-and-white movie. They had been built side by side without any space between them, and the way the outside walls leaned made them appear to be holding one another up. There was a wooden walkway in front of all of them, with a corrugated metal sheet overhead. The outer ones were smaller and had flat roofs, but the middle structure had a peaked roof and looked like it was the only one used in the last fifty years. A hand-painted wooden sign over the door said “Last Chance Saloon.” Whether it was a movie set or someone had tried to make a business of it after the western movie business dried up, he couldn’t tell.
Kicking up dust as he walked down the road, he cautiously approached the first structure. The door was half open, and he could tell by the debris on the floor that no one had been in there in years. Instead of going in the middle building next, he went to the third one and found it in a similar condition.
That left the “saloon.” It was much cleaner inside and along one wall was a homemade bar. It looked only a few years old. The rest of the long room was relatively empty except for some fast-food containers scattered on the floor.
He examined it again, this time searching for anything that might have the attraction of a trap, but couldn’t find anything. He walked back onto the front walkway and looked beyond the building. Then he thought he hear
d something up on the ridgeline where he had parked. Stepping back into the shadow of the saloon, he watched and listened for a few minutes but heard nothing else.
Fifty yards farther into the property he could see a foot trail disappearing into a stand of low trees. He started to follow it, and when he was halfway to the tree line, he saw a white paper bag, a twig driven through it holding it to the ground. He bent over and picked it up. It was from Sargasso’s restaurant and it smelled of garlic. Next to it was a 30-06 casing, untarnished by the weather.
As Vail bent over to retrieve it, a shot rang out from behind him on the hill. He dove to the left and rolled, holding on to the shotgun. From the sound of the shot, he could tell it was a heavy-caliber hunting rifle, probably a 30-06.
He half crawled, half ran back to the dilapidated buildings. That’s when he felt the wetness against his shoulder. He reached up and brought back his hand with blood on it. He felt the wound again; his trapezius had been nicked. Three inches to the left, it would have severed his spine.
As he worked his way behind the buildings, he tried to remember if he had loaded the deer slug first or the buckshot. The slug could reach two hundred yards, but with the shotgun having only a bead on the end of the barrel, it would take lottery luck to hit anything that far uphill. The buckshot would be useless at that distance.
When he got to the edge of the structure, he pumped all the rounds out of the gun, then picked up the three slugs off the ground and reloaded them along with five more from the cartridge belt.
Peeking around the corner, he tried to find a route to the top of the ridge with at least some cover. There were a few boulders, but they were thirty to forty yards apart. The advantage Vail had was that if the rifle did have a scope—which the difficulty of the first shot indicated—it would be hard for the shooter to get a bead on him if he kept moving and changing direction. And it probably was a bolt action, meaning it took a second or two to chamber each round, something, with a little bit of nerve, Vail could use to his advantage.
He snapped off the shotgun’s safety. He stepped out from behind the building and counted, “One idiot, two idiot, three idiot,” then jumped back behind the building as another rifle shot rang out.
